You saved my people. That is something worth building on." Ethan turned to her. ""What happens now? The territorial government will come looking for Vance eventually?" When they find out what happened here they will find nothing.
We will bury the bodies, scatter the horses. This pass will look like it always has, empty, silent." Ayla's voice was calm. "And we will disappear like we always do." ""And me?"" "You can disappear with us, or you can go back. Try to rebuild."
She paused. "Or you can stay. Help us survive the winter. Teach our warriors what you know. Be part of something."
Ethan looked at her, really looked at her. This woman who had walked into his life with an impossible request and somehow given him a reason to fight again. To live again. "I'll stay," he said. "For a while, anyway."
Ayla smiled, small but genuine. "Good." They sat in silence for a while longer, watching the Apache warriors finish their work below. The bodies were being dragged to a ravine on the far side of the pass where they'd be buried deep and forgotten. The weapons were being sorted and distributed.
The horses, those that hadn't run off or been killed, were being rounded up. It was efficient, brutal, necessary. Nashoba climbed up to join them, moving with surprising agility for a man his age. He sat on Ethan's other side, breathing hard but steady. "It was a good plan," he said.
"Risky, but good." "It worked," Ethan said. "That's all that matters." "No. What matters is what comes after."
Nashoba looked at him. "You're welcome in our camp for as long as you wish, but know this. If you stay, you will not be a guest. You will be one of us. That means you share our burdens, our risks, our enemies."
"I understand." "Do you? Because our enemies are not just men like Vance. They are hunger, disease, winter, the slow death of a people who have nowhere left to run." Nashoba's voice was hard.
"We are not fighting for victory. We are fighting to survive one more season, one more year. That is all we have." "Then I'll help you survive." Nashoba studied him for a long moment.
Then he nodded. "We will see." They climbed down together and rejoined the others. The warriors had nearly finished their work. The three surviving militiamen were being marched away at gunpoint, probably to be released miles from here with no horses and a stern warning about what would happen if they ever came back.
Ethan didn't ask, didn't need to. He found Smoke grazing near the northern end of the pass and checked her over. She was skittish but unharmed. He stroked her neck, murmuring quietly until she calmed. One of the younger Apache warriors approached, a kid, maybe 16, with bright, intelligent eyes and a rifle that looked too big for him.