"Proof," Evelyn said.
"Proof of paperwork," Thomas corrected. "Not proof of a timber cut. Not proof that will hang a man who funds the school stove. But enough to make a judge pause, if we can find a judge who pauses."
They walked to the mercantile for stockings of Evelyn's own and a heavier cloak. The shopkeeper, Mr. Lenox, sold them both without comment and then, when Thomas turned to leave, said, "North spur's been surveyed again. Quiet-like. Men with Rourke's pay. Thought you should know."
"I know now," Thomas said. "Thank you."
Lenox shrugged. "I sell rope and flour. I don't sell courage. But I like customers who pay cash and don't break my windows."
Outside, the scarred rider—Brannigan—tipped his hat to Evelyn as if they were acquaintances from church. "Ma'am. Cold morning for burgundy."
Evelyn did not smile. "Cold morning for manners that arrive late."
Thomas's hand rested near his holster without theatricality. Brannigan's eyes noted it and moved on. Consequence lived in that exchanged glance: not a shootout, not glory, just the knowledge that violence was a door both men preferred not to open on Main Street while widows bought flour.
They hired a wagon from the livery—Thomas driving, Evelyn beside him wrapped in the new cloak—and took the road toward the north spur. Snow made the world honest. Claims markers stuck up like accusations. Galena crates at a siding waited for ore that might or might not come. The mine mouth of Thomas's stake was a dark oval braced with timber he had replaced himself after the failure. He showed her the cut, the assay posts, the place where the timber had sheared in a way that looked like rot until you noticed the saw marks under the moss.
"That," he said, "is what a seal buys when coin isn't enough."
Evelyn stood in borrowed boots over her red ones and felt the cold climb her legs. She touched the cut timber with a gloved fingertip, then pulled back as if the wood might confess aloud. "Why show me?"
"Because if you stay through a week of this, you deserve to see the ground, not only the stationery."
"I haven't said I'm staying through a week."
"You haven't said you're leaving at noon either."