Nantan opened one eye.
"I agree."
Mercer snorted.
"He's going to live long enough to become unbearable."
Salina smiled.
"He was unbearable before."
For a few precious minutes, the house felt almost peaceful.
Then one of the scouts entered.
He spoke quietly to Salina.
Her expression changed.
"What is it?" Eleanor asked.
Salina turned.
"Six riders have crossed the southern wash."
Eleanor felt her stomach drop.
"Creed?"
"We do not know."
The scout continued speaking.
Salina listened.
Then looked toward the window.
"More riders are approaching from the east."
Doctor Mercer stood.
"How many?"
"At least twelve."
Eleanor stared.
Nantan tried to rise.
Salina pushed him gently back onto the mattress.
"No."
"They've come for the papers."
"Then they will not find them."
Eleanor looked at her.
"Do you have enough people to stop them?"
Salina shook her head.
"Not here."
Silence settled over the kitchen.
Then Nantan spoke.
"Take Eleanor north."
She turned sharply.
"No."
Salina looked at her.
"My brother is right."
Eleanor stared at the map.
Her mind moved quickly.
The storm.
The old irrigation ditch.
The hidden drainage passage.
The approaching riders.
Then she looked up.
"I have another idea."
Doctor Mercer sighed.
"I was afraid of that."
Eleanor ignored him.
She pointed toward the northern storage shed.
"There's a cellar beneath this building."
Salina leaned over the map.
Eleanor explained the passage.
Then she pointed toward the dry wash.
"It comes out here, behind the rocks."
Salina studied the terrain.
"And the attackers?"
"They'll expect me to defend the house."
"Will you?"
"No."
Eleanor took a breath.
"We're going to let them believe they've driven everyone out."
Doctor Mercer stared.
"You're proposing to abandon the ranch?"
"Temporarily."
"And the house?"
Eleanor swallowed.
She looked around the kitchen.
The worn table.
Daniel's photograph.
The curtains she had sewn during their first winter.
The cabinet where she kept their wedding dishes.
She loved every inch of that house.
But she also knew something important.
A house could be rebuilt.
A life could not.
"If the choice is between these walls and the people inside them," she whispered, "then I know what Daniel would tell me."
She turned toward Salina.
"Can your scouts create a diversion?"
Salina considered the question.
"Yes."
"Can we move Nantan?"
Doctor Mercer frowned.
"Carefully. He cannot ride."
"We have a wagon."
"Then we use the wagon."
Eleanor nodded.
For the first time since Creed's visit, she felt the beginning of a plan taking shape.
They would extinguish the lights in the main house.
Move Nantan through the back entrance.
Load the wagon beneath the cover of the storage shed.
Then escape through the northern wash while Salina's scouts drew the approaching riders toward the eastern pasture.
If the attackers burned the house, there would be witnesses.
If they attempted to poison the well, Salina's scouts might be able to identify them.
And if anyone survived to testify, Harrow's carefully manufactured story could begin to unravel.
It was a dangerous plan.
But it was better than waiting behind a locked door for men carrying torches.
They began immediately.
Eleanor gathered what she could.
The ranch ledger.
The original land deed.
Daniel's photograph.
A small wooden jewelry box.
Two changes of clothes.
She hesitated before the cabinet containing her wedding dishes.
Then closed it.
There was no time.
Salina helped prepare the wagon.
Doctor Mercer supervised Nantan's movement.
The scouts spread out around the property.
Within twenty minutes, the house was dark.
Eleanor stood in the doorway one last time.
She looked at the home she had spent six years building.
A terrible sadness rose inside her.
Four years earlier, she had watched Daniel's coffin lowered into the ground.
Now she might have to watch the last visible evidence of their marriage disappear into flames.
She touched the doorframe.
"Forgive me," she whispered.
Then she turned away.
They moved the wagon through the narrow passage behind the shed.
The horses stepped carefully over stones.
Salina walked beside Nantan, holding the canvas covering in place.
Eleanor led the team.
They had traveled less than a quarter mile when gunfire erupted behind them.
One shot.
Then three more.
Eleanor stopped.
Salina caught her arm.
"Keep moving."
"They're at the house."
"Yes."
Another shot echoed across the valley.
Then a shout.
A horse screamed.
Eleanor gripped the reins.
She wanted to turn back.
Wanted to see.
Wanted to fight.
But Nantan's weak voice rose from the wagon.
"Eleanor."
She looked toward him.
"Go."
She swallowed.
Then urged the horses forward.
Behind them, orange light flickered against the clouds.
The house was burning.
Eleanor did not cry.
Not then.
She drove the wagon north beneath the approaching storm, listening to distant gunfire and imagining every possession she had ever loved turning into ash.
At dawn, they reached a sheltered canyon.
The storm had passed.
Rainwater glistened on the rocks.
Salina's scouts returned one by one.
The last arrived shortly after sunrise.
He was carrying a black hat.
Silas Creed's hat.
Salina took it.