“What?”
She translated.
“Soldiers.”
“How many?”
“About eighty.”
“Distance?”
“Maybe four miles.”
Nathan stood.
“Mercer moved faster than I thought.”
Dosela began issuing commands.
People packed immediately.
Nathan caught his arm.
“If you run, they'll follow.”
Dosela looked at his hand until Nathan released him.
“If you fight, Mercer wins.”
“My people will not wait to be surrounded.”
Nathan thought.
Eighty soldiers.
Three hundred Apache riders and family members.
Darkness.
A storm.
One nervous sentry could start a massacre.
“We need somebody to meet them before they reach the valley.”
Dosela understood.
“You.”
“Yes.”
Alaya said, “They may shoot you.”
“They'll probably ask questions first.”
“That is your plan?”
“Most of my good plans begin with probably.”
Taza laughed unexpectedly.
Nathan looked at him.
“Glad somebody appreciates me.”
Dosela walked to Nathan's horse.
He placed a hand on the saddle.
Then pulled something from around his neck.
A small leather cord with a carved stone.
He handed it to Nathan.
“What is this?”
“My mark.”
“For the soldiers?”
“For my people.”
Nathan looked confused.
Dosela pointed toward the dark trail.
“If you return wearing it, sentries know I allowed you.”
“And if I don't?”
Dosela's face remained expressionless.
“Then sentries know something else.”
Nathan climbed into the saddle.
Alaya approached.
“You don't have to do this.”
He looked at her.
“Actually, this is exactly the sort of stupid promise my father got me involved in.”
She smiled.
Then her expression softened.
“Come back.”
Nathan touched the silver medallion inside his coat.
“I haven't finished complaining yet.”
He rode into the darkness alone.
Nathan found the Army column three miles west of the valley.
He heard them before he saw them.
Harness chains.
Boots.
Horses moving carefully over wet stone.
Then a voice shouted.
“Halt!”
Nathan raised both hands.
“Friendly rider!”
Rifles appeared in the darkness.
A lieutenant rode forward.
“Name!”
“Nathan Cole.”
“Business?”
“Trying to prevent you from doing something you'll regret.”
That was not the ideal answer.
The lieutenant's hand moved toward his pistol.
Nathan corrected himself.
“I need your commanding officer.”
“Captain Dorsey.”
Nathan's heart sank.
Not Reed.
“Where's Captain Reed?”
“Fort Lowell.”
“Can you send a rider?”
The lieutenant frowned.
“Why?”
Nathan looked at the soldiers.
“Because you've been lied to.”
Twenty minutes later Nathan stood beneath a canvas command shelter before Captain Horace Dorsey.
Dorsey was perhaps forty-five.
Trim mustache.
Clean uniform despite the mud.
His expression suggested he had already decided Nathan was inconvenient.
“We received information that a hostile Apache force crossed into the district.”
“There are families in that valley.”
“Armed families.”
“This is Arizona. Everyone's armed.”
Dorsey's jaw tightened.
“They have gathered in significant numbers.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Moving toward winter grounds.”
“According to whom?”
“Their leader.”
“Dosela.”
“Yes.”
Dorsey laughed once.
“You expect me to take Dosela's word?”
“No.”
Nathan removed one water-damaged letter.
“I expect you to read.”
Dorsey did.
His expression changed only slightly.
“Where did you get this?”
“Dosela's daughter.”
“You've been with them?”
“Yes.”
Several soldiers exchanged looks.
Dorsey studied Nathan.
“Why?”
Nathan gave the shortest version possible.
Alaya.
Mercer.
Wagon attacks.
Records.
Dorsey read the document again.
“This could be forged.”
“It could.”
“You admit that?”
“I'd be an idiot not to.”
Dorsey seemed irritated by the answer.
Nathan continued.
“Which is why I want Reed.”
“Captain Reed is not under my command.”
“Send a telegram from San Rosario.”
“We aren't retreating to send telegrams.”
Nathan stepped closer.
“If you enter that valley tonight with eighty armed soldiers, you're putting rifles in front of frightened families who've already been shot at today.”
“My men are disciplined.”
“So are Dosela's.”
Dorsey's eyes hardened.
“Are you threatening the United States Army?”
“No.”
Nathan looked around.
“I'm describing bullets.”
The captain turned away.
“Our intelligence came from a respected civilian contractor.”
“Silas Mercer.”
Dorsey looked back sharply.
Nathan knew.
“You didn't tell me his name.”
“No.”
“So Mercer gave you the information.”
Dorsey said nothing.
“He told you Dosela was gathering for an attack.”
Still nothing.
Nathan felt anger.
“You're walking into exactly what he planned.”
Dorsey's hand struck the table.
“Enough.”
The tent became silent.
“You are one civilian cowboy,” Dorsey said. “You expect me to disregard intelligence because you walked in carrying a wet piece of paper?”
Nathan stared at him.
“No.”
He reached inside his coat.
“I expect you to disregard bad intelligence because you're an officer responsible for eighty men.”
Dorsey looked at the silver medallion Nathan accidentally pulled out with another paper.
His face changed.
“Where did you get that?”
Nathan looked down.
“My father.”
“Benjamin Cole?”
Nathan froze.
“You knew him?”
Dorsey stared at the medallion.
“I knew of him.”
Nathan waited.
Dorsey spoke more quietly.
“Your father guided Army patrols before you were grown.”
“He never told me.”
“He stopped.”
“Why?”
Dorsey looked uncomfortable.
“Because of Bowie Pass.”
The same place Alaya had mentioned.
Nathan's heartbeat quickened.
“What happened?”
Dorsey sat slowly.
“I was young. Not much older than the lieutenant outside.”
Nathan remained standing.
“There had been an attack on a stagecoach. Patrol was looking for suspects. We found three Apache men.”
“Dosela's brother?”
“One of them.”
Dorsey looked at the table.
“They weren't armed.”
Nathan understood before he finished.
“The officer wanted prisoners?”
“At first.”
Dorsey swallowed.
“Then he decided transporting them would slow us down.”
Nathan felt cold.
“My father stopped him.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Threatened to testify.”
Nathan almost laughed.
“That worked?”
“No.”
Dorsey looked at him.
“Your father stood between the prisoners and six rifles.”
Nathan thought of himself standing by Red Willow River hours earlier.
For the first time, he understood where the instinct came from.
“What happened?”
“Other soldiers refused the order.”
“Because of him?”
“Because one man gave them permission to admit the order was wrong.”
Silence.
Dorsey looked at the medallion.
“I've wondered about that day for thirty years.”
Nathan's anger eased slightly.
“Then don't spend another thirty wondering about tonight.”
Dorsey closed his eyes.
Outside, rain struck canvas.
Finally he called for the lieutenant.
“We hold position.”
The lieutenant blinked.
“Sir?”
“No advance until daylight.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And send two riders to San Rosario. Telegraph Captain Reed at Fort Lowell.”
Nathan exhaled.
Dorsey pointed at him.
“You stay here.”
“I need to tell Dosela.”
“No.”
“If I don't return, they may assume I'm dead.”
Dorsey thought.
Then looked at the carved stone around Nathan's neck.
“What is that?”
“Dosela's mark.”
Dorsey stared.
“You walk into an Army camp wearing an Apache leader's mark and expect trust?”
Nathan smiled tiredly.
“I've had a complicated day.”
Dorsey almost smiled.
Almost.
“I'll send you back with Lieutenant Marsh.”
Nathan shook his head.
“No soldiers near the valley.”
“Then you aren't leaving.”
Nathan's jaw tightened.
Dorsey leaned closer.
“Trust has to move both directions, Mr. Cole.”
Nathan considered.
Then nodded.
“Fine.”
They waited.
Hours passed.
Near midnight, gunfire erupted somewhere south.
Every soldier moved.
Dorsey emerged from the tent.
“Report!”
A scout rode in.
“Riders approaching!”
“How many?”
“Six.”
Nathan ran forward.
Mercer's men.
They burst from the dark firing.
Not at the Army.
Into the air.
Then one shouted:
“Apaches! They're coming!”
A bullet struck an Army supply wagon.
Soldiers raised rifles toward the hills.
Nathan suddenly understood.
Mercer's men were trying to manufacture the battle anyway.
“Don't fire!”
Dorsey shouted the same order.
One of Mercer's men fired toward the soldiers and then turned his horse, trying to disappear toward the valley.
Nathan mounted Jasper's replacement and chased him.
“Cole!” Dorsey shouted.
Nathan ignored him.
If the rider reached Dosela's sentries shooting—
Nathan pushed harder.
The rider glanced back.
Nathan recognized him.
Daniel Kress.
The name from Mercer's payment record.
“Kress!”
The man fired.
Nathan ducked.
He closed the distance.
Kress aimed again.
Nathan drew.
One shot.
Kress's pistol flew from his hand.
He lost balance and fell from his horse.
Nathan dismounted.
Kress reached for a knife.
Nathan kicked it away.
“Stay down.”
“You're dead, cowboy.”
“You've had several chances.”
Nathan dragged him upright.
“Mercer isn't paying enough.”
Kress laughed.
“You think this is about money?”
“What else?”
“Land.”
Nathan stared.
Kress spat blood.
“Once the Apaches are cleared, Mercer owns the route. Army pays him transport. Railroad pays him access. Ranchers sell cheap because everyone's scared.”