Ethan stepped forward.
“You want water?”
Brackett stared at him.
“Yes.”
“I know another source.”
Aiyana's eyes widened.
Brackett's expression changed.
“Where?”
“North.”
“How far?”
“Thirty miles.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
“No.”
Brackett narrowed his eyes.
“Then why tell me?”
“Because I know where it is.”
Silence.
Brackett considered the offer.
Finally he nodded.
“Take us there.”
Ethan turned toward the chief.
Nan-tan-lupan understood.
“Go.”
Aiyana whispered, “What are you doing?”
“Buying time.”
“With your life?”
Ethan smiled.
“Hopefully not.”
He rode away with Brackett's men.
The journey north became increasingly difficult.
The land grew harsher.
The grass disappeared.
The wind became hot enough to sting their faces.
By sunset, several horses were exhausted.
Brackett demanded the location.
Ethan pointed toward a canyon.
“There.”
They entered.
There was no water.
Brackett turned.
“You lied.”
“No.”
Ethan pointed toward a narrow crack in the canyon wall.
“Under there.”
The men dug.
For hours.
Nothing.
Brackett became furious.
“You're wasting my time.”
Ethan said nothing.
Then he heard it.
A sound so faint that the others couldn't hear it.
A tiny trickle.
He smiled.
One of the men stopped digging.
“Wait.”
Everyone became silent.
There it was.
Water.
Brackett rushed toward it.
But when they opened the narrow channel, they discovered the truth.
The source was small.
It could support several families.
Perhaps a few dozen people.
It could never support a large ranching operation.
Brackett stared at Ethan.
“You knew.”
“I suspected.”
“You brought us here knowing this wasn't enough.”
“You wanted water.”
“This is barely a puddle.”
“It is still water.”
Brackett raised his rifle.
Ethan didn't move.
“You tricked me.”
“No.”
Ethan looked toward the small stream.
“I showed you what you refused to see.”
“What?”
“That the land doesn't owe any of us more than it can give.”
Before Brackett could answer, a rider came racing into the canyon.
He had ridden from the south.
“The reservoir!”
Brackett turned.
“What happened?”
“The attack failed.”
“What?”
“The Apache defenders drove them away.”
Brackett stared at Ethan.
For the first time, something other than anger appeared in his face.
Uncertainty.
His men were exhausted.
Their horses were tired.
They had spent days chasing a spring that wasn't theirs.
And the people they had tried to intimidate had survived without surrendering.
One rancher lowered his rifle.
“I've had enough.”
Another nodded.
“So have I.”
Brackett looked around.
His own men were beginning to question him.
He slowly lowered his weapon.
“This isn't finished.”
Ethan nodded.
“No.”
Brackett stared at him.
“You chose them.”
Ethan looked toward the distant south.
“Maybe I finally chose something that wasn't just about me.”
The ranchers left.
Ethan remained in the canyon until morning.
Then he rode home.
When he reached the camp, Aiyana was waiting.
She walked toward him.
“You're alive.”
“Disappointed?”
She punched him lightly in the shoulder.
“Don't joke.”
He smiled.
“I missed you too.”
She froze.
Ethan realized what he had said.
Aiyana smiled.
“Good.”
The drought finally broke several weeks later.
At first, the rain came as a whisper.
A few drops struck the dust.
Children ran outside.
Adults stood beneath the clouds without speaking.
Then the rain became heavier.
The dry riverbeds began to fill.
Mud replaced dust.
Plants that had seemed dead pushed tiny green shoots through the soil.
Birds returned.
The desert changed slowly.
Then all at once.
The spring remained.
Even after the rains returned, it continued flowing beneath the earth.
The people protected it.
Not because they feared another drought.
Because they had learned what water meant.
Ethan could have left.
The roads were open again.
Travelers returned.
Towns began to fill.
There were jobs.
Money.
New opportunities.
But he stayed.
One evening, Chief Nan-tan-lupan found him beside the spring.
“You are still here.”
Ethan smiled.
“Apparently.”
“You could leave tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“Why don't you?”
Ethan looked at the water.
“Because I haven't finished the second channel.”
The chief laughed.
“You have been saying that for months.”
“It's almost done.”
The old man sat beside him.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Nan-tan-lupan asked, “Do you remember the twenty-two women?”
Ethan groaned.
“I was hoping you wouldn't.”
“I remember.”
“That was a cruel test.”
“It was necessary.”
Ethan looked at him.
“What were you really testing?”
The chief watched the water.
“Who you were when everyone was watching.”
Ethan remained quiet.
“Many people behave well when they fear punishment,” the chief continued. “Others behave well when they expect a reward. But a person's character becomes clear when nobody can force them to choose correctly.”
Ethan smiled.
“So you decided I was acceptable.”
The chief laughed.