"Then perhaps you have time to read these."
Bennett held out a document.
Fenwick did not take it.
"What is that?"
"A notice that records concerning the railroad's attacks, suspicious payments, and altered land surveys have been submitted to independent authorities."
Fenwick's expression changed almost imperceptibly.
Bennett continued.
"Your name appears in several of those records."
The major stared.
"That is a lie."
"Then an investigation will establish it."
Fenwick looked toward the soldiers behind him.
For a moment, his uncertainty was visible.
Then he raised his voice.
"These people are sheltering dangerous fugitives!"
Tomas stepped forward.
He spoke in English, slowly and clearly.
"Our families are sheltering children, elders, and injured people. We have offered to discuss specific allegations. We will not surrender unnamed people to punishment without knowing what they are accused of."
Fenwick ignored him.
He turned to Vale.
"Move these civilians aside."
Vale shook his head.
"No."
The major's face darkened.
"That is an order."
"You are no longer my commanding officer."
A murmur moved through the soldiers.
Fenwick reached for his revolver.
Eleanor stepped forward.
"Major."
He turned sharply.
She held up a folded paper.
"Before anyone fires, perhaps you should explain this."
Fenwick stared at her.
"Who are you?"
"Eleanor Whitmore."
His expression changed.
She noticed.
"Oh," she said quietly. "You know the name."
He recovered quickly.
"I've heard of your unfortunate situation."
"Have you?"
"Your ranch was destroyed."
"By men employed by Victor Harrow."
Fenwick looked furious.
"That accusation has not been proved."
"No," Eleanor said. "Not in court. But several men have confessed to participating, and there are documents linking the operation to the railroad."
She held up the paper.
"This is a copy of a payment record. It lists money transferred through a military transport contractor connected to your office."
Fenwick's jaw tightened.
"Forgery."
"Then you should welcome an examination."
He looked toward Bennett.
Then toward the newspaper editor.
Abigail Foster was writing rapidly.
Fenwick's eyes narrowed.
"Who permitted the press here?"
She looked up.
"I invited myself."
Several civilians laughed nervously.
The major's face reddened.
"Enough!"
He raised his arm.
Behind him, several soldiers shifted their rifles.
The sound was small.
But it was enough to silence the gathering.
Eleanor felt her heart hammer.
Beside her, Salina stood motionless.
Nantan, sitting in the wagon, watched the line of soldiers carefully.
For several terrible seconds, the entire valley seemed to hold its breath.
Then a young lieutenant rode forward.
"Major?"
Fenwick turned.
"What?"
The lieutenant glanced toward the civilians.
"Sir, perhaps we should verify these allegations before proceeding."
Fenwick stared at him.
"Return to your position."
"Sir, the individuals assembled here include civilian witnesses and members of the press. We have received no evidence of an immediate attack."
The major's face twisted.
"Are you questioning my orders?"
The lieutenant swallowed.
"I'm requesting clarification, sir."
Eleanor watched the exchange.
She realized that Fenwick's authority, which had seemed absolute moments earlier, depended on the willingness of other men to obey him.
And those men were beginning to hesitate.
Fenwick saw it too.
He turned toward Tomas.
"This is your final warning."
Tomas did not move.
"We are willing to discuss the truth."
The major raised his revolver.
A woman screamed.
Then a gunshot shattered the silence.
But it had not come from Fenwick.
A bullet struck the dirt several feet from Eleanor.
Everyone ducked.
Salina grabbed her arm and pulled her behind a wagon.
Soldiers shouted.
Horses reared.
Fenwick spun toward the eastern ridge.
A second shot rang out.
Then another.
From a distant cluster of rocks, three gunmen were firing toward the gathering.
Eleanor understood immediately.
Harrow's men.
They were trying to create the battle Fenwick had failed to provoke.
The soldiers began raising their rifles.
Vale shouted.
"Hold your fire! The shots are coming from the eastern ridge!"
The young lieutenant echoed the order.
"Hold positions! Identify the shooters!"
For one terrifying moment, nobody knew whether the soldiers would obey.
Then the lieutenant rode across the front line, forcing several nervous men to lower their weapons.
Abigail Foster crouched behind a wagon, still clutching her notebook.
Doctor Mercer dragged a wounded civilian toward cover.
Salina shouted instructions to the scouts positioned along the northern slope.
Tomas called for the families to remain behind the rocks.
Nantan tried to stand.
Eleanor pushed him back.
"Absolutely not."
He grimaced.
"Someone must—"
"Someone with two working shoulders can do it."
Another shot struck the wagon.
Eleanor ducked.
Then she noticed a rider moving along the eastern ridge.
A gray coat.
A black hat.
Silas Creed.
Her blood ran cold.
He was directing the gunmen.
She recognized his movements from the day he had threatened her on the porch.
For a moment, she wanted to run toward him.
Wanted to scream his name.
Wanted to ask whether he remembered Daniel's final moments.
But she stayed behind the wagon.
She had learned something important during the past week.
Anger could point toward justice.
It could not replace judgment.
She turned toward Vale.
"Creed is on the ridge!"
He followed her gaze.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
Vale looked toward the lieutenant.
"Lieutenant! The gunmen are Harrow's private guards!"
The young officer stared.
Then turned toward Fenwick.
"Sir?"
Fenwick's face had gone pale.
He looked toward the ridge.
For an instant, something resembling fear crossed his eyes.
Then he shouted.
"Attack the hostile positions!"
The lieutenant hesitated.
"Sir, those men may be private contractors—"
"Do it!"
But before the order could spread, Silas Creed made a fatal mistake.