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.
It was an acknowledgement of their shared reality. They were the only two people in the world they could trust. The days that followed were consumed by a new mission. If they could not fight Pike with guns, they would fight him with paper. They turned the kitchen table into a war room.
Clara unlocked her trunk and brought out the bundle of letters. She showed Eli the ledger pages she had managed to keep, the ones Sarah had stolen. Here, Clara pointed to a column of figures. This matches the dates when Pike was moving herds across the border. And here this name, Judge Halloway.
He was the one who dismissed the charges against Pike's men in Tucson. It is a pattern, Eli said, tracing the lines with a calloused finger. He buys the law before he breaks it. We need a witness, Clara said. The letters are hearsay without someone to swear to them.
But if we can get this to the circuit judge in Cheyenne, Judge Athetherton is known to be hard, but honest, we might get an injunction. Cheyenne is 4 days ride, Eli said. And we cannot leave the ranch undefended. We cannot stay here and wait to be burned out. Clara countered.
They decided to go to the town sheriff first to test the waters. Perhaps Eli hoped. Sheriff Miller was merely incompetent, not corrupt. If they could file an official report about the fence cutting, it would be on the record for the circuit judge. It was a mistake.
Eli rode into town to file the report, leaving Clara at the ranch to guard the house. He returned 3 hours later, his face gray. Miller would not take the report, Eli said, throwing his hat on the table. He said without proof of who cut the wire. It is just wear and tear.
And then, Eli paused, looking sick. Then I saw him in the back office drinking whiskey from a bottle with a distinct blue label. The same whiskey Pike imports for his private stock. He is bought, Claraara said. She did not look surprised.
We have no law here. 2 days later, the war came to Clara. Eli was working on the windmill, the metal gears screeching in the dry wind. Clara had walked down to the creek, the lower section that was still undeniably theirs, to wash the dust from the laundry. It was a/4 mile from the house, obscured by a line of cottonwoods.
She was scrubbing a shirt against the washboard. The cold water numbing her fingers when the birds in the trees suddenly went silent. Clara straightened. She wiped her hands on her apron. She listened.
The rustle of the brush was behind her. She spun around, reaching for the small knife she now carried in her pocket, but she was too slow. A rope hissed through the air. A lasso loop dropped over her shoulders and tightened instantly, pinning her arms to her sides. She was jerked off her feet, dragging through the gravel and mud.
She didn't scream, she kicked. She twisted her body, fighting the rope. But the man on the other end was strong. She was hauled up against the trunk of a cottonwood tree. A man stepped out of the brush.