It was not much shelter against what was bearing down on them, but it was the only shelter anywhere within reach. He pressed himself and the girl tight against the stone face. He pulled his coat up and over them both as fully as he could. The storm hit. The sound was enormous and unlike anything quiet or human.
The wind screamed through that canyon like something alive and looking for a fight. The girl buried her face hard against Ethan's chest. She grabbed his shirt with both small fists and held on with everything she had. He held her back just as tight and did not let go. They stayed like that for nearly a full hour.
When the storm passed and the air went still again, everything had changed color. Fresh red dust coated every surface of the canyon around them. The air smelled like the inside of an old clay pot left in the sun. The girl pulled back slowly and looked up at his face. Her eyes had cleared considerably from the terrible state they were in before.
She said something in Apache. One short sentence, soft and direct. He could not understand a single word of it. He nodded anyway. "Okay," he said.
"Let's get you home now. He lifted her onto Luther's back and mounted up behind her. They rode toward the thin thread of smoke visible in the far distance. Apache campfires, small against the enormous desert sky. He was thinking about his cattle and the water they needed back home.
He was thinking about the fence on the north side that needed work. He was thinking about how much of the day he had now lost. He was not thinking at all about what the chief might say. He should have been thinking about exactly that. The Apache camp came to life the moment the pond Ethan rode in from the east, he heard the shout first.
A woman's voice, high and sharp, full of something urgent and relieved. Then people were running from every direction at once. The girl was lifted from his arms before he had fully brought Luther to a stop. He stood holding the reins while the child was carried away quickly. Women checked her over with fast and practiced hands.
Children gathered at a careful distance and watched the white man without moving. Warriors stood near their horses and kept their faces very still. Nobody came near Ethan. Nobody spoke to him directly or offered anything. He stood in the middle of that camp and waited.
The man who came to meet him was not especially tall, but he moved through the space around him in a particular way. People stepped back without being asked as he passed among them. He was perhaps 60 years old. His face was like weathered sandstone, carved by decades of desert sun. His eyes were sharp and perfectly still, missing nothing at all.
You found her, the man said. His English was careful and precise. In the East Canyon, Ethan said. She had been there a while. I am Chaska, the man said.
She is my granddaughter. Ethan told him his own name. They shook hands the way two men do when trust is still being decided. Come, Chaska said. We will talk inside.
Inside the chief's tent, the air was cooler and smelled of smoke and old herbs. Coffee appeared, strong and dark and unlike anything Ethan had ever tasted. He drank it because refusing seemed like the wrong thing to do. Chaska sat across from him and was quiet for a very long time. Ethan waited.
He had learned that rushing a man's silence rarely leads anywhere useful. Then the chief spoke. "The blood of my blood was in danger today." he said carefully. "You brought her back to us. In our way, this is a debt that cannot go unpaid.
Our tradition demands it be settled with honor. Honor requires it above all other things. Ethan shook his head once. "I don't need anything, chief. Seeing the girl safe is enough for me.
Chaska looked at him steadily across the small fire between them. "That is a generous thing to say." he replied quietly. "But our tradition does not allow generosity to cancel a debt. He paused and looked at his own hands. "I have something to offer you.
Something specific and real. Another pause, longer this time. "But I must be fully honest with you before I say what it is. This is something that no one has yet been willing to accept. Ethan's stomach pulled tight and uncomfortable.
He thought of cursed land. He thought of diseased horses and fouled water sources. He had heard of strange arrangements made in strange desert places before. "I have a daughter. Chaska said.
"Her name is Nahimana. She is 20 summers old. She is strong and healthy and sharp-minded in all things. He stopped. He stopped.
The pause that followed had considerable weight inside it. "No warrior in this tribe has agreed to marry her. The tent went completely quiet. Ethan said nothing. He was running through every possible explanation as fast as he could.
A hidden illness that worked slowly from the inside. A violent temper that frightened men often time. Something gone wrong inside her that had not yet shown itself on the outside. Whatever it was, it had to be serious and real and specific. "You may refuse.
Chaska said. "There is no dishonor in refusing. But if you refuse, you must leave these lands and never return again. Our honor cannot hold if you stay after saying no to this. These are our customs.
I cannot change them for any man. Ethan thought about his ranch and the route he needed to go home. He thought about three extra dangerous days through bad canyon country every single time. He thought about what happened to cattle left without water in an Arizona summer. He thought about what sense looked like from where he was sitting right now.
He thought about asking to meet her before deciding. He almost said it aloud. Then he looked at Chaska's face and understood. The answer was already settled. "Yes or no." the chief said.