In a forgotten corner of Mexico’s mountains, where the sun scorched the earth and the river meandered like a silver vein through the trees, an old cowboy named Javier walked slowly, his worn hat shielding him from the scorching heat. It was September 1875 and the silence of the evening was broken only by the murmur of the water and the creaking of his boots.

Suddenly, a piercing scream pierced the air, a sound that froze the blood in his veins. Without thinking twice, Javier ran to the river, his heart beating like a war drum. When he reached the shore, his eyes widened. There, trapped between the rocks and the turbulent water, a gigantic woman struggled to free herself.

Her red dress, soaked and torn, clung to an imposing body, her muscles defined like those of an Apache warrior. The water was dragging her away and her hands were clinging desperately to a slippery stone. “Who are you?” shouted Javier, but she only looked at him with panicked eyes, her voice drowned out by the roar of the river.

With no time for more, the cowboy jumped into the water, fighting against the current to reach it. The effort was titanic. The woman was huge, much taller than him, and her weight made him tremble as he pulled her to shore. His strong hands clung to Javier’s and for a moment he feared that he would drag him with him.

But with one last tug, they both fell to the damp earth panting. She looked at him, her breathing ragged, and muttered something in an Apache dialect that Javier didn’t understand. Before he could ask him more, the woman staggered to her feet and disappeared into the trees like a specter, leaving him with only the echo of her breathing.

That night Javier could not sleep. The image of that woman, her enormous strength and her wild gaze, haunted him. Who was that? Why was it in the river? The questions danced in his mind like shadows on the campfire. At dawn he decided to follow in his footsteps, armed only with his revolver and a hope that he could not explain.

The marks led him to a clearing in the woods where the air was filled with a smell of smoke and scorched earth. Suddenly, a sound of hooves echoed in the distance. Javier hid behind an oak tree, his heart racing. Then he saw him, a group of Apache horsemen emerged from the horizon, their feathers probing like war flags.

In front, an old man with a weathered face rode a black horse, his piercing gaze fixed on the road. But what took Javier’s breath away was the woman in the river, now standing tall beside the old man, her red dress replaced by furs and a spear in her hand. It was his daughter and the old man, no doubt, his father.

The old Apache dismounted and walked toward the center of the clearing, raising a hand in peace. Javier came out of hiding, sweat running down his back. “What do you want from me?” he asked in a trembling voice his Spanish mixed with fear. The old man watched him silently, his eyes like deep wells, and then spoke in rudimentary Spanish.

“You saved my daughter, Yaretsi. That’s why I give you something you don’t expect.” Javier frowned in confusion. A gift after what he had seen, the tension he felt in the air. Before he could answer, the old man snapped his fingers and two warriors brought a carved wooden chest. They opened it in front of Javier, revealing a golden glow that momentarily cut it short.

Gold. Piles of coins and shiny jewels enough to buy an entire hacienda. Javier took a step back. Incredulous. Why are you giving me this? He stammered his mind spinning. The old man smiled. A grimace that did not reach his eyes. It’s not just gold, he said. It is a pact. My daughter lives because of you, but now you are part of us.

The cowboy felt a chill. Part of them. Before he could protest, Yaretsi approached. its imposing presence filling the space. “My father tells the truth,” he said in a deep voice that echoed through the clearing. “We owe you our lives, but gold comes with a price. You must swear to protect my people if danger comes.” Javier swallowed.

It was a trap. I knew it. Gold shone like a promise, but also like a chain. If he accepted, he would be tied to the Apaches forever. If he refused, what would they do? Warriors surrounded him, their spears ready, their eyes fixed on him. The tension grew like a storm. Javier looked at the chest, then at Yaretsi and finally at the old man.

I don’t want trouble, he said at last. I only saved your daughter because it was the right thing to do. The old man bowed his head, but his smile did not fade. Fate does not ask what you want, he replied. Take the gold or face the consequences. Javier felt a knot in his stomach. The consequences could be his death.

I sensed it. With trembling hands he took a coin from the chest, the cold metal against his skin. The warriors muttered and he nodded as if sealing a deal. But the peace was short-lived. That same night, while Javier was trying to sleep with the chest next to him, a scream broke the silence. He ran outside his cabin and saw a glow on the horizon.

The Apache camp was on fire. He mounted his horse and galloped there, his heart in his throat. When he arrived, chaos greeted him. Warriors lay wounded. The fire consumed the shops and in the center Yaretsi was fighting a group of armed bandits. Javier drew his revolver and joined the battle firing accurately as the smoke blinded him.

The fight was brutal. The bandits, led by a scarred-faced man, seemed to know too much about the Apaches. They had been followed from the river. Javier didn’t have time to think. With an accurate shot, he knocked down the leader and the others fled. Yetsi, covered in blood and ashes, looked at him with gratitude and something else. Respect.

“You fulfilled your oath before you swore it,” he said panting. The old man, wounded alive, limped over. The gold is yours, he murmured. But now you are our brother. Javier didn’t know whether to feel honored or trapped. The gold weighed on his purse, but the weight of his new destination was greater. The following days were a whirlwind.

The Apaches took him in by teaching him their customs while rumors of a major attack circulated. One night, under a starry sky, Yaret confided a secret to her. The bandits did not act alone. There was a traitor among the Apaches, someone who had sold his location. Their eyes met and Javier knew that the truth was near, but so was the danger.

The climax came when during a ceremony under the full moon, a young warrior stood up and accused the old man of betraying his people for gold. Chaos erupted again, spears crashing, screams filling the air. Javier, trapped in the center, saw how Yaretsi protected his father, his strength unleashed like a whirlwind. With superhuman effort, he struck down the traitor, revealing a map in his hands that marked an imminent attack by a Mexican army.

The old man, on the verge of death, looked at Xavier and whispered, “Save my people.” Javier took the map and led the Apaches in a night ambush. The battle was bloody, but they managed to repel the army. As the dust settled, Yaretsi knelt beside her father, now deceased. You are free, he said to Javier, handing him the chest.

But gold bears your name now. Javier took it, but his gaze was lost. Free. He knew that his life had changed forever and the echo of the Apache drums would resonate in his soul for the rest of his days. Seconds.