"You know what they told you."
Ethan froze.
Tomas continued.
"They said he fell from his horse."
"That's what the doctor said."
"He didn't fall."
Ethan's hand tightened around the compass.
"Who killed him?"
"I don't know."
"Someone does."
"Yes."
"Who?"
Tomas looked toward the ridge.
"The same man who is coming for this water."
Ethan stood.
"Grant Holloway."
Tomas nodded.
Ethan walked away from the spring.
For years, he had accepted his father's death.
He had mourned him.
Buried him.
Then spent four years keeping the ranch alive.
Now a stranger had handed him a compass and told him the foundation of his grief had been built on a lie.
He wanted to ride home.
He wanted to confront Holloway.
He wanted answers.
But then he heard a child coughing.
Ethan turned.
The little girl was awake.
She sat beside her mother, wrapped in a blanket.
Her name was Mara.
She had told Ethan earlier.
Her younger brother was sick.
Badly sick.
Ethan walked over.
"What does he need?"
"Water."
She said it simply.
Ethan looked at the spring.
There was water.
But the family had been attacked while traveling here.
Their supplies were gone.
Ethan opened his saddlebag.
He had dried meat.
A little flour.
Medicine.
He handed Tomas a small bottle.
"My mother used this for fever."
Tomas accepted it.
"You carry medicine?"
"I carry whatever keeps people alive."
Mara looked up at Ethan.
"Are you going away?"
Ethan shook his head.
"Not tonight."
She nodded.
Then she asked the question that stayed with him until morning.
"Why?"
Ethan looked at the child.
He thought of his father's compass.
His empty ranch.
His dead brother.
His missing horses.
And the men waiting in the dark.
"Because somebody has to stand here."
At dawn, Ethan walked to the edge of the camp.
He found something buried beneath the sand.
A metal box.
Inside were documents.
Land surveys.
Letters.
Payment records.
And a list of names.
Some belonged to men Ethan knew.
One belonged to Silas Vane.
Another belonged to the county judge.
And at the bottom was Grant Holloway.
Beside his name was a number.
$4,000.
Ethan stared at the paper.
Then he found another document.
His father's signature.
Below it were the words:
I refuse to surrender Cedar Ridge Ranch or Dry River.
Ethan folded the paper.
He finally understood.
His father hadn't died defending a ranch.
He had died defending water.
And now the same fight had come for his son.
The Long Night
By noon, Holloway's men had returned.
This time there were more than twenty.
They came down the eastern ridge in a long line.
At their center rode Grant Holloway.
He wore a black coat despite the heat.
His horse was white.
His hat was expensive.
He looked like a man who had never been refused anything.
Ethan stood beside the spring.
Tomas stood beside him.
Holloway stopped fifty yards away.
"Ethan."
"Ethan."
Holloway smiled.
"I've been worried about you."
"That's touching."
"I heard you were attacked."
"I was."
"By these people?"
Ethan looked around the camp.
"No."
Holloway's smile disappeared.
"You don't understand what you're dealing with."
"I understand perfectly."
"No, you don't."
Holloway gestured toward the valley.
"Those people cannot legally remain here."
"Show me the law."
Holloway laughed.
"You've always been stubborn."
"So was my father."
At the mention of Samuel, Holloway's expression changed.
Only for a moment.
But Ethan saw it.
"You knew him."
"Everyone knew Samuel."
"You were there the night he died."
Silence.
The men behind Holloway shifted.
Holloway's eyes hardened.
"You've been listening to lies."
"I found his compass."
"That proves nothing."
"I found your name on his documents."
Holloway's hand moved toward his gun.
Tomas raised his rifle.
Ethan lifted one hand.
"Not yet."
Holloway looked at him.
"Come home, Ethan."
"Why?"
"Because this isn't your fight."
Ethan smiled bitterly.
"It became my fight when you killed my father."
Holloway's face went cold.
"You don't know what you're saying."
"I know enough."
The old chief stepped forward.
"Leave."
Holloway looked at Tomas.
"This land belongs to men who can develop it."
Tomas replied:
"Water does not belong to men."
Holloway laughed.
"Everything belongs to someone."
Tomas shook his head.
"No. That is what men like you tell themselves."