"The captain wanted to make an example. He ordered us to execute them."
"And did you?"
"No. I refused. So did two other men."
"The captain had us arrested, charged with insubordination. We spent three months in the stockade. When they let us out, I was dishonorably discharged."
I met her eyes. "I didn't refuse because I suddenly became a good man. I refused because I'd seen enough killing. I was tired of it."
"Tired of what it did to the men who did it and the people it was done to."
Takala was quiet for a long time. Then she said, "The man who killed Matto, who shot him at Rio Grande, was that before or after you refused the order?"
"Before. Two years before."
"So you were still a soldier then. Still following orders?"
"Yes."
"And if you had been ordered to shoot the prisoners, would you have done it? Then, when you were still that man?"
I wanted to lie. To tell her I would have refused even then. But she deserved the truth, however ugly. "I don't know," I said.
"Maybe. Probably. I was a different person then."
She nodded slowly, like I'd confirmed something she already knew. "At least you were honest."
She stood up and went to her room, but this time she didn't close the door all the way. It was a small thing. Barely noticeable. But I noticed.
That night, for the first time since she'd arrived, I didn't hear her crying. The next morning brought Marshal Tobias Quinn. I was outside feeding the horses when I saw him ride up the long approach to the house. He sat his horse like a man who'd spent too many years in the saddle and knew every ache it would cost him later.
When he dismounted, he moved stiffly, favoring his left leg. "Silas," he said by way of greeting.
"Tobias. It's been a while."
"Three years. Since you came into town for supplies and I tried to convince you to rejoin civilization."
He stamped his feet against the cold. "Can we talk inside? My bones don't take the cold like they used to."
I let him into the kitchen. Takala was there, kneading bread dough at the table. She looked up when we entered, her eyes going immediately wary. Quinn's gaze took her in, and I saw him make the calculation.
Apache woman. White rancher. He was smart enough not to comment, but I could see the questions forming behind his eyes. "Coffee?" I asked.