Ethan stood outside his shelter watching the flakes drift down, each one disappearing the moment it touched the still warm earth. Winter in the Arizona territory wasn't like Kansas winter. No deep drifts, no weeks of being snowed in. But it was cold enough to kill if you weren't prepared. And the Apache were always prepared.
He'd been with them for 2 months now. Long enough that the children no longer stared at him like he was some kind of strange animal. Long enough that he could follow most conversations in Apache, even if he couldn't speak it worth a damn. Long enough that when he looked around the camp, he didn't feel like an outsider anymore. Just a man trying to figure out where he belonged.
Kael appeared beside him, bundled in a heavy blanket, his breath misting in the cold air. He said something in Apache, gesturing at the snow. "I don't know what that means," Ethan said. Kael tried again, slower, then finally gave up and mimed shivering dramatically. Ethan smiled.
"Yeah, it's cold. You going to make it, or should I find you another blanket?" Kael puffed up his chest and said something that sounded defiant. "Right. Tough guy."
Ethan clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get the training started before we both freeze." They'd established a routine over the past weeks. Every morning, weather permitting, Ethan worked with the young warriors on marksmanship, tactics, and hand-to-hand combat. The progress was slow but steady.
Kael had gone from barely hitting the target to grouping shots within a hand's width at 50 yards. The others were improving, too, learning to think like soldiers instead of just fighters. But today, as they assembled in the training area, a flat stretch of ground near the eastern edge of camp, Ethan noticed something different. Nashoba was there, along with several of the senior warriors and two of the elders. They watched in silence as the young men went through their drills.
Ethan ignored them and focused on the training. He had Kael and another boy named Takoda working on reloading under pressure while the others practiced transitioning from rifle to pistol. It was basic stuff, but basic kept you alive. When they finished, Nashoba approached. "Walk with me."
It wasn't a request. They walked away from the camp, following a deer trail up into the rocks. Neither man spoke until they were well out of earshot. Then Nashoba stopped and turned to face him. "You have done well with the young men," Nashoba said.
"They listen to you. They learn." "They're good students. They are also very young. And what you are teaching them will get them killed."
Ethan felt his jaw tighten. "You asked me to train them." "I asked you to teach them to survive, not to fight like soldiers." Nashoba's voice was calm but firm. "There is a difference."
"Is there? Because from where I'm standing, survival and fighting look pretty much the same." "That is because you are still thinking like a soldier, like a man who believes the right tactics and enough bullets can win any fight." Nashoba shook his head. "We cannot win this fight, not with guns, not with tactics.
The white men will always have more of both." "Then what do you want me to do?" "Teach them to be Apache, to use the land, to strike and vanish, to survive when the enemy thinks they are already dead." Nashoba looked out over the canyon. "You fought at Dead Man's Pass because you wanted revenge.