They were not wearing uniforms. They wore long dusters and hats pulled low. Elias raised his Henry rifle. He did not fire wildly. He took a breath, aimed at a rider preparing to torch the winter food stores, and squeeze the trigger.
The man flew backward off his horse, the torch landing harmlessly in the snow. The raid lasted less than 10 minutes, as quickly as they had come. The riders wheeled their mounts and vanished into the dark, leaving behind the smell of gunpowder and death. Elias scrambled to his feet. Scanning the darkness, the camp was in shock.
Wailing rose from the far side of the circle. He ran toward the sound. Winona was already there. A crowd had gathered around a small form lying in the snow. It was a boy, no older than 10, Swift Fox.
He was Winona's cousin, a brighteyed child who had taught Elias how to snare rabbits. A stray bullet had found him as he ran for cover. Winona was on her knees, her hands pressed against the boy's chest, but the blood was dark and spreading fast. She looked up at Elias, her face a mask of shattered grief. "He is gone," she whispered.
The grief in the camp did not stay as sorrow. It curdled instantly into rage. The next morning, the council met. The air was thick with the desire for violence. The body of Swift Fox was wrapped in a blanket, waiting for the burial scaffold, a silent testament to the cost of their existence.
Iron Dog stood in the center of the circle. He looked like a demon of vengeance, his face painted with black ash. He pointed a shaking finger at Elias. "It is him!" Iron Dog roared, his voice echoing off the canyon walls.
Before he came, we were hungry, but we were safe. Now the white men come. The traitor sees him. And the next night, death rides into our camp. He is the beacon.
A murmur of agreement ran through the assembled warriors. Eyes turned to Elias, hard and unforgiving. They needed a reason for the boy's death, and Elias was a convenient one. He draws them here, Iron Dog continued, pacing like a caged wolf. He is cursed.
His shadow brings the soldiers. We must cut the rod out before it kills the whole tree. Give him to the spirits. Leave his body on the boundary line as a message that we are clean of him. Two warriors stepped forward, grabbing Elias by the arms.
He did not fight. He looked at the chief who sat with his head bowed, the weight of his people crushing him. Then Winona stepped into the circle. She did not ask for permission. She walked to the center and shoved Iron Dog back with a force that surprised them both.
"You are a fool, Iron Dog," she said, her voice shaking, not with fear, but with fury. "You think killing this man will stop Vain? You think it will stop the whiskey runners? They do not need him to hate us. They hate us because we breathe.
She turned to the council, tears streaming down her face, freezing on her cheeks. You want blood? She demanded. Go take it from the men who killed my cousin. But do not spill it here and call it justice.
This man fought beside us last night. I saw him drop the rider who tried to burn the corn. Iron Dog sneered. He fought to save his own skin. He is a coward who ran from his own war.
IA stepped forward, shaking off the hands that held him. "I ran," I said, his voice cutting through the wind. "The council went silent." "I ran," he repeated, looking at the chief. "I was a sergeant.
My commander, Major Lynch, ordered us to attack a camp on the Sand Creek." "He said they were hostiles." But when we rode over the ridge, Elias's voice broke. He swallowed hard and forced the words out. They were old men, women, children under a flag of truce.
I told my men to hold fire. Lynch shot the man next to me for disobeying. I didn't run from the war. I ran from the murder. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled map.
This shows the supply lines Vain uses to smuggle the whiskey. He said Lynch protects him. They are using the war as a cover to get rich. I have the proof. That is why they want me dead.
Not because I am a deserter, but because I am a witness. The chief looked up. He stared at Elias for a long time, measuring the truth in his eyes. If this is true, the chief said slowly. Then you are a danger to us, but you are also a weapon.
The reprieve was temporary, and the peace was fragile. The camp remained on high alert. 2 days later, the sky turned a bruised purple, promising a storm of biblical proportions. Winona took two ponies and went to the river to break the ice for the evening water. She insisted on going alone, needing the silence to mourn her cousin.
Elias was repairing a cinch in the lodge when the feeling hit him. It was a cold prickle at the base of his neck. He grabbed his rifle and ran toward the river. He was too late. He crested the bank just in time to see a struggle on the ice.
Three men, rough-looking, bearded, wearing the heavy coats of the whiskey gang, were wrestling Winona onto a horse. She fought like a wild cat, slashing with her knife, but one of the men struck her hard across the face with the butt of a pistol. She went limp. "No!" Elias roared.
Raising his rifle, he fired. But the men were already spurring their horses up the far bank. The bullet kicked up snow inches from the lead rider. We got the [censored]. One of them shouted.
That's our ticket. They disappeared into the tree line, heading toward the pass that led back to the fort. They were taking her to trade. She was leverage proof that the tribe was hostile. Or perhaps a bargaining chip to force Elias out of hiding.