“Daniel Whitmore.”
She lowered the gun.
“You knew him?”
Jonah nodded.
“Five years ago.”
“Where?”
“Near the border.”
“What happened?”
Jonah looked away.
“He died saving three men who didn't deserve it.”
Clara's voice softened.
“What did he tell you?”
“That his wife would never sell.”
She stared at him.
“He talked about me?”
“Often.”
“What did he say?”
Jonah smiled faintly.
“That you were stubborn.”
Clara almost laughed.
“That sounds like him.”
“He also said you were smarter than anyone in town realized.”
The words hurt more than she expected.
Daniel had always believed in her.
Even when she doubted herself.
Jonah stepped back.
“Don't trust the sheriff.”
Then he turned.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
“Why?”
“Because you know something.”
Jonah looked over his shoulder.
“I know enough to stay alive.”
Then he disappeared into the darkness.
Clara closed the door.
For the first time, she realized something.
The stranger on the roan mare was not passing through.
He had come for a reason.
And that reason had something to do with Daniel.
---
The next morning, one of Clara's best cows was found dead.
The animal had been healthy the previous evening.
Now it lay near the western fence.
The veterinarian examined the body.
“Poison.”
Clara looked at Amos.
He nodded grimly.
“This is deliberate.”
The sheriff arrived an hour later.
He examined the animal.
“Could be bad feed.”
Clara stared at him.
“You said that too quickly.”
Sheriff Bell's expression hardened.
“Careful.”
“I'm tired of being careful.”
He stepped closer.
“You've been under pressure.”
“So?”
“You've been grieving for years.”
“My husband died three years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then don't use his death to question my judgment.”
The sheriff said nothing.
He left.
Clara watched him go.
Then she noticed something near the fence.
A boot print.
Not Rourke's.
Not Bell's.
Small.
Narrow.
Fresh.
Jonah appeared that evening.
He dismounted.
Clara met him outside.
“My cow is dead.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“I was watching.”
She frowned.
“Watching what?”
“Men.”
“How many?”
“Four.”
“Rourke?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Jonah looked toward the hills.
“Men from Blackwater.”
Clara had heard the name.
Blackwater was a mining camp beyond the ridge.
It had no law.
No sheriff.
Only men with guns and money.
“Why would they want my ranch?”
“Water.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
Jonah walked to the fence.
He pointed toward the dry creek.
“Under this land is an underground spring.”
Clara stared.
“There is no water.”
“Not on the surface.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Daniel found it.”
Her heart stopped.
“What?”
“Your husband discovered a water chamber beneath the western hill.”
Clara shook her head.
“He never told me.”
“He wanted to surprise you.”
Jonah pulled a folded paper from his coat.
A map.
Clara opened it.
Her eyes widened.
The western hill.
The creek.
The ranch.
A series of markings.
A hidden line beneath the property.
“He was going to drill after the drought ended,” Jonah said.
“But the drought never ended.”
“No.”
“He died before he could.”
Jonah nodded.
“Rourke found out.”
Clara looked at the map.
“So that's why he wants the ranch.”
“Yes.”
“Then why hasn't he simply bought it?”
“Because he knows you won't sell.”
She looked at him.
“And if I don't?”
Jonah's voice became quiet.
“He'll make you unable to stay.”
---
The attacks became worse.
Fence lines were cut.
Cattle disappeared.
The barn was set on fire.
Clara and her ranch hands managed to save most of the animals.
But the message was clear.
Rourke was no longer pretending.
He wanted the ranch.
And he was willing to destroy it to get it.
Clara rode into town and confronted him.
He was standing outside the bank.
“You burned my barn.”
Rourke smiled.
“You can't prove that.”
“You poisoned my cattle.”
“No proof.”
“You cut my fence.”
“Again.”
“You're going to regret this.”
He laughed.
“You're already regretting it.”
Clara stepped closer.
“You want the water.”
Rourke's smile vanished.
“You don't know anything.”
“I know enough.”
He leaned toward her.
“You should leave while you can.”
“This is my home.”
“Home is wherever you survive.”