Outside the wind had picked up again. It came in the mornings lately and settled by afternoon, which was backward from the way it usually worked this time of year. And he'd been keeping an eye on it because it suggested weather coming that he couldn't yet read clearly. Moving them doesn't fix anything, he said finally. It delays things.
A week from now, two weeks, she still has the deed, and Ror still wants it, and she still can't go anywhere without risk. He paused. She needs Whitlock or Callaway, someone with authority and the will to use it. She needs to stay alive long enough to reach one of them. Yes.
Orson was quiet for a long time. Then you could have not told me she was here. I could have. You didn't. No.
Another pause. Orson picked up his hat from the table, turned it in his hands once, once set it back down. It was an old hat, and he'd been meaning to replace it for two winters, and hadn't yet, which was in its own way a complete portrait of the man. All right, he said. What do you need?
Gideon looked out the window. Time, he said. And I need to know if Whitlock will move on this, or if she'll take the document and let Mara sit in jeopardy while she builds a case. I can find that out without telling anyone where Mara is. Orson's expression said that the suggestion that he might do otherwise was mildly offensive, which was exactly the expression Gideon had expected.
I'll ride out this afternoon, Orson said. Be 2 days there and back if the weather holds. The weather isn't going to hold. Orson looked at the window, looked back. 3 days then take the North Pass.
Less traffic. I know which path to take. Gideon, I've been riding this territory since before you were old enough to fall off a horse. He picked up his hat. Actually picked it up this time, which meant he was leaving.
Keep them out of sight. Don't let the boy go near the road. Already planned on it. Orson paused at the door. He had one of those brief hesitations that a different kind of man would have turned into a speech.