He had sewn it onto Rebecca’s green traveling coat himself after she complained he made stitches ugly as spider legs.

He took it.

His fingers shook.

“Where did you get this?”

Tazha spoke carefully.

“From Rebecca.”

“When?”

“Three years ago.”

“Before the fire?”

“After.”

The chair scraped backward as Eli stood.

“No.”

Tazha did not move.

“She lived after fire.”

“No.”

“For two days.”

Eli gripped the table.

The room tilted.

“You saw her?”

“Yes.”

“Alive?”

“Yes.”

“You spoke to her?”

“Yes.”

His voice broke.

“What did she say?”

Tazha’s gaze softened.

“Many things.”

“Tell me.”

“She was hurt.”

“TELL ME.”

The shout echoed through the house.

Outside, conversation stopped.

Eli closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Tazha waited.

Then she said, “Rebecca came to Black Mesa before she married you.”

Eli looked up.

“She knew my mother, Sees-the-Rain. She brought medicine sometimes. Flour. Books.”

“Why?”

“Because she wanted to.”

“That wasn’t Rebecca.”

“It was.”

“She hated riding north.”

“She told you she hated riding north.”

Eli felt a strange anger rise.

Not at Tazha.

At Rebecca.

At himself.

At the dead for being able to keep secrets forever.

“What else?”

“Solomon Rusk began buying land near Dry Hollow. Springs first. Then grazing ground. Families who would not sell found wells ruined, cattle missing, barns burned.”

Eli sat again.

“Harlan knew?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

Tazha looked at him.

“Rebecca tried.”

A terrible understanding began forming.

“The fire.”

Tazha nodded.

Eli’s mouth went dry.

“No.”

“She found papers.”

“What papers?”

“Survey books. Payments. Names.”

“From where?”

“Harlan’s office.”

Eli almost laughed.

“Rebecca robbed the sheriff?”

“She said borrowing.”

Despite everything, a broken sound escaped him.

That was Rebecca.

If she had stolen the moon she would have called it temporary possession.

Tazha continued.

“She learned Solomon planned to take your well.”

“Three years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Why mine?”

“Because water below your land feeds many springs.”

Eli stared.

“That’s impossible.”

“Rebecca believed not.”

She drew lines in spilled dust on the table.

“Stone under ground slopes north. Rain falls mountains. Water travels. Your well deep. Black Mesa springs shallow. Same water.”

Eli had heard miners talk about hidden underground channels.

He had never cared.

Until now.

Tazha said, “Solomon wanted your ranch before anyone learned.”

Eli remembered offers.

Two of them.

Three years ago.

Cash.

More than the ranch seemed worth.

Both delivered by Solomon Rusk’s attorney.

Eli had refused because Rebecca loved the view from the porch.

“She knew.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She planned to.”

“When?”

“The day she died.”

Eli’s heart stopped.

Tazha unfolded another piece of cloth.

Inside was a small iron key.

Eli recognized that too.

Rebecca’s writing desk.

He had searched it after the funeral.

Empty.

“Where?”

Tazha pointed toward the bedroom.

“Not desk.”

“Then what?”

“She said: Under the place where our boy learned to stand.”

Eli stared.

Then he ran.

Daniel had learned to stand beside the fireplace.

Eleven months old.

Rebecca had placed a wooden horse on the mantel and clapped until the baby pulled himself upright.

Eli had forgotten.

Or thought he had.

He dropped to his knees and examined the floorboards.

One board near the hearth had a tiny square cut beside the nail.

A keyhole.

His hands began trembling.

The iron key fit.

The board lifted.

Inside lay an oilskin bundle.

Untouched for three years.

Eli stared at it until Tazha entered behind him.

“Open.”

He could barely breathe.

Inside were papers.

Survey maps.

Receipts.

Letters.

A ledger bearing the Dry Hollow sheriff’s office stamp.

And one envelope.

ELI.

Rebecca’s handwriting.

He touched his name.

The room broke open.

Three years of silence.

Three years sleeping in the barn because the house hurt too much.

Three years believing her final moments had been terror and fire.

He tore the envelope.

The letter inside was short.

Eli,

If you are reading this, I failed to come home.

Please believe first what I should have told you sooner: I did not keep secrets because I trusted you less. I kept them because knowing them placed people in danger.

Solomon Rusk is buying or destroying every source of water between Dry Hollow and Black Mesa. Harlan protects him. The enclosed ledger proves payments to men who burned three homesteads and poisoned two springs.

Your well matters more than we knew. The original territorial survey shows the Caldwell tract includes the underground source and the northern spring easement. If Solomon acquires your ranch, he controls water for fifty miles.

I sent one copy of the survey north with Sees-the-Rain.

Another remains here.

If I do not return, trust Tazha.

Eli stopped.

His eyes blurred.

He forced himself onward.

And Eli—

There is one more thing.

The sentence ended.

The bottom half of the page had been torn away.

Eli looked wildly through the bundle.

Nothing.

“Where is the rest?”

Tazha said nothing.

He stood.

“Where is it?”

“Rebecca kept it.”

“Then where is it?”

Tazha’s face went pale.

“She gave it to someone else.”

“Who?”

Tazha looked toward the window.

The answer did not come.

A gunshot did.

Glass exploded.

Eli tackled Tazha to the floor.

A second bullet buried itself in the wall.

Outside, women screamed.

Eli crawled beneath the window.

“Stay down!”

Another shot.

Then horses.

Many.

Solomon Rusk had not waited until morning.

The attack lasted four minutes.

It felt like four hours.

Solomon’s men came from the eastern ridge, firing into the air first, then toward the barn when women scattered.

Eli fired twice.

Both warning shots.

The third was not.

A rider aimed at Mesa.

Eli’s bullet knocked him from the saddle.

After that, things became very quiet.

The attackers withdrew beyond rifle range.

But they did not leave.

They circled the ranch.

Twelve men.

Maybe fifteen.

Tazha crawled beside Eli behind the watering trough.

“Your shoulder.”

Eli looked.

Blood soaked his sleeve.

He had not felt the graze.

“Nothing.”

“You always say nothing when bleeding?”

“Usually.”

She tore cloth from her skirt and wrapped it.

From behind the barn, Mesa shouted.

Tazha listened.

“They saw riders west.”

“Rusk?”

“Maybe.”

Eli swore.

He thought of the papers inside the floor.

If Solomon got them, everything ended.

“Can the women ride?”

“Some.”

“Can they shoot?”

Tazha gave him an offended look.

Eli almost smiled.

“Fine.”

He crawled toward the barn.

Inside, the women had changed.

The exhausted travelers were gone.

In their place were people preparing to survive.

One had found Eli’s spare rifle.

Another held his shotgun.

Two broke open ammunition boxes.

Mesa sat against a post with her stitched leg extended and a revolver in both hands.

Eli looked at Tazha.

“You planned this?”

“We planned to run.”

“Looks different.”

“We are tired of running.”

Those words settled heavily.

Eli nodded.

“So am I.”

He explained the ranch layout.

Dry wash west.

Rock shelf north.

Corral gate south.

The well stood in open ground and would be impossible to defend if they reached it.

Tazha pointed toward the ridge.

“They do not want well damaged.”

“No.”

“Then that is safety.”

Eli realized she was right.

Solomon wanted water.

He could burn the barn.