Neshoba appeared beside Ethan, his rifle pointed at Vance. "It is over. Tell your men to lay down their weapons." Vance's eyes were wild, but his voice was still steady. "You think this changes anything? I'm a commissioned officer.
Kill me, and the territorial government will send a hundred men, 200. They'll burn every Apache camp from here to the border." "Then they will burn." Neshoba said calmly. "But you will already be dead." One of the militiamen broke. He threw down his rifle and raised his hands. "Don't shoot, please.
I'm done. I'm done." The other two followed, weapons clattering to the ground. Vance stood alone. Ethan stepped forward, his revolver leveled at Vance's chest. "It's over." Vance looked at him, and something shifted in his expression.
The calm facade cracked, revealing the rage beneath. "You self-righteous bastard! You think you're better than me? You think this makes you clean?" He laughed, harsh and bitter. "You're a killer, Cross, same as me.
The only difference is I don't pretend otherwise." "The difference," Ethan said quietly, "is I know what I am, and I'm trying to be something else." "There is no something else. There's just blood and dirt and men doing what they have to do to survive." "You didn't survive. You murdered." Vance's hand twitched toward his pistol. Ethan shot him. The bullet took Vance in the shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him against the canyon wall.
He slid down, leaving a red streak on the stone, his pistol falling from nerveless fingers. Ethan walked over and kicked the weapon away. Vance stared up at him, blood soaking through his uniform, his breathing ragged. "You should have killed me." Vance gasped. "Clean shot, right between the eyes.
That's how a real soldier does it." "I'm not a soldier anymore," Ethan said. "And you don't get a clean death." He turned to Nashoba. "He's yours. Do what you want with him." Nashoba studied Vance for a long moment. Then he looked at Ayla, who had appeared from the rocks, her face streaked with soot and blood.
"What do you say?" Ayla walked forward until she stood over Vance. She looked down at him with cold, hard eyes. "My father died because of men like you, my mother, my people. You talk about survival, but all you do is take. You are a parasite." Vance spat blood.
"And you're a dying race. A year from now, no one will even remember you existed." Ayla raised her rifle and shot him through the heart. The echo faded. Vance's body slumped, his eyes staring at nothing. No one spoke.
After a moment, Nashoba placed a hand on Ayla's shoulder. "It is done." She lowered the rifle, her hand shaking. "Yes, it is done." The Apache warriors began the grim work of searching the bodies, collecting weapons and ammunition. The three surviving militiamen sat with their hands bound, silent and terrified. Nashoba would decide their fate later.