He nodded, unable to speak, and went outside to check the horses. The attacks from the town grew more coordinated. It wasn't just insults anymore. It was paper. A week later, a sheriff's deputy wrote out to the ranch.
He was a slick man with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He handed Eli a folded document. "Notice a boundary dispute," the deputy said, chewing on a toothpick. "And illegal use of the creek, Mister Pike's lawyers say you are drawing water from the Upper Fork that belongs to the syndicate. " "My father filed that water claim 30 years ago," Eli said, holding the paper without looking at it. Paperwork got lost.
Maybe, the deputy shrugged. Or maybe it was never right. Either way, you got two weeks to cease drawing water or face a fine. A big one, he tipped his hat to Clara, who was watching from the porch. Ma'am, you look familiar.
Did you ever work up in Deadwood? No, Clara said coldly. My mistake. The deputy smirked. You just have that look.
He rode off, leaving a cloud of dust and a sense of encroaching doom. Pike was tightening the noose without the creek water. The herd would not survive the summer. The pressure boiled over 3 days later. Clara had gone into town alone to pick up a package from the stage office.
Seeds she had ordered, hoping for a garden. Eli was fixing a fence line, and she had insisted she could handle the trip. She was walking back to the wagon when a hand clamped around her wrist. It was a cowboy smelling of stale beer and sweat. He yanked her into the alleyway between the hotel and the barber shop.
"You're the concaid bride," he slurred. He was big, heavy set. "Pretty thing, too pretty for a dirt farmer like him. " Clara did not scream. She went still. It was the possum response, a survival trick she had learned at 12.
If you scream, they hit you. If you fight, they get angry. If you go still, they get confused. Let go, she said evenly. Just want to see if the rumors are true.
He laughed, pulling her closer. If you know how to treat a man. Clara's free hand moved to her skirt pocket where she kept a small folding knife. She was calculating the angle to his ribs when a shadow fell over them. Let her go.
It wasn't a shout. It was a command spoken with the finality of a closing coffin lid. The cowboy turned. Eli stood at the mouth of the alley. He was not wearing his gun belt.
He stood with his arms loose at his sides, but his whole body was coiled. "This ain't your business, Plowboy. " The cowboy sneered. "She is my wife," Eli said. He took one step forward. "And you are touching her? " The cowboy laughed and shoved Clara back against the wall.