"Do you?"
Samuel looked at her.
"I don't know how your husband died."
"But you suspect."
"Yes."
Outside, a horse moved.
Catherine stood.
"We're going home."
Samuel stared.
"That's exactly where they'll expect you to go."
"No."
She looked toward the darkness.
"They expect me to go to the cabin."
Samuel understood.
"You have somewhere else."
Catherine nodded.
"Thomas built it."
They waited until the moon rose.
Then they moved.
By midnight they reached Cottonwood Bend.
But Catherine did not approach her home.
Instead, she rode east through a dry creek bed.
Behind a wall of thorn bushes stood a low stone structure.
Samuel stared.
"I've lived in this country thirty years."
"You missed it."
Inside were food, blankets, medicine, ammunition, tools, and two rifles.
Samuel looked around.
"Thomas prepared this?"
"Yes."
"How long have you known about it?"
"Since he died."
"And you never told anyone?"
"No."
Catherine tied the wounded man they had captured earlier to a chair.
His name was Caleb Ross.
He was young.
Perhaps twenty-six.
His shoulder was bandaged.
He looked terrified.
Catherine placed a cup of water before him.
"Tell me about Vane."
Caleb stared at her.
"I don't know anything."
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
Samuel stepped forward.
Catherine stopped him.
"Let him speak."
Caleb swallowed.
"Vane pays us."
"For what?"
"Watching people."
"Which people?"
"People who won't sell."
Catherine's face became still.
"How many?"
"Six."
"Names."
Caleb hesitated.
Catherine waited.
He finally whispered them.
Ruth Mallory.
Jacob Crane.
Elias Boone.
The Wilson brothers.
And Thomas Fletcher.
Catherine stopped breathing.
Samuel closed his eyes.
Caleb continued.
"We didn't kill them."
"Who did?"
"Vane."
"How?"
"I don't know."
"You do."
Caleb looked away.
"He called it accidents."
Catherine stepped closer.
"What happened to Thomas?"
Caleb's voice shook.
"Vane sent a doctor."
"What doctor?"
"I don't know his name."
"Why?"
"Because the doctor gave your husband something."
Catherine's fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
"What?"
"Something that made the fever worse."
Samuel whispered, "Poison."
Caleb nodded.
Catherine looked at the floor.
For nine months, she had believed she had lost her husband to illness.
Now she understood that grief had been built on a lie.
She closed her eyes.
Thomas.
His laughter.
His hands.
The way he used to whistle when working.
The last morning.
His fever.
His final words.
"Don't let them take the land."
She had thought he was delirious.
He hadn't been.
He had been warning her.
Catherine opened her eyes.
"Where is Vane now?"
Caleb shook his head.
"Coming here."
"When?"
"Before dawn."
Samuel looked toward the door.
"We have hours."
Catherine checked her rifle.
"No."
She looked at the eastern window.
"We have minutes."
A horse screamed outside.
Then another.
Catherine extinguished the lantern.
Everyone went silent.
Boots crossed the dirt.
A voice came from the darkness.
"Catherine Fletcher."
She did not answer.
"I know you're in there."
Samuel whispered, "How?"
Catherine pointed toward the ceiling.
A tiny hole.
Someone had found the smoke vent.
Then Vane spoke again.
"Your husband died because he wouldn't listen."
Catherine's expression changed.
Samuel watched her.
There was no fear in her eyes.
Only certainty.