Eli stood up slowly. He picked up his rifle, not aiming it, but holding it across his chest. Clara moved to stand slightly behind him, her hand resting near the pistol tucked in her belt. "Morning Concaid," Vance called out. He did not smile.
"Looks like you had some trouble. Trespassers," Eli said calmly. "Cut my fence. Is that so? " Vance rode closer, stopping his horse just on the other side of the wire. Shame.
Maybe your cows just know where the better water is. The creek on Mister Pike's land is flowing real nice. The creek is common water, Eli said. And the boundary is 5 mi south. You know that, Vance.
I know what the map says today, Vance said, leaning on his saddle horn. Maps change, owners change, Mister Pike is a patient man, but he hates to see good land wasted on a man who cannot hold it. Vance's eyes flicked to Clara. He looked her up and down with a slow, insolent stare, and he surely hates to see a lady working so hard. Maybe she would be happier in town.
I hear she has friends there. " Eli's knuckles turned white on the rifle stock. The muscles in his jaw jumped. Clara saw the shift in him. The concaid blood rising. The urge to end the insult with a bullet.
The air between the men grew thin and tight. "Get off my land," Eli said. His voice was not loud, but it vibrated with a deadly frequency. Vance chuckled. "I am on the public road, neighbor.
Just passing through. " He turned his horse. "Fix that fence, good concaid. Be a shame if it happened again tonight. " As they rode away, Eli lowered the rifle. He stood staring after them, his chest heaving. He closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath.
He had chosen strategy. He had chosen not to give Pike the excuse of a shooting war, but Clara could see the cost of it. The restraint was eating him alive. That night, the reality of their siege settled into the house. Clara prepared for bed with a ritual that broke Eli's heart to watch.
She checked the heavy bolt on the front door twice. She checked the shutters on the windows. When she climbed into bed, she slid a small, sharp pairing knife under her pillow. She did it casually as if she were tucking away a handkerchief. Eli sat on the edge of the bed, watching her.
You should not have to sleep with a knife. "I sleep better with it," Clara said simply. She lay back, her dark hair fanning out on the white pillowcase. It is not because I do not trust you, Eli. It is because I know the world.
Eli did not try to talk her out of it. He did not tell her it was foolish. He simply nodded, blew out the lamp, and lay down beside her. He reached for her hand in the dark, interlacing their fingers. He squeezed tight, and she squeezed back.