She checked the chamber.
Loaded.
Then she turned toward the wounded stranger.
"Don't move," she said.
Nantan stared at her.
"Those men will kill you."
Eleanor's face hardened.
"Not before they answer a few questions."
She walked toward the front door.
And for the first time in four years, the woman who had been surviving one day at a time was about to confront a man connected to the darkest moment of her life.
Silas Creed was smiling when the door opened.
The smile faded when he saw the rifle.
"Now, Mrs. Whitmore," he said, raising his hands slightly. "That's a rather unfriendly greeting."
Eleanor stood in the doorway.
"What do you want?"
"Just checking on you."
"Since when?"
Creed chuckled.
"A man can't be concerned about a neighbor?"
"You're not my neighbor."
"Fair enough."
He glanced past her shoulder.
"Mind if we come inside?"
"Yes."
His smile tightened.
"We're looking for someone."
"I don't care."
"An Apache fellow. Big man. Dangerous."
Eleanor kept the rifle steady.
"Then perhaps you should keep looking."
Creed watched her.
"Interesting thing about the desert, Mrs. Whitmore. Tracks tell stories."
"Then go talk to the tracks."
One of the men behind him laughed.
Creed did not.
He looked toward the water trough.
Then at the disturbed earth where Eleanor had dragged the canvas.
His eyes narrowed.
"Looks like you had some company yesterday."
Eleanor said nothing.
Creed stepped closer.
"That man is a criminal."
"According to whom?"
"According to people with authority."
"That isn't an answer."
His expression cooled.
"You're making a mistake."
Eleanor felt her pulse hammering.
But she did not lower the weapon.
"Mr. Creed, I have owned this ranch for six years. In that time, I've buried my husband, survived two droughts, and endured more threats from railroad men than I care to remember."
She took a breath.
"I am not in the mood for another."
Creed stared at her.
Then smiled again.
"Your husband had the same stubborn streak."
Eleanor's finger tightened near the trigger.
"What did you say?"
"Daniel Whitmore. Fine man. Tragic accident."
A silence fell.
The other riders shifted uneasily.
Eleanor looked directly into Creed's eyes.
"How did you know it was an accident?"
He blinked.
"What?"
"The sheriff called it an accident. But you weren't there when they found him."
Creed hesitated.
Eleanor took one step forward.
"How did you know?"
For the first time, the man's smile vanished completely.
"Careful, Mrs. Whitmore."
She raised the rifle slightly.
"Get off my land."
Creed looked at the barrel.
Then at her face.
Slowly, he lifted both hands.
"As you wish."
He backed toward his horse.
But before mounting, he turned.
"That Apache man you're hiding is trouble. And trouble has a way of spreading."
Eleanor said nothing.
Creed placed one boot in the stirrup.
Then looked back.
"Mr. Harrow is growing tired of your refusal to sell."
Eleanor met his gaze.
"Tell him I'm growing tired of asking his men to leave."
Creed mounted.
His companions followed.
They rode away without another word.
Eleanor stood on the porch until they disappeared beyond the ridge.
Only then did she lower the rifle.
Her hands were shaking so badly that she nearly dropped it.
She closed the door.
Bolted it.
Then leaned against the wood.
From the kitchen floor, Nantan spoke.
"You were afraid."
Eleanor turned.
"Of course I was afraid."
"You did not show him."
"Fear and stupidity are different things."
Nantan's mouth twitched.
"That is true."
She walked toward him.
"Now tell me everything."
He studied her for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"Bring a chair."
Eleanor sat beside the mattress.
Nantan drew a slow breath.
"My family lives in the mountains north of here. For many years, our people have moved between settlements because soldiers and officials have forced us away from places where we once lived."
Eleanor listened.
"Recently, men working for the railroad began surveying the canyons near our remaining water sources. They told the authorities they were building a transportation route."
"And they weren't?"
"They were looking for something else."
"What?"
"Water. Coal. Land they could sell after removing everyone who lived there."
Eleanor frowned.
"That's what Harrow wants here."
Nantan nodded.
"He wants more than your ranch."
He explained that several Apache families had been using traditional routes between mountain springs and lower valleys. Those routes were increasingly blocked by private claims, military restrictions, and armed men hired by commercial interests.
Harrow's railroad syndicate had secretly financed an operation to seize several critical water sources.
The plan involved forged surveys, false accusations of attacks, and hired gunmen disguised as different groups.
If violence erupted, the railroad could demand military protection for its construction crews.
In the resulting confusion, families might be removed and independent ranchers pressured into selling.
Eleanor felt sick.
"How do you know this?"
Nantan hesitated.
"Because I saw the papers."
"Where?"
"At a camp near Black Horse Canyon."
He explained that he and two other scouts had been investigating unusual wagon movements when they discovered a railroad supply camp hidden among the rocks.
At first, they believed the wagons carried mining equipment.
Then they overheard men discussing payments to local officials and the planned destruction of several water installations.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Victor Harrow.
Another name belonged to Silas Creed.
Nantan had entered the camp at night, hoping to copy information from a ledger.
Instead, he found something even more important.
A leather dispatch case containing maps, signed instructions, and correspondence.
He took it.
But a guard spotted him as he left.
Gunfire erupted.
Nantan escaped into the canyon.
His two companions drew the pursuers away.
He did not know whether they survived.
During the chase, an arrow struck his back.
Eleanor frowned.
"An arrow? Creed's men were carrying rifles."
"One of them used a bow."
"Why?"
"To make the wound appear different."
She understood.
"If they killed you, they could claim another Apache group had attacked you."
"Or use my death to create a story that suited them."
Eleanor stared at the wound.
"Where is the dispatch case?"
Nantan looked toward the floorboards beneath the kitchen table.
"I hid it."