“Dead?”
“Six years.”
Elena looked at him.
“I am sorry.”
He nodded.
“Her name was Sarah.”
Elena wrapped the shawl around her shoulders.
“I will return it.”
“Keep the blood off it and Sarah will already consider you more responsible than me.”
Elena almost smiled.
Caleb saddled Levi.
Joseph approached.
“You ride with us?”
Caleb looked at him.
“Apparently I’ve made several poor decisions before breakfast.”
Joseph’s expression remained unreadable.
“Why?”
Caleb understood the real question.
Why risk anything for them?
He considered a noble answer.
Did not use one.
“Because if Crowe can steal three hundred rifles and start a war to make money, eventually he’ll decide my ranch belongs inside one of his plans too.”
Joseph stared.
Caleb continued:
“And because Elena arrived bleeding on my horse trail.”
“That makes this yours?”
“No.”
Caleb tightened the saddle.
“It makes pretending I didn’t see harder.”
Joseph nodded once.
Not gratitude.
Acceptance.
Better.
They rode north.
Elena beside Caleb.
Joseph ahead.
The remaining riders spread through the desert instead of traveling in one group.
Caleb respected the discipline.
Two hours later, they saw smoke.
Not normal cook-fire smoke.
Thick.
Dark.
From the direction of Caleb’s ranch.
He turned Levi instantly.
Elena grabbed his reins.
“No.”
“My house.”
“Crowe.”
“Exactly.”
“You go back, maybe trap.”
Caleb stared at the smoke.
The cabin Sarah had lived in.
The porch he built with her.
The spare room where Elena had slept.
Every object he owned.
Elena watched him.
“What matters inside?”
He wanted to say everything.
Then realized the answer was almost nothing.
“Sarah’s Bible.”
Elena waited.
“Photograph.”
“Anything else?”
Caleb looked toward the smoke.
“No.”
She released his reins.
“Then ride north.”
He hated her for being right.
They rode.
By noon the smoke disappeared behind them.
Caleb said little.
Elena did not tell him it was only a house.
She knew better.
At one point she asked:
“Sarah built it?”
“No.”
“We repaired it.”
“She liked ranch?”
“She liked me.”
Elena waited.
Caleb almost smiled.
“Ranch was tolerated.”
“How died?”
The question was direct.
Caleb appreciated that.
“Childbirth.”
Elena’s expression changed.
“Child?”
“Died too.”
She looked ahead.
“I am sorry.”
“So am I.”
They rode in silence.
Caleb had learned years earlier grief did not always require conversation afterward.
Sometimes a person only needed the name of what happened spoken accurately.
By early afternoon they reached a rocky rise overlooking the railway line.
Wilcox lay three miles beyond.
Joseph stopped them.
Dust moved on the road from town.
Riders.
Eight.
Caleb recognized one before the others.
Orson Pike.
“Down.”