His father's trunk.
Ethan knelt.
The lock had been broken.
He opened it.
Inside were blankets, an old coat, two boxes of ammunition, and a small leather journal.
Ethan had never seen it before.
He opened the journal.
Most of the pages contained notes about cattle.
Then he reached the final pages.
The handwriting changed.
The words were hurried.
Blackstone is not buying land.
Ethan stopped breathing.
He continued.
They are clearing the valley.
Another page.
Judge Holloway is involved. Sheriff Crane is involved. The surveyors are lying about the water rights.
Then:
If they discover what I know, they will kill me.
Ethan turned the page.
There was only one sentence.
Trust no one except Mara Voss.
He stared at the name.
Mara.
The woman at the gate.
A noise came from outside.
Ethan closed the journal.
He reached for his rifle.
A gunshot exploded through the night.
The window beside him shattered.
Ethan dropped to the floor.
Another shot struck the wall.
He rolled behind the table and fired toward the darkness.
Silence.
Then horses galloped away.
Ethan ran outside.
Three riders were disappearing into the distance.
He fired once.
Too far.
He returned to the house and examined the bullet hole.
Then he found something caught in the broken window frame.
A strip of black cloth.
He held it in his hand.
Blackstone.
The next morning Mara returned.
She came alone.
Ethan was waiting at the gate.
“You knew my father,” he said.
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He helped me once.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I didn't know whether you were involved.”
“Involved in what?”
She dismounted.
“Your father discovered a land fraud.”
Ethan handed her the journal.
She read it silently.
When she reached the final page, her face went pale.
“He wrote my name.”
“Yes.”
“He trusted me.”
“Did he?”
Mara looked at him.
“He trusted me enough to hide evidence with me.”
“What evidence?”
“A map.”
“Where is it?”
“Gone.”
“Who took it?”
“Blackstone.”
Ethan looked toward the horizon.
“How many men?”
“Enough.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It’s the only one that matters.”
Mara opened her coat.
The silver badge gleamed.
“I was sent here to investigate the murders.”
“And now?”
“Now I know your father was one of them.”
Ethan's voice dropped.
“Who killed him?”
Mara did not answer.
She didn't need to.
Ethan understood.
“Blackstone.”
“Most likely.”
“Most likely?”
“I don't accuse men without proof.”
Ethan looked at her.
“You rode thirty-seven miles to kill me.”
“I rode here because the order came from someone I didn't trust.”
“Who?”
Mara hesitated.
“Judge Holloway.”
The name struck Ethan harder than any bullet.
Judge Holloway had buried his father.
He had stood beside Ethan at the funeral.
He had told a twenty-four-year-old Ethan that Samuel Cole had been unlucky.
Now Ethan wondered if the judge had been watching him mourn a murder he had helped arrange.
Mara folded the journal.
“We have two days.”
“For what?”
“Before Blackstone comes for you.”
Ethan picked up his rifle.
“Then we'd better make them regret coming.”
Mara looked at him.
“That sounds like revenge.”
“No.”
Ethan opened the gate.
“It sounds like survival.”
The Town That Lied
They rode into town together the next morning.
Ethan noticed people watching Mara.
Some recognized the badge.