We need to stop that meeting." Luke said. "We need to prove that Morgan is lying. We need to prove he bribed Harlan. We need to show the town that he isn't a pioneer, but a thief who is stealing their land, too." "And how do we do that?" Taza asked, mocking. "Do we walk into town and ask nicely?" "I go in." Luke said.
"I find the proof. I know how men like Morgan keep their books. There is always a record. There is always a witness who wasn't paid enough to keep his mouth shut." "You will be hanged the moment you step on the street." Taza said. "Not if I am not alone." Luke said.
"Not if I am just a drifter passing through with his wife." He looked directly at Ayanna. "We go in disguised. We get the proof. We bring it to the meeting. And while I am in that room, you, Taza, take the warriors and hit his supply wagons outside of town.
You don't kill the drivers. You burn the wagons. You his wallet while I his reputation." Taza looked at Luke, then at his sister. "He is mad." Taza said. "Ayanna, tell him he is mad." Ayanna stood up.
The blanket slipped from her shoulders. She looked at Taza, then at the fire, and finally at Luke. "Blood calls for blood." she said softly. "That is the Apache way." Taza nodded, vindicated. "But." she continued, her voice gaining strength, "Father said to choose survival.
If we attack the ranch, we die. If we do nothing, we die." She walked around the fire until she stood before Luke. She looked into his face, searching for the truth of him, searching for the man she had almost given herself to before the world fell apart. "You believe this can work?" she asked. "I believe it is the only chance we have." Luke answered.
"Then I will go." she said. The camp was silent. Taza stared at her, his mouth open. "You will walk into the den of the wolves." Taza asked. "I will walk where I must." Ayanna said.
"To save what is left." The preparation was a somber affair. They had looted some clothes from a settler's wagon months ago, keeping them for trade. Now, they were weapons. Ayanna retired to a small shelter to change. When she emerged, Luke felt his breath catch in his throat.
She wore a faded calico dress, high-collared and long-sleeved, meant for a white woman. It was too tight in the shoulders and loose in the waist, but it covered her. She had washed the war paint from her face. Her hair was braided and pinned up, hidden beneath a heavy woolen shawl. She looked uncomfortable, pulling at the collar, her movements restricted by the heavy fabric.
She looked like a stranger. "You look." Luke started, but couldn't find the word. "I feel like a trapped bird." she said, her voice tight. "This cloth, it scratches. It smells of soap and fear." "It is armor." Luke said.