"You think he's alive?"
"I feel it."
"That's not proof."
"I know."
She touched the knife at her belt.
"But I feel it."
Bob had spent enough years on the frontier to know that sometimes facts were not enough.
Sometimes people survived because they refused to believe otherwise.
He nodded.
"We'll look."
They began following tracks west.
For three days they found nothing.
On the fourth morning, they discovered a burned camp.
There were arrows.
Ashes.
A child's shoe.
Naya picked it up.
She stared at it.
Bob did not ask whose it was.
Then she found something beneath a stone.
A strip of blue cloth.
She pressed it against her chest.
"Tal."
Bob crouched.
"You sure?"
She nodded.
"His shirt."
They followed the tracks.
That afternoon they found a small canyon.
Inside were signs of recent activity.
A fire.
Horse tracks.
Food remains.
And blood.
Naya froze.
Bob examined it.
"Not much."
She looked at him.
"Could be animal."
"Could be."
She stared into the canyon.
Then they heard something.
A whistle.
Three notes.
Naya answered.
Two notes.
A boy stepped from behind a rock.
He was thin.
Dirty.
His left arm was wrapped in cloth.
"Naya?"
She ran.
They embraced.
Bob turned away.
Some reunions belonged only to the people inside them.
After several minutes, Naya approached.
"This is my brother."
Tal looked at Bob.
"You bought her?"
Bob shook his head.
"No."
"Then why is she here?"
"Because she wanted to be."
Tal studied him.
Then he nodded.
"Good."
Bob almost laughed.
"You two are alike."
Naya smiled.
"Yes."
The journey home should have been peaceful.
It wasn't.
Because someone had followed them.
And that someone knew exactly where they were going.
The Secret in the Ledger
They reached Miller's Creek after sunset.
Bob immediately sensed something wrong.
The gate was open.
One of the horses was missing.
The barn door hung loose.
He raised his rifle.
"Stay behind me."
Naya and Tal followed.
Inside the barn, they found no one.
But there was a message nailed to the post.
Bob pulled it free.
Three words.
BRING HER BACK.
Naya read them.
Her expression did not change.
Tal clenched his fist.
Bob looked at the paper.
The handwriting was not Boone's.
It belonged to someone educated.
Someone careful.
Someone who knew exactly how to frighten people without wasting words.
The next morning Bob rode into Red Creek alone.
He went directly to the sheriff.
Sheriff Amos Reed was an old friend of Bob's.
"You've made trouble."
"I didn't start it."
"Doesn't matter."
Bob placed the note on the desk.
Reed read it.
Then looked up.
"Boone?"
"Probably."
"Probably isn't enough."
Bob leaned forward.
"Then investigate."
Reed sighed.
"Bob, Boone has friends."
"So do I."
"Who?"
Bob looked at him.
"You."
Reed stared.
Then smiled.
"You always were bad at making friends."
They began digging.
The truth came from an unexpected place.
Samuel Pike, the storekeeper, had kept records of every transaction in Red Creek.
Boone had purchased supplies for months.
Rope.
Food.
Medicine.
Ammunition.
But the quantities were too large.
Much too large.
Reed found something else.
Names.
Dozens of them.
People listed as "labor."
Women.
Men.
Children.
They were being transported south.
Not sold openly.
Moved through hidden routes.
Boone was part of something much larger.
Bob felt sick.
"How long?"
Reed shook his head.
"Years."
"Where are they going?"
"Mexico, mostly."
Bob looked at the ledger.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Martha Vane.
A wealthy landowner in the county.
Bob knew her.
Everyone did.
She owned three thousand acres and was considered respectable.
Reed whispered:
"Vane is financing Boone."
Bob stared at the page.
"Then Boone isn't the man we need to stop."
"No."
Reed closed the ledger.
"We need to stop everyone."
That afternoon Bob returned to his ranch.
Naya was waiting.
She knew immediately.
"What happened?"
Bob told her.
She listened silently.
Then she asked:
"Why did you buy me?"
Bob looked toward the fields.
"I told you."
"Tell me again."
He thought about it.
"Because everyone was laughing."