Ezra nodded. "I do."
Takakota turned, spoke with the chief. The warriors around them began to relax slightly.
"He will not challenge me," the chief said. "But he asks something else."
"A test?" Ezra waited.
"There are more men," the chief continued. "Men like those who hurt Ayana. Men who hunt women. We found signs: cages and wagons waiting near Snake Creek."
Ezra's voice was steady. "You want my help?"
Takakota stepped in. "If you mean what you say, if you are man of honor, you ride with us."
Ezra looked around at the circle of warriors. His land was behind him: his quiet life, his fence, his fields. Then he looked at Ayana—still healing, still marked.
"How many more girls like her?" he asked.
"Too many," the chief said.
Ezra let the silence settle. "My wife once said," he began, "a man's worth is shown when nobody's watching." He turned to Takakota. "I'll ride."
The war leader studied him, then offered his hand. "You ride as brother," he said. "Apache brother."
Ezra took it. The deal was made. No way back now.
They rode out before noon: thirty riders. Ezra rode near the back, behind Takakota and Chief Nal-Nish. Ayana stayed with the women and younger scouts. Her strength was coming back, but she still moved with a limp.
The desert stretched around them: wide, silent, hot. The sun above was a hammer. No one spoke, not once. Hands gave signals, eyes gave direction; it was a language of war.