“Yes.”
Samuel nodded once.
There it was.
The humiliation he should have expected.
“Samuel—”
“You married me because you were afraid.”
Eleanor’s face crumpled slightly.
“I married you because my mother wrote that
you were the only man she believed I could trust
.”
Samuel turned away.
That stopped him.
Eleanor continued.
“I didn’t know whether you would be kind.”
Her voice shook.
“I didn’t know whether your letters were true.
I didn’t know whether one prison would simply become another.”
Samuel looked back.
“But I knew Gideon would eventually find me.”
“Because of the papers?”
“Yes.”
“What does he want?”
“The original survey.”
Samuel frowned.
“This isn’t it?”
“No.”
Eleanor pointed at Walter Mercer’s map.
A small black cross had been drawn near the eastern edge of Samuel’s property.
“According to my father’s notes,
the proof Rebecca died protecting is still somewhere on your ranch
.”
Thomas Bell arrived before noon.
Samuel had known Thomas for nearly fourteen years.
They had driven cattle together.
Fought prairie fires together.
Buried neighbors together.
Thomas had stood beside Samuel at Rebecca’s funeral.
He had also witnessed Samuel’s wedding.
So when Thomas rode into the yard looking grim, Samuel felt something resembling relief.
“Three riders came through Abilene asking questions,” Thomas said.
Samuel’s stomach tightened.
“What questions?”
“About a red-haired woman traveling from Missouri.”
Eleanor stood in the doorway.
Thomas glanced toward her.
“They had your description.”
Samuel’s hand settled near his revolver.
“How many?”
“Three in town.
Could be more behind them.”
“Gideon?”
Eleanor nodded.
Thomas looked between them.
“Who is Gideon?”
Samuel hesitated.
Rebecca’s journal sat hidden beneath the floorboard now.
For reasons Samuel could not explain, he did not want to mention it.
“Family trouble.”
Thomas studied him.
“You need help?”
“Maybe.”
“You have it.”
He said it without hesitation.
That was Thomas.
Reliable Thomas.
Steady Thomas.
The man who had once ridden thirty miles through a blizzard to fetch medicine for Samuel when fever nearly killed him.
“Keep an eye on town,” Samuel said.
Thomas nodded.
Then his gaze moved toward the eastern pasture.
Just briefly.
So briefly Samuel almost missed it.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
Thomas mounted.
But before he left, he looked at Eleanor.
“Mrs.
Hale.”
Something about the way he said it made her stiffen.
Thomas rode away.
Samuel watched him disappear.
Behind him, Eleanor whispered:
“I don’t like him.”
Samuel turned.
“Thomas?”
“He watches things.”
“He’s a rancher.
We all watch things.”
“No.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Not like that.”
Samuel nearly dismissed it.
Then he remembered what Eleanor’s mother had written.
Do not trust the man who comes claiming to protect you.
A chill moved through him despite the heat.
They rode east that afternoon.
The black cross on Walter Mercer’s map corresponded with a stand of cottonwoods above a dry creek bed.
Samuel knew the place.
Rebecca had loved it.
She used to sit there with sewing during late summer.
That memory hurt more now.
Samuel and Eleanor searched for nearly two hours.
Nothing.
Then Eleanor noticed something carved into the largest tree.
A tiny symbol.
Three intersecting lines.
“My father’s survey mark.”
They dug beneath the roots.
At three feet Samuel’s shovel struck metal.
