The horse was a roan mare.
Beautiful.
Lean.
Powerful.
The rider wore a dark coat and a wide-brimmed hat.
A rifle rested across his saddle.
He stopped thirty yards away.
Clara's hand moved toward her revolver.
The stranger looked at the cut fence.
Then at her.
“You shouldn't be out here alone.”
Clara frowned.
“That sounds like advice.”
“It is.”
“I didn't ask for any.”
“No.”
His voice was calm.
He looked down at the tracks.
“Six came in.”
Clara stared.
“You counted them.”
“Yes.”
“Rourke's men.”
“Probably.”
“And you?”
He looked at her.
“One.”
She studied him.
“Who are you?”
The stranger hesitated.
“Jonah Vale.”
“Passing through?”
“Yes.”
“Then keep passing.”
Jonah glanced toward the hills.
“I would.”
He pointed.
“If I were you, I'd go home first.”
Clara followed his gaze.
Three riders were approaching in the distance.
Her stomach tightened.
Jonah looked at her.
“They're not the ones you need to worry about.”
“What does that mean?”
He turned his horse.
“Ask your sheriff why he's been selling copies of your land survey.”
Then he rode away.
Clara stood alone beside the cut fence.
For several seconds, she could not move.
She had never seen Jonah Vale before.
Yet he had just told her something that made no sense.
Her land survey was not public.
Only three people had copies.
Her late husband.
Her attorney.
And Sheriff Amos Bell.
Her husband was dead.
Her attorney lived two hundred miles away.
That left one person.
The sheriff.
Clara looked toward the disappearing rider.
The stranger on the roan mare had given her a question.
Now she needed an answer.
---
By sunset, Clara was back in town.
Red Hollow was small enough that everyone noticed when someone arrived.
The general store sat beside the blacksmith.
The sheriff's office stood across from the church.
The hotel occupied the largest building on Main Street.
And the saloon occupied the loudest.
Clara walked straight to the sheriff's office.
Sheriff Bell looked up.
“Mrs. Whitmore.”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“Have you sold copies of my land survey?”
The sheriff's face changed.
Only for a second.
But Clara saw it.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Because someone told me otherwise.”
“Who?”
“A stranger.”
Bell laughed.
“Then I'd trust a stranger over a sheriff?”
Clara stared at him.
“I'm asking you.”
“No.”
She turned.
Then stopped.
“Sheriff?”
“Yes?”
“Why has Silas Rourke been buying water rights?”
Bell sighed.
“Because he has money.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It's the only one I have.”
She left.
Outside, Amos was waiting.
“You found anything?”
“No.”
He studied her face.
“You did.”
Clara told him about Jonah.
Amos listened carefully.
Then he shook his head.
“Jonah Vale.”
“You know him?”
“Not personally.”
“But you've heard the name.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Amos looked around.
“Not here.”
They returned to the ranch.
That night, Amos explained.
“Jonah Vale was a scout.”
“For the army?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“He worked for whoever paid him.”
“Is he dangerous?”
“Very.”
“Then why did he help me?”
Amos looked toward the dark mountains.
“Maybe he isn't helping you.”
Clara frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe he's using you.”
The thought kept Clara awake.
Near midnight, she heard hoofbeats.
She reached for her revolver.
The sound stopped outside.
Then came a knock.
Clara opened the door with the gun raised.
Jonah stood on the porch.
“You shouldn't come here.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
“To warn you.”
“About what?”
“Your cattle.”
“What about them?”
“They're being poisoned.”
Clara's blood ran cold.
“What?”
Jonah handed her a small cloth.
Inside was a handful of grain.
“Found this near your western pasture.”
She smelled it.
Nothing.
Jonah shook his head.
“Don't.”
“What is it?”
“A powder that kills slowly.”
Clara stared at him.
“How do you know?”
“I've seen it before.”
“Where?”
“Mexico.”
“Who has it?”
Jonah looked at her.
“Men who don't want your cattle.”
He paused.
“Men who want your land.”
Clara's grip tightened around the cloth.
“Why are you telling me?”
Jonah's eyes moved toward the barn.
“Because your husband once saved my life.”
Clara froze.
“My husband?”