Not until the danger is past. Not until you can stand before the tribe and say it without shame." Luke nodded. He felt a dull ache in his chest, a mixture of rejection and profound respect. "I can wait." He said. Ayanna looked at him, her gaze softening.
She reached out and touched his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "Do not make me wait too long, cowboy." She whispered. They sat the rest of the night in silence, huddled under the blanket, listening to the rain slow and stop. They did not kiss again, but their hands remained clasped, an anchor in the dark. The morning brought a gray, washed-out light and a visitor, a trader.
A man known to the Apache as a fair dealer in a land of cheats, rode into the valley leading a pack mule. He was a Mexican man named Chavez, old and wrinkled like a dried apple. Nantan welcomed him. They sat by the fire, smoking. Luke stood nearby, translating when the dialects grew too thick.
Chavez brought tobacco and sugar, but he also brought news that made the blood run cold. "There is a man." Chavez said, speaking in Spanish, "a patron, Silas Morgan." Luke stiffened at the name. He knew it. Morgan was a cattle baron from Texas who had moved west with enough money to buy the law and enough hired guns to enforce it. "He is buying the politicians." Chavez said.
"He wants the valley. Not this one, but the lower ones, the winter grounds. He has told the army that the Apache are raiding his stock. He is demanding they clear the territory." Luke looked at Nantan. "The men I saw yesterday." Luke said, his voice grim.
"They weren't drifters. They were scouts for Morgan. They were checking the perimeter." Nantan's face was a mask of stone. "And the army?" Chavez shrugged. "Captain Harlan is a man who likes gold more than peace.
Morgan has promised a railroad spur. That means money for everyone, except you." When Chavez left, the mood in the camp was darker than the storm clouds. A council was called. Nantan, Taza, the subchiefs, and Luke sat in a circle. Ayanna sat just outside the ring, listening.
"We must run." one elder said. "Into the deep mountains of Mexico." "We will starve there." Taza argued, slapping his bad leg. "And the Mexicans will hunt us, too. We should fight. Make them bleed for every inch "They have Gatling guns." Luke said quietly.
"And cannons. If you fight them head-on, Taza, you will die. All of you." "Then what?" Taza demanded, turning on Luke. "You are the white man. How do we beat a man who buys the world?" Luke looked at the circle of faces.
He felt the weight of their survival on his back. "Morgan is a businessman." Luke said. "He doesn't want a war. War is expensive. He wants a slaughter.