“Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That men who call themselves respectable can be worse than thieves.”
Silas frowned.
Mara tucked the pouch away.
“I stole it from a man named Harlan Crowe.”
Silas's expression changed.
He knew that name.
Everyone did.
Harlan Crowe owned a cattle company north of the territory.
He also owned a private security force.
He had friends in the courthouse.
Friends in the sheriff's office.
Friends in places where ordinary people didn't have friends.
Silas looked at Mara.
“You stole from Crowe?”
“Yes.”
“Then six men probably aren't all that's coming.”
“No.”
Thunder rolled across the valley.
Mara looked toward him.
“There will be more.”
Silas sighed.
“Of course there will.”
They reached his ranch after dark.
Silas helped Mara down.
She stumbled.
He caught her.
She immediately stiffened.
He released her.
“Sorry.”
She nodded.
Silas opened the cabin door.
“You can stay here.”
Mara looked inside.
“You?”
“I'll sleep in the barn.”
“Why?”
“Because you're injured.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
Silas looked at her.
“You don't know me.”
“And you don't know me.”
“Exactly.”
Mara studied him for a long moment.
Then she entered the cabin.
Silas prepared a fire.
He left food on the table.
Then he walked outside.
He didn't ask about the pouch.
He didn't ask why she had crossed his land.
He didn't ask what Crowe wanted.
He simply checked the horses.
Then the fence.
Then the rifle.
Near midnight, he heard the cabin door open.
Mara stepped onto the porch.
“You're awake.”
“So are you.”
She looked toward the barn.
“You don't sleep much.”
“Neither do you.”
She came down the steps.
“Silas.”
“Yes?”
“If those men come, you should let me go.”
“No.”
“You don't understand.”
“I understand six armed men are coming to my property.”
“They aren't after you.”
“They'll be shooting at me if I'm standing here.”
She looked away.
“I don't want anyone else hurt.”
Silas leaned against the porch post.
“Then tell me what you stole.”
Mara was silent.
Finally, she reached into her clothing.
The leather pouch appeared again.
Inside was a small collection of folded papers.
Silas read the first page.
Then the second.
His face hardened.
“What is this?”
“Names.”
“Of whom?”
“People Crowe paid.”
Silas read further.
Sheriff.
Judge.
Land agent.
Two ranch owners.
Three deputies.
A railroad official.
And at the bottom of the page, a name he recognized immediately.
Elias Boone.
His brother.
Silas stopped breathing.
“What is my brother's name doing here?”
Mara looked at him.
“Your brother worked for Crowe.”
“No.”
“He did.”
“My brother was killed by rustlers.”