"Or maybe you're very good at hiding." Morrison pulled a folded paper from his jacket. "This is a warrant for your arrest, signed by the territorial governor. Murder, conspiracy, harboring fugitives. The trial is scheduled for 2 weeks from today in Prescott.
You'll hang 3 days after the verdict." "Seems like you've already decided the verdict." "The evidence is clear. Vance's men identified you as the shooter. We found your ranch burned to the ground, Apache tracks everywhere.
It's an open-and-shut case." "Vance burned my ranch after he murdered my family. That's the evidence you're ignoring." Morrison's expression didn't change. "Colonel Vance was a war hero and a decorated officer.
You're a drifter with a grudge. Who do you think a jury will believe?" "It doesn't matter what they believe. It matters what's true." "Truth is what we make it, Cross.
And right now, the truth is that you're a criminal who sided with savages against your own people." Morrison turned to leave, then paused. "The Apache boy you traded yourself for? We found him this morning, shot by one of our patrols about 5 miles from here. Apparently, they didn't recognize him in the dark."
Ethan's blood went cold. "You're lying." "I wish I were. It would make the paperwork simpler." Morrison's voice was flat, indifferent.
"Your sacrifice meant nothing. The boy died anyway. I thought you should know." He walked away, his boots echoing down the corridor. Ethan stood frozen, Morrison's words echoing in his head.
Kael was dead. The kid who'd followed him around asking questions, who'd worked so hard to become a warrior, who'd trusted Ethan to teach him how to survive. Dead because Ethan had trusted the word of a military officer. The rage came slowly, building like a storm. He grabbed the bars of his cell and shook them, the metal cutting into his palms, his voice rising in a wordless roar that made the guards come running.
They stood outside his cell with rifles raised, shouting at him to calm down, to get back. Ethan didn't calm down. He threw the bowl and cup against the wall, shattering them. He kicked the bench until his foot went numb. He shouted until his voice gave out and his throat was raw.
And when the rage finally burned itself out, he collapsed on the floor and stared at nothing. Kael was dead. And it was his fault. The hours crawled past. Ethan sat in the corner of his cell, knees drawn up, head resting against the cold stone.
He thought about Kael's eager smile, about the way the kid had tried so hard to learn English just to talk to him, about the pride in his eyes when he finally hit the center of the target. All of it gone, snuffed out by a soldier's bullet in the dark. Around sunset, Ethan heard commotion outside the fort. Shouting, the sound of running feet, bells ringing. He pulled himself up to look through the high window, but he could only see a slice of sky, now turning orange and purple with the dying light.
A guard appeared at his cell. ""We're moving you, now."" "Why?" "Because the savages are attacking the supply depot 2 miles south. Captain's orders are to get you out of here before they get any closer." They unlocked his cell and marched him outside at gunpoint. The fort was in controlled chaos, soldiers running to positions on the walls, officers barking orders, horses being saddled in a rush.