And they're hunting Vance's men. Good. They left the body and rode on, faster now. Within an hour they found two more, both militia, both killed in ambush. The Apache had hit them hard and fast, then vanished.
Ethan felt a glimmer of hope. If Ayla's people were already fighting Vance, maybe they'd be willing to finish it. By late afternoon, they reached the edge of Apache territory. The canyon opened into a wide valley, dotted with piñon and juniper. A small creek running through the center.
Smoke rose from somewhere ahead. Cookfires, maybe. Or camp. Ethan reined in. We should announce ourselves.
Last thing we need is an arrow in the back. Ayla nodded. She dismounted and walked forward, calling out in Apache, her voice carrying across the valley. For a long moment, nothing. Then figures appeared from the rocks.
Four warriors armed with rifles and bows. Their faces painted for war. They moved toward Ayla, speaking rapidly in Apache. Ethan couldn't understand the words, but he caught the tone. Suspicious.
Angry. One of the warriors pointed at Ethan, his voice sharp. Ayla answered, her tone firm, gesturing between Ethan and herself. The argument went on for several minutes. Ethan sat still on Smoke, hands visible, rifle slung across his back.
He didn't reach for it, didn't move, just waited. Finally, one of the warriors, older, with a scar across his cheek, stepped forward. He looked Ethan up and down, then spat something at Ayla. She replied, her voice hard as iron. The warrior studied Ethan for another long moment, then he nodded and turned, gesturing for them to follow.
Ayla walked back to Ethan. They will take us to Nashoba, but they do not trust you. Can't say I blame them. They followed the warriors deeper into the valley. The camp appeared slowly, hidden among the rocks and trees.
Maybe 30 people, mostly women and children. A handful of men too old or too young to fight. They watched Ethan with hard, silent eyes as he passed. Nashoba waited near the largest shelter, a lean-to built against the canyon wall. He was tall and lean, his hair streaked with gray, his face lined with age and hardship.
When he saw Ayla, his expression softened slightly. They spoke in Apache, rapid and intense. Nashoba's eyes kept flicking to Ethan, assessing, judging. Finally, Ayla turned to Ethan. He will hear you, but if he does not like what you say, we both die.