Let's find us some beef that ain't so tough." They turned their horses, but as they rode off, the last rider paused. He looked at the ground. "Hey, boss," he called out. "Look here. Unshod pony tracks, fresh." The leader looked back, his eyes narrowing.
Luke's hand tightened on his reins. If they followed the tracks, he would have to kill them, all of them. "Old tracks," Luke said, his voice hard as iron. "From the rain last week." The rider hesitated, looking at Luke, then at the tracks. The leader spat again.
"Let it be. I need a drink more than I need a scalp." They rode off down the valley, their laughter fading into the distance. Luke sat on his horse for a long time, watching them go. He was shaking, not from fear, but from a rage so hot it made his vision blur. He felt dirty.
He felt hollowed out. He turned to Roan and rode back toward the camp, unaware that Ayanna was shadowing him from the ridge. Her bow lowered, her face a mask of confusion. When he reached the camp, the sun was down. He dismounted near the corral, his movements stiff.
Ayanna was waiting for him. She stepped out of the shadows. "You let them go," she said. Luke didn't look at her. He began to unsaddle Roan, jerking the cinch strap loose with unnecessary force.
"I got rid of them," he said shortly. "They saw the tracks," Ayanna said, her voice rising. "They will talk. They will tell the soldiers. You should have killed them." Luke spun around.
The saddle hit the ground with a heavy thud. "And then what?" he shouted. "Then five men don't come back to town. Then the search party start? Then they come looking for bodies and find us?
You are a warrior," she yelled back, stepping into his space. "A warrior does not let men speak to him like that. I heard them. I heard what they called you." "You heard?" Luke laughed, a bitter, jagged sound. "Then you know what I am to them.
I am trash. I am a traitor." He paced away from her, then turned back, his chest heaving. "I stood there and let them spit on me to keep your camp safe, Ayanna. I ate their dirt so you wouldn't have to bury your father." "You bring their trouble with you," she accused, though her voice wavered. "Everywhere you go, the white world follows." "Because I can't cut it out of me," Luke roared.
The camp had gone silent. People were watching from the fires. Luke didn't care. "I am not one of them anymore," he said, his voice dropping to a desperate rasp. "They hate me, but I am not one of you, either.