That evening, someone tried to enter her house through the kitchen window.
The next morning she received a telegram from Territorial Judge Samuel Holloway in Santa Fe.
BRING ORIGINAL RECORDS PERSONALLY.
TRUST NO LOCAL OFFICIAL.
Clara left before dawn.
Now she was bleeding beneath the desert sun while Everett Carrow's men searched for her.
She crossed another hundred yards before her knees buckled.
The world tipped sideways.
She caught herself against a boulder.
For several seconds she saw only white light.
Then she heard horses.
Clara pulled Thomas's revolver from beneath her coat.
Her hand trembled so badly that the barrel shook.
Hoofbeats approached slowly from the west.
One horse.
Maybe two.
She backed against the rock and raised the weapon.
A rider appeared through the heat.
He was tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Dark-skinned.
A worn brown hat shaded his face, and a Winchester rifle rested across his saddle.
He saw Clara.
Stopped.
Neither moved.
Then Clara saw the pale scar running from the man's left temple toward his jaw.
She had seen that scar before.
Not in person.
On a wanted notice that had hung in the Las Cruces sheriff's office for nearly four years.
Her finger tightened around the trigger.
The rider slowly raised one hand.
"Don't."
Clara could barely speak.
"Isaiah Cole."
His expression changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
He looked at her face.
Then at the revolver.
"Clara Bennett."
Hearing her name from him felt like being struck.
"You know who I am."
"I know."
"You killed my husband."
Isaiah's eyes went still.
"No."
The answer came without hesitation.
Clara cocked the hammer.
Isaiah remained motionless in the saddle.
"If I wanted you dead," he said, "I'd keep riding."
"You expect me to believe you?"
"No."
His gaze shifted toward the blood soaking her sleeve.
"But if you stay here arguing, I won't have to kill you."
Clara hated that he was right.
She hated even more that her legs were giving way beneath her.
The revolver slipped.
Isaiah moved before she hit the ground.
He jumped from the horse and caught her beneath the arms.
Clara tried to shove him away.
Pain exploded through her shoulder.
Darkness rushed toward her.
The last thing she felt was the leather satchel trapped between them.
Then Isaiah's hand froze against it.
He had felt the ledger inside.
His voice sounded very far away.
"Where did you get that?"
Clara tried to raise the revolver again.
Instead, everything went black.
She woke to the smell of coffee.
For several seconds she did not move.
Wooden ceiling.
Adobe wall.
One small window.