Here, the war was against existence itself. At dawn, the council was called for the second time since Elias had stumbled into their lives. 321 warriors gathered in a wide half circle. The sky was a bruised purple, the sun struggling to rise over the canyon walls. The air smelled of wet earth and gun oil.
But this time there was no wedding blanket. There was no talk of binding promises to save a life. The question on the table was total fight. Flee into the high mountains where starvation waited or attempt a negotiation that would likely end in chains. Chief Standing Elk stood in the center.
He looked older than Elias had ever seen him. The escape from the fort had drained his reserves. He leaned heavily on a staff of ash wood. Elias stepped forward. He felt the eyes of the 321 men on him.
They were not looking at a stranger anymore. They were looking at a man who had bled with them, but who was also of the blood that hunted them. "I will not lie to you," Elias said. His voice was raspy, carrying across the silent ranks. "Negotiation is death.
Major Lynch cannot let us live. If we surrender, Vain will scatter you to the reservations in the south, where the fever waits. If we run to the mountains, the winter will finish what the soldiers started. Iron Dog stepped out of the line. And if we fight, he challenged.
They have the Gatling guns. They have the cannons. We have rifles and courage. That is not enough against the numbers Vain has bought. It is enough if we choose the ground, Elias said.
He looked around the circle, meeting the gaze of men he had eaten with, worked with, and fought beside. My crime was not desertion, Elias said, dropping the bomb he had carried in his chest for months. The army calls me a deserter, but that is not my sin. My sin is that I was part of the machine. I rode with the columns that burned the crops in the south.
I stood guard while the treaties were signed and then broken before the ink was dry. I was the sword in the hand of the liar. A ripple of tension went through the crowd, hands tightened on knives. I cannot undo that," Elias continued, his voice shaking slightly. "But I can offer you the only thing I have left.
I know how Lynch thinks. I know how the militia moves. They are arrogant. They think you are a mob, not an army." He pulled the ledger page and the crate slat from his jacket.
"I have the evidence that can hang them," he said. "But paper is slow. We need time. I offer you my life to buy that time. Put me in the front.
Use me to draw them in. If I fall, I fall on your side of the line. Iron Dog stared at him. The resentment that had festered for months was still there, burning in the warrior's eyes. He took a step toward Elias, his hand resting on his tomahawk.
Words. Iron Dog spat. A white man's words are like the wind. They change direction when the storm comes. Why should we trust the sword to fight the hand that forged it?
He raised his voice, turning to the warriors. He brings the lightning. And now he tells us how to dodge the thunder. I say we give him to vain. Maybe the agent will take his prize and leave us be.
It was a moment that teetered on the edge of violence. A few warriors murmured agreement. The fear was high, and a scapegoat was an easy comfort. Winona stepped between them. She did not shove Iron Dog this time.
She stood like a statue, her presence radiating a cold, terrifying authority. He returned for me, she said. Her voice was not loud, but it cut through the murmuring like a knife. When the whiskey runners took me, he rode into the blizzard. When the soldiers took me, he walked into the lion's den.
He has bled on the snow for this family. She turned to Iron Dog, her eyes blazing. You speak of custom, Iron Dog. Custom says a man is judged by his deeds. This man has proven his loyalty not with promises but with action.
He is not a white man today. He is the husband of the chief's daughter and he stands with us. The chief looked at Iron Dog. The silence stretched heavy and suffocating. Then slowly Iron Dog took his hand off his weapon.
He nodded once, a sharp jerky motion. Then let him lead us to the dying place. Iron Dog growled. The council was interrupted by the sound of a horse galloping hard. A scout burst into the clearing, his pony foaming.
He slid to the ground and ran to the chief. They burned the cache at Red Rock. The scout gasped, the winter corn, the dried meat. It is all ash. A collective groan went through the crowd.
That cache was their insurance against the deep snows. And the scout continued, struggling for breath. The Miller family, the settlers, who were friendly to us. They are gone. Their cabin is empty and vain.
What of Vain, the chief demanded. The scout pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his belt. He nailed this to the burnt trees. The chief took the paper, but he could not read the scrolled English. He handed it to Winona.
She read it, her face draining of color. He has signed the order. She whispered. He has declared the band hostile combatants. It authorizes the militia to take any measures necessary.
It puts a bounty on scalps. Elias felt a cold pit open in his stomach. It was an extermination order. Then we have no choice. Elias said, "We fight."