The preacher turned and walked away. his black coat flapping. Brody let out a long breath. He stepped closer to Daniel, lowering his voice. "Listen to me, Reed." I don't give a damn what you do on that ridge.
But he's right. His papers look good. He's been talking to men. Hacket Smith. He's telling them you're a squaw man, a sinner, and that you stole a Christian convert.
What are you saying? I'm saying, Brody said, his eyes hard. That I've got two deputies. I can't police the whole county. If Pike comes back and he brings men with him.
If he brings a posse to reclaim his property, I can't stop them. The law will be on his side. You'll be on your own. Daniel did not buy the cloth. He left the salt and flour on the street.
He mounted Sully and rode out of town. His mind a black storm. He was not just a pariah. He was an outlaw. They would come.
They would come for her. And now they would be coming for his child. He burst into the cabin, his face wild. Tyen was sitting at the table, carefully shaping the letters of her name on a piece of slate. T A Y N.
She looked up, startled by his panic. He's here, Daniel said, his voice harsh. The preacher, the one who owned you. He's in town. He's got papers.
He says you're his property. He grabbed his spare rifle from the rack, checking the action. He began stuffing boxes of cartridges into a saddlebag. "What?" What does he want?" she asked, standing, her hand on her stomach.
"He wants you. He's coming for you, Brody. The sheriff. He won't stop him. They'll come in numbers."
He threw the saddlebag at her feet. We have to go now. We can't fight them all. We'll go into the high mountains. We can follow the Rio Grand up into the high passes.
They won't find us there. We can winter in the canyons. We have to leave. He was frantic, grabbing blankets, jerky, his mind racing. He was seeing her chain to the wagon again.