Rourke looked at her for a long moment.
Then he lowered his voice.
"I will make you another offer. Five thousand dollars. Enough to pay your debts, buy a new property, and start again."
Clara stared at him.
Five thousand dollars was more money than she had ever possessed.
It could save her from the bank.
It could buy cattle, equipment, and a house in a town where the drought had not destroyed every pasture.
For one brief moment, she imagined accepting.
She imagined waking without fear of foreclosure. She imagined leaving the ranch behind and no longer having to fight every man who believed she was too weak to defend it.
Then she thought of her mother's grave beneath the oak.
She thought of her father's hands, cracked from years of work.
She thought of the old boundary stones and the water channel that had sustained the ranch for three decades.
"No," she said.
Rourke's face hardened.
"You are choosing poverty over security."
"I am choosing not to sell my home to a man who has falsified its boundaries."
"You cannot prove that."
"I have the original survey."
For a moment, the street seemed to grow quiet.
Rourke studied her.
"Where did you get it?"
"From a man who knows the difference between a measurement and a lie."
He glanced toward the courthouse.
"You have no idea what you are doing."
"Then perhaps you should explain it to me."
Rourke put on his hat.
"You will regret this."
Clara stepped past him.
"That is becoming a familiar prediction."
She walked away without looking back.
But as she reached the end of the street, she heard Rourke speak to the man beside his horse.
"Find Avery."
Clara continued walking.
The words followed her like a cold wind.
That evening, she and Samuel hid the survey copies in three separate places. One went beneath a loose floorboard in the study. Another was sealed inside a tin box and buried near the barn. The third remained with Clara.
She also wrote a letter to the Denver lawyer, explaining everything she had learned.
Then she sat at her father's desk and opened the account book.
The debt remained.
The drought remained.
The ranch was still in danger.
But the balance of power had shifted, if only slightly.
Rourke had made an offer because he believed she was desperate.
He had threatened her because he believed she was alone.
Now he knew she possessed evidence.
And men who had spent years building power rarely surrendered it gracefully.
Fire on the Eastern Pasture
The fire began shortly after midnight.
Clara woke to the sound of shouting.
For one disoriented moment, she thought the noise came from a dream. Then she smelled smoke.
She threw on her boots and ran outside.
The eastern pasture was burning.
Flames moved through the dry grass in a long, uneven line, driven by the wind toward the cattle pens and the irrigation channel. The sky glowed orange, and sparks rose above the fence like a swarm of fireflies.
Samuel was already saddling a horse.
"Get the cattle moving!" he shouted.
Clara ran toward the nearest corral.
The animals were restless, pressing against the rails. She opened the gate and drove them toward the northern trail while Samuel and two hired hands worked to turn the herd away from the flames.
The wind changed.
Fire leaped across a dry ditch and raced toward the barn.
Clara grabbed a shovel and began throwing dirt over the grass near the fence. Her hands blistered. Smoke filled her lungs. Every breath tasted of ash.
For an hour, the ranch became a confusion of shouting men, frightened animals, and burning grass.
Then the wind eased.
The fire slowed near the riverbank, where a narrow strip of damp ground stopped it from spreading farther east.
By dawn, the flames were out.
The damage was severe.
Nearly forty acres of pasture had burned. Two sections of fencing were destroyed, and the eastern water gate had been damaged by the heat. One calf was missing, and several cattle had suffered burns.
Clara stood in the blackened grass, staring at the ruined field.
Samuel approached her.
"We were fortunate."
She looked at the burned fence.
"Fortunate?"
"If the wind had held, we'd have lost the barn."
Clara swallowed.
"How did it start?"
Samuel pointed toward a patch of ground near the road.
"Here. The grass was damp beside the channel. The fire began farther up the slope."
"Could lightning have started it?"
"There was no storm."
Clara looked at him.
"You think someone set it."
"I think we should examine the ground before deciding."
They found the remains of a broken lantern near the fence.
Beside it lay a strip of cloth caught on a thorn bush.
Samuel picked it up.
"From a man's coat, perhaps."
Clara looked toward the road.
Horse tracks crossed the dusty ground.
There were at least two sets.
One led toward the river.
The other turned west, toward the main road.
She felt a familiar coldness settle in her chest.
That afternoon, the sheriff arrived.
His name was Caleb Dorsey, a broad, slow-speaking man who had served Red Hollow for six years. He examined the burned pasture and listened to Clara's account.
"Do you have any reason to suspect a particular person?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Silas Rourke."
Dorsey frowned.
"That is a serious accusation."
"So is burning someone's property."
"Do you have proof he was here?"
"Not yet."
"Then I cannot arrest him."
Clara stared at the sheriff.
"Will you investigate?"
"I will ask questions."
"Of whom?"
"Anyone who might have seen something."
He mounted his horse.
Before leaving, he turned back.
"Miss Whitmore, I would advise you to avoid making public accusations until you have evidence."
Clara watched him ride away.
Samuel stood beside her.
"He's not going to do much."
"No."
"Then what do we do?"
Clara looked toward the eastern pasture.
The fire had destroyed the grass, but it had not reached the river. The old channel still carried a thin stream of water through the blackened earth.
"We repair the gate," she said.
"And after that?"
"We save what remains."
She turned toward the house.
"Then we find out who lit the fire."
That night, Clara slept with her father's revolver beside the bed.
She did not sleep well.
Every sound seemed louder than it should have been: the creak of the shutters, the movement of cattle in the yard, the wind brushing against the roof.
Just before dawn, she heard a horse approaching.
She rose, took the revolver, and went to the window.
Nathaniel Cole stood outside.
His horse was lathered, and his face was pale beneath the dust.
When Clara opened the door, he removed his hat.
"Miss Whitmore," he said. "We need to talk."
Nathaniel Cole's Secret
Clara did not invite Cole inside.
She stood on the porch with the revolver held loosely at her side.
"What happened?"
Cole glanced toward the burned pasture.
"I heard about the fire."
"From whom?"
"Someone in town."
"That does not answer my question."
He looked exhausted.
"I came because I believe Rourke intends to force you off the property."
"You believe that now?"
"I should have believed it sooner."
Clara studied him.
"Did you know about the fire?"
"No."
"Did you help plan it?"
"No."
"Did you falsify the survey?"
Cole's expression tightened.
"No. But I should explain why I was working for the company."
He removed a folded document from his coat.
"I was hired to examine the water rights and determine whether the company's proposed canal could be built legally. I was told the land had already been acquired."
"By whom?"
"Rourke said the previous owners had signed agreements. He showed me copies of deeds and water contracts."
"And you believed him?"
"I had no reason not to. The documents appeared genuine."
"Until you saw the original survey."
"Yes."
Cole handed her the paper.
It was a copy of a letter addressed to the company's investors.
The letter described the proposed irrigation project and listed the properties the company claimed to control. The Whitmore ranch was included.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
Boundary discrepancy to be resolved before construction. Existing channel rights may require private agreement.
Clara read it.
"Who wrote this?"
"I did."
"You knew there was a discrepancy."
"I discovered it two weeks ago. I asked Rourke to delay the survey until I could examine the original records."
"And what did he say?"
"He told me the matter had already been settled."
"Then why stay?"
Cole looked away.
"Because I was afraid."
The admission was quiet.
Clara lowered the revolver slightly.
"Of what?"
"Of losing my position. Of being accused of incompetence. Of discovering that I had helped build a project on false information."
He rubbed a hand across his face.
"I have spent years working for men who speak about progress as though it excuses everything they do. I told myself that measuring land was not the same as deciding who owned it."
"But it is, sometimes."
"Yes."
He looked at her.
"When I realized what had happened, I tried to resign. Rourke refused to release my final payment. Then he told me that if I made trouble, he would make certain I never worked as a surveyor again."
Clara studied him for a long moment.
"Why should I believe you?"
"You shouldn't. Not without evidence."
He took another paper from his coat.
"This is a copy of the company's construction schedule. The canal is supposed to begin at the eastern bend of the river. If they start digging before the boundary dispute is resolved, the channel will cut through your land."
"When?"
"Within two weeks."
Clara looked toward the river.
Two weeks.
The bank would review her account in September. The company intended to begin construction before she could secure legal protection.
She folded the schedule.
"Can you testify about the survey?"
"Yes."
"Will you?"
Cole hesitated.
"Yes."
"Even if it costs you your job?"
"Especially then."
Clara regarded him carefully.
There was no charm in his face, no easy confidence. He looked like a man who had reached the end of his excuses.
"All right," she said. "Then we have work to do."
She invited him inside.
Over breakfast, they examined the survey notes and the construction schedule. Cole explained how the company intended to divert the river through a new canal, then sell irrigation access to farmers throughout the valley.
The project could transform Red Hollow.
It could also give the company control over the water supply.
"Once the canal is built," Clara said, "they can decide who receives water and who doesn't."
"That is one of the concerns."
"And the company will own the gates."
"Yes."
"So the farmers will pay for water that used to flow freely."
"Some of them will."
Clara pushed the papers aside.
"Then this is not just about my ranch."
"No," Cole said. "It never was."
For the first time, Clara looked at him without suspicion.
She did not trust him yet.
But she believed that he had finally chosen a side.
And in Red Hollow, that was no small thing.
The Gathering at the Church
By the following Sunday, nearly everyone in Red Hollow had heard about the fire.
Some believed it had been an accident. Others whispered that Rourke had ordered it. A few insisted that Clara had set the blaze herself to gain sympathy and delay the irrigation project.
Rumors traveled quickly through a town where most people had little to do after sunset.
Clara decided that silence would only allow the rumors to grow.
She rode into town with Samuel and Nathaniel Cole and attended the Sunday service.
The church was small, built of pale timber with a narrow bell tower and a roof that leaked whenever it rained. Its benches were filled with ranchers, shopkeepers, laborers, and their families.
Silas Rourke sat near the front.
He wore a dark suit and held a Bible open on his lap.
When Clara entered, several people turned to look at her.