I'll kill you all with my bare hands if I have to. " Jesse tried to stand. His legs wouldn't support him. He'd lost too much blood. His vision was tunneling, darkness creeping in from the edges. Nala stood instead.
She drew her own knife, the long hunting knife she carried at her belt. 12 inches of sharpened steel. "Nala, no," Jesse said. "Let me. I can still shoot. " "You can barely breathe," Nala said.
Her voice was calm. "This fight is mine now. " She walked toward Crane. The sun was setting, painting the canyon walls red and gold. Two figures met in the center of that dying light. One tall and broad, weathered by violence and time.
The other, smaller but no less dangerous, carved from rage and grief and iron will. Crane struck first. He was fast for a man his size, his knife a blur. Nala twisted aside, let the blade pass within inches of her stomach. She countered with a slash at his arm, drew blood but not deeply.
They circled each other. Crane fainted high, struck low. Nala blocked, reposted, was blocked in turn. It was brutal, efficient, no wasted motion. Two people who'd killed before and would do it again.
Crane kicked dirt in Nala's face. She flinched and he lunged. His knife scored her ribs, a shallow cut but painful. She gasped and fell back. Crane pressed his advantage.
He was stronger, had longer reach. He drove her back step by step toward the canyon wall. She blocked and dodged, but she was tiring. Her shoulder wound had reopened. Her movements were a fraction slower.
Crane saw it. He grinned, predator sensing wounded prey. "You should have stayed hidden, girl. Should have let your father's land go. Now you'll die just like he did. " He thrust for her heart.
Nala caught his wrist, twisted, used his momentum against him. Crane was bigger, but she was faster. She pivoted, drove her knee into his gut, and as he doubled over, she brought her knife down between his shoulder blades. The blade sank deep. Crane roared.
He spun, trying to throw her off, but Nala held on, drove the knife deeper, twisted. Crane fell to his knees. Blood spread across his back, dark and fatal. He looked up at Nala. "You think you've won?
There are dozens like me, hundreds. You can't stop them all. " "I don't need to stop them all," Nala said quietly. "I just needed to stop you. " Crane tried to speak again, but blood filled his throat. He choked, gasped, and fell forward into the dust. Silas Crane died as the sun touched the western horizon.
His body lay in the red dirt of Echo Valley, unmourned, unremembered, except as a monster who'd finally met his end. Nala stood over him for a long moment. Then she turned and walked back to Jesse. The aftermath was quiet. Keona and Yazzie emerged from their hiding places.
Swift Bird helped Jesse to a more comfortable position against a boulder. Nala cleaned and dressed everyone's wounds with the medical supplies they'd salvaged. Jesse's shoulder was bad. The bullet had gone through, which was good, but the blood loss was severe. Combined with his failing heart, he was in serious trouble.
He could feel his body shutting down piece by piece. The digitalis was barely keeping his heart beating. "How long do I have? " he asked Nala as she bandaged him. "Hours, maybe a day if you rest. " "Not long enough. " "For what? " "To finish this. Your other sisters, Winona and Ayanna in Mexico, Chinoah in Tucson.
They're still out there. " Nala's hands paused in their work. "Jesse, you have done enough, more than enough. You've freed three of my sisters. You've killed the man who murdered my father. You've balanced your debt. " "The debt isn't balanced until all six of you are safe. " "You'll die trying. " "Then I'll die trying. " They stared at each other.
Finally Nala spoke. "You are the most stubborn man I have ever met. " "I've been told that before. " "By your wife? " "By everyone who ever knew me. " Nala almost smiled. Then her face grew serious. "There is someone who can help if we can find her. " "Who? " "My aunt, Diving Hawk, Swift Bird's mother. She knows this territory better than anyone.
She has allies among the Apache tribes. And she has spent 10 years building a network of people who fight men like Crane. " "Where is she? " "At the gathering place, where we were headed before Crane forced us here. It is half a day's ride north. " Jesse tried to calculate. Half a day there, half a day back, time to plan, time to organize a rescue in Tucson, time to track the Mexican slavers. All while his heart was trying to quit with every beat.
"We rest here tonight," he decided. "Bury Crane and his men. Honor Marcus. Then at dawn we ride for the gathering place. If Diving Hawk can help, we ask.
If not, we do it ourselves. " "Jesse, you cannot ride. You can barely sit upright. " "I'll ride even if I have to tie myself to the saddle. " Nala shook her head, but she didn't argue further. She'd learned that Jesse Walker was impossible to move once he'd made a decision. They made camp in Echo Valley that night, built a fire, cooked the last of their meager food, tended to wounds and exhaustion, and the deep ache that comes after violence ends. Jesse sat with his back against a boulder, watching the stars emerge.
His chest hurt with every breath. His shoulder throbbed in time with his irregular heartbeat. But he was alive. And while he was alive, there was work to do. Nala sat beside him.
For a long time neither spoke. Then she said, "Why do you do this? Truly. Not the debt, not guilt. What drives you to destroy yourself for people you barely know? " Jesse thought about the question.
Finally he answered. "When I was a soldier, I followed orders. I did terrible things because I was told they were necessary. I watched children die and told myself it wasn't my fault. I was just following orders.
And then one day I realized that's the same thing every monster in history has said. Just following orders. " He paused, gathering his thoughts. "I can't undo what I did. I can't bring back the people I killed or failed to save. But I can choose differently now.
Every time I'm faced with violence, with cruelty, with someone in need, I can choose to act. Not because someone ordered me to, because it's right. And if that choice kills you, then at least I'll die as a man, not a monster. " Nala was quiet. Then she placed her hand over his. "My father was right about you.
You do have a warrior spirit, even if your skin is the wrong color. " Jesse managed a weak smile. "Your father was a wise man. He would have liked knowing you became who you were meant to be. " They sat in comfortable silence as the night deepened. Around them, the others settled into sleep. Even Swift Bird, who'd seen so much violence in one day, finally succumbed to exhaustion.
But Jesse stayed awake. Sleep felt too much like surrender. And he wasn't ready to surrender yet. At dawn they rode north. Jesse stayed in the saddle through pure stubbornness and Nala's rope, which she'd used to tie him upright when he started to sway.
Keona rode with help from Swift Bird. Her fever had broken during the night, which was either a good sign or her body's last attempt at fighting before it gave up entirely. The gathering place revealed itself slowly. First, a thin trail of smoke on the horizon, then voices carrying on the wind, then, as they crested a low ridge, a camp spread out below them. Maybe 40 people, mostly Apache, but Jesse saw Navajo, Paiute, even a few Mexican families.
All of them refugees from Crane's violence or violence like it. They'd gathered here in this hidden canyon with its reliable water source to share information and resources, to help each other survive. A woman stood as they approached. She was maybe 50 years old, her hair streaked with gray, her face lined by worry and weather. But her eyes were sharp and clear.
She carried herself like someone who'd seen everything and refused to break. Swift Bird made a sound, part sob, part gasp. He slid from his horse and ran toward the woman on legs that barely supported him. "Shiima," he said, the Apache word for mother. "Shiima, it's me, Daniel, your son. " The woman's face transformed.
She caught Swift Bird as he collapsed into her arms. Both of them were crying, years of separation and grief pouring out in that single embrace. Jesse watched and felt something crack in his own chest. Not his heart, though that ached, too. Something deeper.
The place where he kept his own losses locked away. Diving Hawk held her son for a long time. Then she looked up and saw Nahooma. "Nahooma Silver Hawk," she said. "I heard your father was dead.
I feared you were, too. " "Not dead," Nahooma said. "Not yet. " "And these others? " "My sisters, Keona and Yazi, and this is Jesse Walker, the man my father saved 28 years ago. " Diving Hawk's eyes moved to Jesse. She studied him for a long moment, and Jesse had the strange feeling she was seeing straight through him to his bones. "Jesse Walker," she said. "The white boy who survived.