"Mr. Bell."
She started walking.
Elias followed.
For the first time in ten years, he had a reason to stay until morning.
And for the first time in ten years, he was afraid of what might happen if he did.
The Price of a Man's Silence
Benjamin Bell had owned the general store for twenty-two years.
He was a small man with a narrow chest, thinning gray hair, and a pair of spectacles that constantly slipped down his nose. He had the careful hands of someone who spent his life weighing goods, counting coins, and recording transactions in books that he kept locked away from curious customers.
His store was the largest building on Main Street, though not by much. Flour sacks lined one wall. Canned peaches and coffee tins occupied wooden shelves behind the counter. A collection of tools hung above a barrel of nails. Near the back stood a stove with a kettle resting on top.
When Anna led Elias inside, Bell was arguing with a man who had come to purchase a sack of oats.
"I can't give you credit forever, Mr. Harlan."
"I told you, my cattle will sell next month."
"And I told you last month that my suppliers don't accept promises."
Harlan slammed a coin onto the counter.
"Then give me what this buys."
Bell looked at the coin.
It was not enough.
But after a moment, he took the money and measured out a smaller quantity of oats.
The rancher left without saying thank you.
Bell watched him go.
"Every man in this town is one bad week away from losing everything," he said. "And Crowe knows it."
He turned to Elias.
"You're the stranger Amos mentioned."
"That's right."
"Amos says you know horses, guns, and the difference between a foolish fight and a necessary one."
"Amos talks too much."
"He does. But he has good judgment."
Bell gestured toward a chair behind the counter.
"Sit down. Anna tells me you've seen the note."
Elias sat.
"She showed it to me."
"And what do you think?"
"I think someone intends to make sure the surveyor never reaches the spring."
Bell removed his spectacles and wiped them with a cloth.
"That's what I think, too."
"Why haven't you gone to the county sheriff?"
"Because the county sheriff plays poker with Crowe's foreman every Saturday night, and because the judge in Redstone owes Crowe money."
"Then go to the territorial marshal."
"I sent a letter three weeks ago. No answer."
"Send another."
"I did."
Elias looked at him.
"Then send a third."
Bell's expression hardened.
"You think I haven't tried everything? You think I enjoy watching my neighbors lose their homes? My wife spent six months helping Ruth Dawson recover from scarlet fever. She was in that burned house yesterday, helping carry furniture into the yard. We nearly lost her when the roof collapsed."
His voice broke.
He looked down at the counter.
"I buried two children before I buried my wife. I have no intention of losing what remains of this town because some cattle baron wants a spring."
For a moment, Elias saw the man beneath the shopkeeper.
Not a coward.
Not a fool.
A man who had tried to fight a battle with the tools available to him and discovered that the other side had bought most of them.
Elias had known that feeling.
It was one of the reasons he had stopped trying.
"What do you need from me?" he asked.
Bell seemed surprised by the question.
"First, I need to know whether you can shoot."
"Well enough."
"That isn't an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Anna folded her arms.
"He always talks like that?"
"Only when he's trying to be pleasant," Bell replied.
Elias ignored them.
"How many men can Crowe bring into town?"
"Twelve regular riders. Perhaps twenty if he calls in favors from the ranches south of the river."
"How many are here now?"
"Four, that we know of."
"And the sheriff?"
Bell hesitated.
"Briggs was an honest man once."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"He has a wife and two daughters. Crowe paid off the mortgage on his house last spring."
"Then the sheriff belongs to Crowe."
"Not entirely," Anna said.
Elias turned to her.
"What does that mean?"
"It means Briggs has been frightened for a long time. But last winter, when my brother was sick, the sheriff brought us medicine from Redstone. He paid for it himself. He isn't a good man anymore, but I don't believe he's entirely lost."
Elias considered that.
Men rarely became villains in a single afternoon. More often, they surrendered in pieces, each compromise small enough to justify until there was little left of the person they had once been.
"What about the surveyor?" he asked.
"His name is Charles Whitaker," Bell said. "He has spent twenty years studying territorial land grants. He believes Crowe's survey was falsified."
"Where is he now?"
"At the boardinghouse. He was supposed to leave for the spring tomorrow morning."
"Then he doesn't leave tomorrow."
Bell blinked.
"What?"
"If Crowe's men are planning an ambush, the surveyor needs protection. We take him north tonight, find the original boundary markers, and make certain he knows where they are before Crowe can destroy them."
Anna shook her head.
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because the road to the spring passes through a narrow canyon. Anyone waiting there could pick us off from the cliffs."
"Then we don't use the road."
"There's no other way."
"There is always another way."
Elias stood.
"How far is the spring from here?"
"Six miles north," Bell answered. "Seven if you take the eastern trail."
"And how long does the canyon stay narrow?"
"About half a mile."
"Good."
Anna stared at him.
"Good?"
"Half a mile is enough to make a trap. It's also enough to go around one."
He moved toward the door.
"Find the surveyor. Tell him to bring every map and document he has. We'll leave after dark."
Bell rose.
"Mr. Ward, I should tell you something before you agree to this."
Elias waited.