The camp became silent.
“You entered our land without permission.”
The frontiersman nodded.
“Yes.”
“You carried my son into my camp.”
“Yes.”
“You gave him your coat.”
The frontiersman looked at the garment still around the wounded man's shoulders.
“He was freezing.”
“You placed your life beneath his.”
The stranger did not know what that meant.
The chief turned toward his daughter.
She sensed something was wrong before he spoke.
Her eyes narrowed.
The chief said something to her in Apache.
She answered sharply.
His expression did not change.
Then he looked at the frontiersman.
“To repay the life you returned to me, I offer what is greater than horses, weapons, or silver.”
The frontiersman stared at him.
The chief pointed toward his daughter.
The young woman's face changed instantly.
Disbelief.
Then outrage.
The chief's voice carried across the silent camp.
“You will take my daughter as your wife.”
Nobody moved.
The wind pushed snow across the ground between them.
The frontiersman actually looked behind himself.
As though the chief might somehow be speaking to another man.
He wasn't.
The daughter took one step toward her father.
“No.”
The chief did not turn.
The frontiersman raised a hand.
“Wait.”
The daughter swung toward him.
“Do not speak.”
“I was going to agree with you.”
That stopped her for half a second.
The chief frowned.
The frontiersman shook his head.
“I don't want payment.”
“You saved my son.”
“I didn't buy your daughter.”
The camp became even quieter.
The daughter stared at him.
The stranger looked directly at the chief.
“With respect, I will take food if you have it. Maybe a blanket. In the morning, I'll find my horse and leave.”
The older man studied him.
“You refuse my daughter?”
The frontiersman glanced at the young woman.
Her expression suggested the wrong answer might get him killed before her father could intervene.
“I refuse to treat her like a debt.”
Something changed in the chief's eyes.
Not anger.
Interest.
The daughter crossed her arms.
“For once,” she said coldly, “the white man has spoken wisely.”
The frontiersman sighed.
“I'd like that written down somewhere.”
Nobody laughed.
Except the wounded son.
From where he lay beneath blankets, he gave a weak, painful chuckle.
The chief turned to him.
His son said several words.
The old man's mouth almost formed a smile.
Almost.
Then he faced the frontiersman again.
“You will not leave tomorrow.”
The stranger's hand moved instinctively toward the gun belt he no longer wore.
“Why?”
“Because the trap that caught my son was placed yesterday.”
The frontiersman's expression changed.
“I saw tracks.”
The chief nodded.
“Three more traps were found last week.”