Anna's face changed.
"In the bank."
"Which bank?"
"The one in Redstone. Forty miles east."
"Who knows that?"
"Mr. Bell, the sheriff, and the banker."
"Does Crowe?"
"I don't know."
Elias looked at the map again.
If Crowe knew about the deed, he had a reason to destroy it. If he did not, the fires might be an attempt to force the remaining landowners into selling before they understood the full value of their property.
Either way, the surveyor represented a threat.
And if the note was genuine, Crowe's men intended to return before the survey team arrived.
Elias moved toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Anna asked.
"To see the sheriff."
"You think he'll help?"
"I think I should find out."
"And if he won't?"
Elias stopped.
He looked at the photograph of Anna's father.
"I'll decide when I get there."
The sheriff's office stood opposite the church, a small building with two barred windows and a sign that had lost most of its paint. Inside, Sheriff Walter Briggs sat behind a scarred desk, sorting through a stack of papers.
He was a broad man in his fifties, with a heavy mustache and a face that seemed permanently irritated.
He looked up when Elias entered.
"What do you want?"
"To ask about the fires."
"Then ask someone who was here when they happened."
"I hear you've decided they're accidents."
Briggs set down his pen.
"And I hear strangers have a habit of minding their own business."
"That's what I was doing until a twelve-year-old boy rode after me."
The sheriff's expression tightened.
"Samuel Dawson?"
"Yes."
"That boy should learn to stay home."
"His sister found a note suggesting Crowe's men intend to burn three more properties. She brought it to you."
Briggs leaned back.
"That paper proves nothing."
"It proves someone knew which properties were supposed to burn."
"Could have been a prank."
"Then you should have no trouble investigating it."
The sheriff stood.
"You listen to me, Mr. Ward. This town has enough trouble without a drifter arriving and deciding he knows how to solve it."
Elias remained calm.
"Did you investigate the first fire?"
"Of course."
"Who started it?"
"Faulty lantern."
"The second?"
"Lightning."
"And the third?"
Briggs's eyes narrowed.
"Why are you asking so many questions?"
"Because three fires in six weeks seem like a pattern."
"Patterns are what men see when they don't understand the facts."
Elias looked at the sheriff's desk.
A bottle of whiskey stood beside the papers. Underneath it lay a folded document bearing the Silver Spur emblem.
He pointed to it.
"Does that belong to Crowe?"
Briggs glanced down too quickly.
"No."
"Then you won't mind if I read it."
The sheriff slammed his hand against the desk.
"Get out."
Elias studied him.
There were two kinds of frightened men on the frontier. Some became dangerous because they believed violence could protect them. Others became obedient because they believed it could.
Briggs looked like the second kind.
Elias had seen that expression before.
He had worn it himself.
"All right," he said.
He turned toward the door.
Behind him, Briggs spoke again.
"If you care about your future, you'll leave Mercy Crossing before sundown."
Elias stopped.
"Is that a warning?"
"It's advice."
"Then give it to someone who asked."
He walked out.
The afternoon sun struck him in the face.
Across the street, Anna stood near the general store, watching him. She did not wave or call his name. She simply waited until he approached.
"Well?" she asked.
"The sheriff isn't going to help."
"I told you."
"You did."
"So what now?"
Elias glanced toward the northern hills.
"We find out how many men Crowe has."
"And then?"
"Then we make certain the surveyor reaches the spring alive."
Anna looked at him with an expression that was almost disbelief.
"You said you weren't getting involved."
"I changed my mind."
"Why?"
Elias had no answer that he was willing to give her.
The truth was that he had spent ten years running from a particular memory, and he had grown tired of the way it followed him.
He had once stood in a place very much like Mercy Crossing, surrounded by frightened people who had believed that somebody else would protect them.
He had been the man with the gun.
He had been the man who could have acted.
And when the moment came, he had done nothing.
A woman had died because of that choice.
A child had grown up without a father.
And Elias had ridden away, telling himself that the world was full of tragedies he could not prevent.
He had repeated that lie so often that it had almost become the truth.
Almost.
"I suppose," he said quietly, "I'm tired of leaving."
Anna studied him for a moment.
Then she nodded toward the street.
"Come on. If we're going to stop Crowe, you'll need to meet the one man in this town who still believes the law means something."
"Who?"