They moved north, deeper into the labyrinth of canyons and mesas that made up the heart of Apache country. The terrain was brutal, steep climbs, narrow passes, dry creek beds that could flood without warning. But the Apache moved through it like they'd been born knowing every rock and turn. Ethan struggled to keep up. His horse stumbled on loose scree.
He got turned around twice in identical-looking canyons. By the time they stopped for the night, he was exhausted and humbled. Kale found him sitting by the fire, rubbing his sore legs. The kid said something that sounded sympathetic and handed him a waterskin. Ethan drank gratefully.
Thanks. Kale mimed riding a horse, then falling off, then getting back on. The message was clear, keep trying. Yeah, Shan, Ethan said, I'll get better. Over the next few days, he did, slowly, painfully, but he learned.
He learned to read the land the way the Apache did, looking for signs invisible to untrained eyes. He learned which plants held water and which would make you sick. He learned to move quietly, to step where the rock was solid, to trust his horse's instincts when his own failed him. And in the evenings, he started teaching. It began with Kale and two other young men, barely old enough to fight.
Ethan showed them how to clean and maintain the captured rifles, how to sight properly, how to control their breathing. He taught them the basics of cover and concealment, how to use terrain to their advantage, how to think three moves ahead. Word spread. Soon he had eight students, then 12. Even some of the older warriors showed up, skeptical at first, but willing to learn.
Nashoba watched from a distance, his face unreadable. One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, Ayla sat beside Ethan while he cleaned his rifle. You're good at this. At what? Teaching, leading.
The young men respect you. They respect the rifle. I'm just the guy holding it. No, they respect you because you do not treat them like children. You treat them like warriors.
That matters. Ethan thought about that. I keep thinking about what Nashoba said, about how this is a war they can't win. Teaching them to fight feels like preparing them to die. It is.
But it is also giving them a choice. They They can die running or they can die standing. You are teaching them to stand. And that's supposed to make it better? It does not make it better.
It makes it bearable. She looked at him. You know this. You have been standing your whole life, even when you wanted to run. Ethan set down the rifle.