Part 4 — After Crossing the River, Three Hundred Horsemen Surrounded Me, but Their Leader’s Face Turned Strangely Pale

Naya’s last words were almost carried away by the sound of the wind, but I still heard them clearly.

Don Eusebio was a prisoner.

Elena closed her eyes. Rain and tears mixed together on her face.

“Where is Father?”

“In the old warehouse,” Naya said. “But he is not the only one there.”

Arona raised his hand. Three hundred horsemen moved noiselessly.

I brought Elena’s sorrel foal to her, while I myself went beside Naya. My wet boots sank into the mud with every step. The copper medal pressed against my chest and was cold like a river stone.

That night I understood for the first time that the life of the child saved years ago had not been merely a chance event.

The old warehouse stood at the end of the valley. Half the roof had collapsed, and the Valdés mark was visible on the door. Four horses stood nearby.

“Four?” I whispered.

Naya nodded.

“Leandro is not acting alone.”

Arona sent two warriors to the left and two to the rear exit. Naya and I were sneaking toward the door when we heard a voice from inside.

“If Tomás does not return by morning, Eusebio must sign.”

It was Leandro’s voice.

The second man chuckled.

“And if he does not sign?”

“Then his daughter’s death will hasten his signature.”

Elena grabbed her dagger, but I seized her by the wrist.

“Not yet.”

“They are threatening Father!”

“If we rush in, they will kill him first.”

Naya found a small crack under the floor. I looked inside through it. Don Eusebio was tied to a chair, with blood on his face. Leandro stood before him and was arranging documents on a table.

“Sign, brother,” he was saying. “Tomorrow these lands will already be mine.”

“You will not touch my daughter.”

“You yourself sent her to Tomás. I only waited for the road.”

Those words poured ice into my heart.

Leandro had planned everything in advance. The lost livestock, blaming the Apaches, kidnapping his own father, and my disappearance in the river.

I took a small wooden whistle from my pocket. Father had given me this thing years ago, when he first hired me. One whistle—and the shepherds outside would come.

But now there were no shepherds outside.

There were three hundred horsemen.

I blew the whistle.

The door opened at the same time. Naya knocked down the first guard, while I rushed inside and caught Leandro’s hand just as he reached for his weapon.

“Tomás!” Elena shouted.

Leandro struck me with his elbow. We fell onto the wooden floor. The table overturned and the documents scattered.

“You know nothing, shepherd!” he roared.

“I know enough.”

“This land belongs to my family!”

“No. It belongs to your fear.”

Naya took his weapon away. Arona’s people placed the other three men against the wall. Elena rushed to her father and began undoing the ropes.

Don Eusebio first looked at his daughter, then at me.

“Tomás, how did you find me?”

“They found me, Don Eusebio.”

Leandro raised his head and smiled ironically.

“They are strangers. Their word means nothing in your court.”

Naya took the letter from the table.

“That is why we brought three witnesses, the livestock marks, and your handwriting.”

Leandro’s smile disappeared.

Just then the heavy sound of horses came from outside. Armed men from the hacienda had arrived. Leandro shouted toward them:

“They are robbers! This man is a traitor!”

Don Eusebio, still with rope marks on his wrists, looked toward the door.

“My brother is lying.”

Everyone fell silent.

“I myself saw him forcing my men to change the livestock marks,” he continued. “But I could not imagine that he was also planning my murder.”

Leandro stepped backward.

“You are sick.”

“I was sick when I believed my own brother.”

In the morning people gathered in the small settlement of Bavispe. Leandro and his accomplices were taken away by armed guards. The trial had not yet begun, and there was no verdict either, but the truth already stood before everyone.

Leandro passed beside me and quietly said:

“Did you think these people saved you? One day they will turn against you too.”

I did not answer.

For the first time I no longer felt the need to prove anything to him.

Three days later Don Eusebio summoned me to his fireplace room. A new saddle lay on the table, but I did not take it.

“I will raise your salary,” he told me.

“I no longer want the hacienda.”

“Why?”

“Because here my word was heard only when three hundred horsemen were standing at your door.”

Don Eusebio lowered his head.

“You are right.”

Elena could not hide that she was standing at the room’s door.

“Father, I am going with him.”

“Where?”

“I have land north of Bavispe. I will open a small school there. For children who grew up between both sides and belong wholly to neither one.”

I looked at Elena.

“You will need horses at the school too.”

“You will help me, won’t you?”

“As long as you keep your word.”

For the first time she smiled without fear mixed into her eyes.

Months passed.

Leandro’s trial sentenced him to imprisonment. His accomplices were also tried. Arona’s people returned some of the lost livestock, and the rest was divided by agreement between the two sides. War did not begin.

That was precisely the most important thing.

Elena and I moved north. We built the school beside an old mill. In the morning the children wrote letters on the board, and in the afternoon I taught them to care for horses. Every Thursday Naya came from the mountains and told the children stories in his own language.

During the first winter a little girl named Lucía drew my wooden whistle. In the drawing there was a river beside it, and on the other side of the river was a long line of horses.

“Is this you?” I asked.

“No,” she answered me. “It is the sound that managed to gather everyone.”

I hung the drawing on the wall.

Years later I received a letter from Leandro. He was already elderly. He wrote that he regretted everything and wished to speak with me at least once.

Elena read the letter and put it on the table.

“Will you write back?”

I looked at the snow from the window. Children were running in the yard, their boots leaving white tracks.

“No.”

“Don’t you hate him?”

“No. I simply will no longer give up my peace for his remorse.”

I did not burn the letter in the fire. I kept it in a drawer, like an object from the past that can no longer return.

That evening I took the copper medal off my neck. For years I had thought it was a debt—the debt of saving a child, of a promise, of the past.

But now for the first time I understood that the medal was not a debt, but a path.

Elena put tea beside the fireplace for me.

“Are you still wearing it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

I put the medal on the table. The light of rain fell upon it.

“Because what had to be saved, we have already saved.”

The children’s laughter could be heard outside. Far away, toward the mountains, a horse snorted.

I took hold of the wooden whistle and looked at the drawing hanging on the wall.

The river no longer rose.

But that day I learned for the first time that the true shore begins where you no longer follow fear.