They would continue to hunt the Powers and Sisson because political boundaries were illusions, and only the boundaries of blood and faith were real. They would be required to fight. Outcomes were always paradoxes that took you by surprise, though they were always inevitable. Only when and how it would happen were unknown.

Sisson would continue with the brothers because he had no other options. And Tom believed, in a way Sisson didn't, that there would be justice or prosperity in Mexico. They would evade the posses as long as they were able. Like the Indians before them, they had resources—an understanding of the country, a toughness shared with their pursuers, and also the will to live, the drive that gave them the tiniest of edges.

They had been in the Stronghold for two days. The swelling in Tom's eye had abated, but it still hurt like hell and didn't work at all. John's eye seemed better. It was still swollen but no longer oozed pus. Tom thought that a good thing, but he wasn't positive. Often enough things that seemed good weren't. The bridge of John's nose was completely scabbed over now, and it had not bled in two days. That was a good thing. The nose was starting to heal.

They were rested. The days in the Stronghold and the days at Hendricks's had allowed them to eat and sleep well. The strength they lost in the initial days of pursuit was pretty well back. Tom figured they had another four days of riding before they reached Mexico. They would go up over the Chiricahuas on a line just east-northeast of where they were encamped. The way would be steep and snowy now, and it would be tough going, but tougher on the posses, who would have to abandon their trucks and cars and follow on horseback. Tom was pretty sure they could outride anyone in pursuit. The tougher the climb, the more it favored them over a larger group of riders. The larger the group, the greater the chance that trouble from the mountains or the horses or the inexperience of some of the riders would slow the pursuit. All in all, he was beginning to like their odds now. They had one more dash across the valley to reach the Chiricahuas, thirty or thirty-five miles, but that would be a day, not much more. Once in the foothills of the Chiricahuas, they could slow, rest, and prepare to go over the heights of the mountains.