They weren't panicking, but a line had been crossed. Late in the afternoon, Josiah sat beside her at the table. If they come back, he said, they'll come with paper. Soldiers, maybe real ones with orders. Tala nodded, her face grim.
You don't need to be here when that happens, he said. Her jaw shifted. I'm not running. They'll call you a fugitive. I was already left for dead, she said, her voice flat.
I'm not leaving again. He looked at her, his eyes steady. You sure? She turned her head and stared straight into him. You my husband or not?
That shut him up. On the third day, they came. Not Harlon. Two others in uniformed military coats. They didn't knock, just called out from the fence line, "We're here on the marshall's order." Looking for a native woman matching the description of Tala, considered absconded from lawful detainment.
Josiah stepped out slowly, his rifle visible, but not raised. "She's not here." The soldier on the ground pulled a document from his coat. We got orders to search the premises. Tala was already under the trapoor, lying still in the dark space beneath the floor, her hand tied on her knife. She could hear everything.
The boots, the voices, the boards creaking overhead. You got a warrant? Josiah's voice was calm. This paper's from the Arizona Territorial Marshall himself. That's not what I asked.
The men didn't push, but they came inside. They looked around, glanced over the shelves, checked the corners of the barn. They didn't lift the rug. They didn't test the floorboards. They didn't know where to look.
When they left, the taller one turned back. You sure no one's been by? We've had sightings. Josiah didn't blink. I ain't seen anyone.
He waited a full hour before lifting the trap door. She was sweaty, covered in dirt and straw. He reached down and pulled her up. She didn't cry, just held on to him longer than she usually would. "You didn't blink," she whispered.