“They're coming.”
“I figured.”
“You should send these women away.”
Eli shook his head.
“Where?”
Bell didn't answer.
“Exactly.”
The sheriff looked toward the barn.
Then toward the women working in the garden.
Finally, he sighed.
“I didn't see anything.”
Eli nodded.
“Thank you.”
Bell turned his horse.
Then stopped.
“One warning.”
“What?”
“If Red Mesa comes here, don't expect the law to save you.”
Eli watched him ride away.
That evening, Naya joined him on the porch.
“You knew he might come.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you let us stay?”
Eli stared into the dark.
“Because once you know what it feels like to be helpless, you don't forget.”
Naya was silent.
Then she asked:
“Your family?”
Eli's jaw tightened.
He had never told anyone in Dry Creek.
“My wife died.”
Naya waited.
“My daughter too.”
“I am sorry.”
Eli nodded.
“Me too.”
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Naya said:
“You think helping us will bring your past back.”
Eli looked at her.
“What?”
“You are afraid of losing people again.”
Eli almost laughed.
“That's a strange thing to say.”
“It is true.”
He looked away.
Perhaps she was right.
Perhaps that was why he had spent years building fences.
Not around his ranch.
Around himself.
The women stayed.
Weeks passed.
The ranch flourished.
The garden grew.
The cattle grew stronger.
The broken roof was repaired.
For the first time in years, Eli's house was surrounded by voices.
He found himself eating meals with other people.
He found himself laughing.
He even heard himself singing once while repairing a wagon wheel.
The women noticed.
They said nothing.
But Naya smiled.
Then one morning, Lena came running from the northern ridge.
“They are coming.”
Eli stood.
“How many?”
“More than twenty.”
Naya joined them.
“Men from Red Mesa.”
Eli looked toward the horizon.
Dust was rising.
He counted the riders.
Thirty.
Maybe forty.
He walked into the barn.
The women followed.
Naya looked at him.
“We can fight.”
“No.”
“We are not helpless.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I don't want this ranch to become a battlefield.”
Naya looked at him carefully.
“What will you do?”
Eli saddled his horse.
“Talk.”
“You cannot talk to men who believe they own us.”
“Maybe not.”
He tightened the saddle strap.
“But I can talk long enough to buy time.”
Naya stepped closer.
“And if talking fails?”
Eli looked at the women.
Then at the rifles.
Then back at her.
“Then we protect this place.”
The riders arrived at noon.
Their leader was a large man named Caleb Voss.
He wore a black coat despite the heat.
He stopped his horse at the gate.
“You're Eli Carter?”
“Yes.”
“I want the women.”
“No.”
Voss smiled.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“They belong to families who are looking for them.”