"He has purchased the grazing rights to the entire basin, including your high valley. He has the deeds, signed and stamped by the territorial governor." "He bought land people are living on." Luke said, his grip on his hat tightening until the felt began to tear. "He bought public land." Harlan corrected. "And as far as the law is concerned, the Apache have no claim to it. They are squatters, dangerous squatters." Luke stepped forward, placing his hands on the desk.
"Captain, these people saved my life. They have honored their word. If you send Morgan's men in there, it won't be a relocation. It will be a massacre. You know how Morgan operates." Harlan stood up, his face hardening.
"Careful, Carver. You are walking a very thin line. You are already a deserter. Do not add traitor to the list. If you are found with them when the sweep begins, I cannot guarantee your safety.
In fact, I might have to order my men to treat you as a combatant." "So that is it?" Luke asked, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. "You just wash your hands of it?" "I follow orders." Harlan said. "And my orders are to secure the safety of the settlers. The Apache must go. To the reservation or to the grave.
It is their choice." Luke looked at the man he had once saluted. He saw no honor there, only ambition and fear. "Come, Nantan." Luke said. "There is nothing here for us." As they turned to leave, Harlan called out, "Carver, do yourself a favor. Ride south, alone.
Don't die for a lost cause." Luke didn't look back. Outside, crouched by the window, Ayanna felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She had heard the scratch of the pen on paper. She had heard the casual way the white captain traded their lives for grazing rights. It confirmed every dark story she had ever been told.
The law was a lie. The paper was a weapon. She slipped away into the shadows, her hatred for this system crystallizing into something sharp and deadly. But as she moved, she also thought of Luke's voice in that room defending them, challenging his own chief, risking his life to speak truth to power. He was an exile, just like them.
Luke and Nantan walked back to their horses. The heat seemed even more oppressive now. As they passed the Batwing Saloon, the sound of loud, boisterous laughter spilled out through the swinging doors. Luke paused. He recognized the voice.
It was a rough, gravelly baritone he had heard on the ridge weeks ago. "We hit them at dawn, boys." The voice bellowed. "The sweep starts Thursday. We're going to flush that vermin out of the rocks like rats. $5 for every scalp." Luke froze. Thursday?
That was 2 days from now. Nantan had heard it, too. He looked at Luke, his face unreadable. "We ride." Nantan said softly. They mounted and rode out of town, keeping a slow pace until they were clear of the buildings, then spurring their horses into a gallop.