But Ethan did not leave.
He could see that something had changed.
The people in the camp were frightened.
Tomas eventually told him why.
Three nights earlier, men working for the Frontier Water and Cattle Company had arrived with papers claiming the valley belonged to the company.
They had broken the old water channel.
They had driven away several families.
When Tomas protested, the men promised to return with enough armed riders to remove everyone.
Ethan looked toward the spring.
“Who owns this land?”
“No one man.”
“That's not what I asked.”
Tomas looked at him.
“The old agreement says the water is shared.”
Ethan knew about the agreement.
His father had kept a copy in the ranch office.
The land around Dry River had been used by ranchers, travelers, and Apache families for decades. The water rights were complicated, but one thing was clear.
The company did not own the entire valley.
Ethan rubbed his jaw.
“Who signed the company's papers?”
“A man named Silas Crane.”
Ethan's expression hardened.
He knew Crane.
Everyone in the territory knew Crane.
He had started with one cattle operation and gradually acquired land whenever drought, debt, or bad harvests forced owners to sell.
Crane did not always use violence.
He rarely needed to.
He preferred contracts.
Threats.
Debt.
Courthouse favors.
And men willing to stand behind him with rifles.
“When are they coming back?” Ethan asked.
“Tomorrow.”
“How many?”
“Twenty-five.”
Ethan looked around the settlement.
There were perhaps forty people here.
Many were women and children.
“That's too many.”
Tomas nodded.
“I know.”
Ethan dismounted.
“Show me the broken channel.”
Tomas looked surprised.
“You are staying?”
“I said I would look at it.”
“That isn't the same thing.”
“No.”
Ethan walked toward the river.
“I haven't decided yet.”
For the next several hours, he worked beside Tomas's people.
They rebuilt the stone channel one section at a time.
Ethan discovered quickly that the chief's family was unlike any family he had known.
Tomas had three daughters.
The eldest was Lena.
She was thirty, quiet, disciplined, and apparently incapable of wasting a movement.
She carried a rifle everywhere.
When Ethan saw her repair a damaged saddle, he realized she knew more about horses than most ranch hands he had employed.
The second daughter was Mara.
Twenty-eight.
She was a reader.
She kept copies of territorial laws, land agreements, maps, and old treaties in a leather case.
She spoke English fluently and had served as an interpreter during negotiations between several communities and government officials.
The youngest was Sela.
Twenty-five.
Ethan decided within five minutes that Sela was trouble.
She had the habit of smiling whenever someone underestimated her.
She also found his missing horses before he did.
“They followed the creek,” she said.