Perhaps twenty-four.
Maybe twenty-five.
She looked tired rather than fragile.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He handed her a cup of coffee.
She took it with both hands.
They sat at the table.
After several minutes, Clara finally spoke.
“My full name is Clara Whitmore.”
Elias waited.
“My father owned a ranch west of here.”
“What happened?”
“Men came three months ago.”
“Pike?”
She nodded.
“He said my father owed him money.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“My father refused to sell.”
Elias's expression hardened.
“Sell what?”
“The ranch.”
She looked into her coffee.
“There is water beneath our land. More than anyone realized.”
Elias understood.
Water meant everything in Kansas Territory.
Whoever controlled that land controlled the future of several surrounding ranches.
“Pike wanted it.”
“My father refused.”
“What happened to him?”
Clara's fingers tightened around the cup.
“He died.”
Elias said nothing.
“Everyone called it an accident.”
“But you don't believe it.”
“No.”
She looked up.
“I know it wasn't.”
Elias leaned back.
“What do you have that proves it?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you alive?”
Clara looked toward the window.
“Because Pike wanted me to sign the deed.”
“And you refused.”
“Yes.”
She touched her bruised wrist.
“So he decided to make an example of me.”
Elias's jaw tightened.
“Where is the ranch now?”
“Still mine.”
“Then why aren't you there?”
“Because Pike has men watching it.”
She looked at him.
“And because I don't know who I can trust.”
The silence between them lasted a long time.
Finally Elias stood.
“Then you can stay here.”
Clara blinked.
“For how long?”
“As long as you need.”
“You barely know me.”
“That hasn't stopped Pike from hurting you.”
She looked down.
“Why aren't you afraid of him?”
“I am.”
She looked surprised.
Elias smiled faintly.
“Being afraid doesn't mean you have to obey.”
That night, Clara slept in the bedroom.
Elias slept in the barn.
Neither of them knew that Pike Lathrop had already sent two riders toward the Whitmore ranch.
And neither knew that the one-dollar rescue had started a war.
The Man Who Wanted the Water
Three days passed quietly.
Then someone shot the fence.
Elias heard the rifle crack just before sunrise.
He rolled from the narrow cot in the barn and grabbed his rifle.
Another shot struck the cabin wall.
“Clara!”
She appeared at the doorway.
“Stay inside.”
“I won't.”
“Clara.”
“I've spent three months being told where I can and cannot go.”
Elias stared at her.
She picked up a rifle from beside the door.
He almost laughed.
“You know how to use that?”
“My father taught me.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“Yes.”
Elias nodded.
“Good.”
They moved behind the cabin.
Two riders were visible on the ridge.
Elias raised his rifle.
The riders turned and disappeared.
“They'll come back,” Clara said.
“I know.”
“What do we do?”
“Go to town.”
“Red Ford?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head.
“Pike owns half the town.”
“Not all of it.”
Elias saddled his horse.
They rode into Red Ford before noon.
This time, people stared.
But no one laughed.
The sheriff, Samuel Boone, was standing outside his office.
Elias dismounted.
“Sheriff.”
Boone looked at Clara.
Then at Elias.
“You've brought trouble with you.”
“She was already in trouble.”
Boone sighed.
“Pike filed a complaint.”
“About what?”
“Kidnapping.”
Clara laughed bitterly.
“Kidnapping?”
Boone lowered his voice.
“I know what he is.”
“Then arrest him.”
“I don't have evidence.”
Elias stepped closer.
“You saw her in the wagon.”
“I saw a woman in a wagon.”
“She was tied.”
“I saw that.”
“And beaten.”
Boone looked away.
“Pike has friends.”
Elias stared at him.
“So does the law.”
Boone met his eyes.
“Not enough.”
Before Elias could answer, Pike stepped out of the saloon.
He wore a clean black coat.