Arthur stood up, adjusting his coat. The heartbreak he had felt an hour ago was gone, replaced by the cold, unyielding iron of a man who had built a kingdom out of the dirt.
"Charles," Arthur said, "ride back to the ranch. Keep out of sight. Keep an eye on Ellie and her mother. If Micah goes near that girl, shoot him. Do not ask questions. Just shoot him."
"You have my word," Charles said.
"Hosea." Arthur turned to the lawyer. "Wire your Pinkerton friend. Tell Joel to meet us near O'Keeffe's Run tomorrow at dawn. Bring enough men to block a mountain pass."
Arthur picked up his hat.
"Where are you going?" Hosea asked.
"I am going back to my wife," Arthur said. "I have a train to catch."
Arthur rode back onto his property just as the afternoon sun began to bleed orange and bruised purple across the horizon. He handed his tired gray horse to a stable hand and walked toward the main house. The evening air was turning cold, carrying the sharp scent of pine needles and wood smoke.
He stepped into the hallway and removed his hat. He could hear the soft clinking of silverware from the dining room. He walked in.
Molly was already seated at the long mahogany table. A roast sat in the center, flanked by fresh bread and roasted root vegetables. She looked up, her face a perfect portrait of wifely relief.
"Arthur," she breathed, placing her napkin on the table. "I was beginning to worry. The driver returned to town. He said you never came out of the house."
Arthur pulled out his heavy wooden chair and sat down at the head of the table. He looked at the food, then at her.
"I lost track of time," Arthur said smoothly. He poured himself a glass of water. "I found the deeds, but I noticed a discrepancy in the boundary lines. I had to ride out to the surveyor's post to double-check the markers. It took hours."
Molly watched him carefully. "Is everything in order now?"