At night, Nahon always sat away from the fire, her eyes fixed on the horizon where the flickering lights of the Federal Army camp began to appear like artificial stars. The wind carried news: 500 soldiers were moving into this valley, bringing with them rifles, cannons, and orders to wipe out any Apache camp found, the elders whispered. Women clutched their children and hid deeper in the caves. Everyone knew if the army found a white rancher inside the camp, they would not ask questions; everyone here would die.
Nihoni looked at Corbin, who was trying to walk with the help of a rough wooden cane. "Can you move tonight?"
He nodded, though his legs still trembled. "If they see me, you will die, too."
She was silent for a moment, then said softly, "Let's go."
That night, there was no moon, only wind and sand. Nahon carried Corbin through the canyon, her body large and solid, like a mountain buffalo. The cold wind lashed their faces, every breath tasting of blood and dust. Down in the valley, the fires of 500 soldiers stretched out like a red serpent winding through the darkness.
When they reached the clearing between two hills, Corbin collapsed, gasping for air. "Leave me."
Nahon clenched her jaw and did not stop. "I am not letting you die here."
Hoofbeats echoed in the distance; a patrol was approaching. Nahon pulled Corbin into a crack between the rocks, her large hand covering his mouth, their breaths blending into one.
As the torches passed by, she whispered into his ear, "If you live, keep the well open. Water does not choose sides."
Before dawn, they reached the edge of the valley where his ranch stood. She set him down, her eyes calm and unreadable.
Corbin tried to reach for her hand, but caught only air. "Your name?"