“Now you make it sound like a just cause,” Kate said, “but I believe the idea tickles you as much as Bren.”

“No, not that much,” Moon said, feeling itchy, excited, but trying not to show it. “Come on.”

They walked back through the pines to the rancheria, past the children and the squat Mimbre women at the cookfires, to where Bren was sitting on his bedroll, Maurice Dumas next to him. The Apaches had sighted them early this morning and brought them up to the camp. The case of whiskey had been opened and a bottle passed around as they discussed this business of meeting Sundeen. The whiskey was good after nearly a month of sour corn-beer. The talk was good. The idea seemed good, too. But did it make sense? Or didn't it have it?

Bo Catlett was here and another former 10th cavalryman by the name of Thomas Jefferson. Eladio Duro, the son of Armando, was here with a heavily armed farmer named Alfonso who wore three belts of bullets. Red was here-it was his camp-with seven Mimbre Apache males who remained silent and let Red speak for them-as he was doing now in halting Spanish.

When he finished Bo Catlett said, “It seem that way,” and looked at Bren Early. “Captain, Red say, do these people want to die? Or is it us want to die?”

“Tell him,” Bren said, “these people will never stop hunting him as long as they live, or we let them live.”

“He knows all about that,” Bo Catlett said. “He wants to know, what is this standing and waiting for your enemy to come at you?”

“Tell him it's the way white men face each other with honor. I mean civilized people,” Bren said to Bo. “It's the way we've always done it.”

“Tell him that?” Bo Catlett said, glancing at Moon and back to Bren. “You gonna have to explain it to me first. Lest you plan to bushwack him in the draw. We got seven hundred pounds of dynamite could help.”

“Artillery,” Bren said, and was thoughtful a moment. “I told him he could bring his men up. Gave him my word on that.”

Bo Catlett translated into Spanish and Moon watched Red and his Mimbres as they looked at one another.

“They think you must be drunk,” Moon said to Bren. “Let me make a speech for a minute.”

He spoke in Spanish, for the benefit of the Apaches and the Mexican farmers, though Bo Catlett's people were included. Moon said that some of this business with Sundeen was personal and he didn't expect anyone to fight because of something that happened a long time ago in Sonora. But Sundeen and his people also represented the company and the company wanted this land.

“Tell them it's a question of honor,” Bren said. “Oh-nohr.”

“It's a question of how you want to live,” Moon said in Spanish. “My business isn't to hide and shoot at them the rest of my life. I have other things I want to do.” He looked at Kate. “But I can't do them until I finish this. Can we win? I believe so. I believe the company will look at us and decide it isn't worth all the time and money and they'll go somewhere else for their copper.” Moon's gaze moved to Bren. “In fact, I'm surprised the company hasn't sent somebody to talk to us-”

Bren didn't move; then shrugged; then tried to think of something to say.

“-but I believe the company will when they see we're determined to stay.”

“That's it,” Bren said. “This is the company's final show of strength. And when they see it fail, they'll cave in.”

Moon seemed to accept this. He said, “Will some of us die?” And looked at Eladio and Alfonso. “Some of us already have. But I would rather face them now than risk being shot in the back planting corn. Maybe you don't like to fight this way. I don't blame you. But this is the way it is.”

When Moon appeared finished, Bren said, “Did you mention honor? It didn't sound very inspiring.”

Moon said, “It's their lives. It's up to them.”

Following the trail down from the rancheria, Moon close to Kate, he wanted to talk to her, be near her. But Bren rode a length behind and told how Sooy Smith had entered Okolona and captured a big bunch of Rebel officers and men on furlough, February 17, 1864-Bren full of war again-February 20, 3:00 P.M., reached a point south of Prairie Station with two brigades and learned that Nathan Bedford Forrest was facing him with a force of 7,000. You know what Sooy did?

“What?” Moon said, interested.

“God-” Kate said.

Maurice Dumas watched and listened, fascinated.

Later in the morning the mountain people began to arrive at the stone house with the charred furniture in the yard:

Bo Catlett, Thomas Jefferson and two more in “US” braces and worn cavalry boots. Bo said they had flipped coins and the ones who lost had to stay home with the families and the herds. They had a talk with Moon and Bren Early, got Bren to agree to an idea and the 10th Cavalry veterans went down into the barranca with two fifty-pound cases of dynamite.

Young Eladio Duro, Alfonso with his cartridge belts, and six farmers carrying old Ballards and Remingtons represented their families. (Others were scattered and could not be notified.) Eladio wore a green sash, a sword and a caplock Dragoon pistol his grandfather had carried at Resaca de la Palma. Everyone full of war.

Red and his seven Mimbres squatted in the yard with a clay pot of ochre paint; with bowls of atole, the flour gruel they would eat as their last meal before battle; with small leather sacks of hod-dentin, the magic powder that would protect them from bullets; with cigars and tulapai, the corn-beer, and chants that reminded them they were the Shis-Inday, the invincible Apache…the chosen ones. Those not chosen for this-another twenty in Red's band-were in the thicket behind the house, up on the escarpment and watching the back trails. (Sundeen would have to come straight at them up the barranca, and not pull any sneaky tricks.)

Bren unloaded and reloaded his .44 Russians and his fancy Merwin & Hulberts and shoved a seven-cartridge tube into the stock of his polished Spencer…ready for war, brimming over with it, telling Moon how Sooy Smith had dug in to make a stand at Ivey's Farm against Barteau who had taken over for Tyree Bell, see, when Tyree Bell had become sick…confusing but, to Moon, a good sound; it matched the excitement he felt.

Maurice Dumas spent some time inside the smoke-blackened house with Kate, helping her as she baked about a dozen loaves of bread, but most of the time looking out the window at the Apaches and the Mexican farmers, at Moon and Early out by the adobe wall.

It was exciting and it was scary, too. Maurice wondered if he was the only one who felt it. Everyone else seemed so calm, or resigned. He said to Kate, “The thing is, they don't have to do this.”

“Yes, they do,” Kate said. “They believe they do, which is the same thing.”

“Twenty-two,” Maurice said, “against however many Sundeen brings. Probably twice as many.”

“Twenty-three,” Kate said, finished with the bread, loading a Henry now with .44's.

“You're gonna take part in this?”

“It's my house too,” Kate said.

In a little while Moon sent Maurice Dumas down to White Tanks to tell Sundeen he could come any time he wanted.