“Whitcomb did.”
Of course.
Men planning fraud often guarded rifles better than paper.
Elena found the shipment records and duplicate manifests in an office while Crowe argued outside.
She took them.
Tried reaching Joseph’s family.
Pike followed.
She rode through the night.
They shot her near Apache Pass.
Her mare carried her another twenty miles.
Then Caleb found her.
He looked toward the riders again.
“Why so many?”
Joseph answered:
“Because we were already moving.”
“To where?”
“Council.”
Caleb frowned.
“What council?”
“Tomorrow at Fort Bowie.”
“With who?”
“Army captain. Agency. ranchers. families.”
A peace meeting.
Crowe knew about it.
Of course he did.
“He planned the stolen-rifle story before the council.”
Joseph nodded.
“If Army believes we stole guns, no council.”
“They arrest leaders.”
“Maybe.”
“Or shoot first.”
Joseph’s face remained calm.
“Yes.”
Caleb looked at the long line of armed riders.
From a distance, any army scout could see exactly what he expected to see.
Hundreds of Apache riders.
Rifles.
Dust.
A white ranch surrounded.
Caleb’s stomach dropped.
“You cannot stay here.”
Joseph’s expression hardened.
“Why?”
“Because Crowe doesn’t need to prove anything now.”
He pointed toward the horizon.
“He only needs one army patrol to see this.”
Elena understood immediately.
Joseph did not like the implication.
“This is your land.”
“Yes.”
“You want us gone.”
“No.”
Caleb shook his head.
“I want you alive.”
Joseph stared.
Caleb continued:
“Crowe reports stolen rifles. Then someone tells the fort two hundred armed Apache men surrounded a white rancher’s house.”
Joseph looked toward his people.
The trap was obvious once spoken aloud.
Tomas said something.
Elena translated.
“He says Crowe may already have sent someone.”
Caleb looked north.
Road dust.
None yet.
But that meant little.
“We need witnesses.”
Joseph frowned.
“We have witnesses.”
Caleb looked at him.
“To Crowe’s story, you are the accused.”
Joseph’s eyes hardened.
Caleb did not soften the truth.
“You need people his newspapers cannot dismiss in one sentence.”
Joseph glanced at Elena.
She said:
“He is right.”
Joseph looked displeased.
Elena added:
“That does not mean I enjoy saying it.”
Caleb thought fast.
“There’s a telegraph line at Wilcox.”
“Crowe owns station.”
“He owns the building. Not the railroad operator.”
“How know?”
“I play cards with him.”
Elena stared.
“That is your plan?”
“No.”
Caleb looked toward his horse barn.
“My plan is worse.”
By seven that morning, the ranch had divided into motion.
Most of Joseph’s riders moved back into the low hills where they could not be seen easily from the main road.
Twenty remained.
Enough for escort.
Few enough not to resemble an army.
Elena should have remained in bed.
She refused.
Caleb objected until she looked at him with such contempt that he stopped wasting breath.
He gave her his late wife’s dark wool shawl to hide the bandage.
Elena touched the cloth carefully.
“Your wife?”
Caleb paused.
“Yes.”