We pull resources for night watches, share information about suspicious activity, support each other when trouble comes. What happened at your place? Five armed men that could have ended badly. Would have probably if you two hadn't been as capable as you are. But not everyone's as capable.
Old Marcus Webb, for instance. He's 73 and living alone. If they hit his place, he'd have no chance. So, we protect each other, Frank continued. Take turns posting watches on the properties most likely to be hit.
Set up signal systems, bells, shots, whatever works, so when trouble comes, everyone knows and everyone responds. Make it so expensive and difficult for rustlers to operate here that they move on to easier territory. It was a good plan, practical and community-minded in a way that frontier life required. Silas felt something ease in his chest, the knowledge that he wouldn't have to face this threat alone, that the isolation he'd wrapped around himself after James's death was finally truly ending. I'm in, he said.
Whatever you need from us. We both are, Norah added. Tell us how we can help. They spent the rest of the morning planning, dividing the valley into zones, establishing a rotation for night watches, deciding on signal protocols, and emergency meeting points. Sarah suggested that the women form their own network for sharing information during the day since they were often home while men worked the far ranges.
Norah volunteered to help organize it, and Silas watched with pride as his wife, who'd been rejected and mocked by polite society, took charge of the conversation with natural leadership that made everyone listen. By noon, they had the framework of something real. Not just a plan, but a community coming together to protect itself. Tom stood to leave, then paused and looked at Silas directly. "What you did the other night," he said.
"Standing your ground, protecting your property. That took more courage than most men have. I know. I know there's been talk over the years about what happened with James, but I want you to know that what I saw at your ranch wasn't a coward. It was a man who'd learned from past mistakes and refused to repeat them.
That's worth respecting. The words hit Silas like a physical blow. He'd spent 6 years believing the Valley had written him off as the brother who froze, the coward who let James die. To hear Tom, gruff, judgmental Tom, who'd made jokes about his mail order bride, acknowledge his courage meant more than he could express. "Thank you," he managed.
"That means a lot." After they left, Silas and Norah sat in the parlor's quiet, processing what had just happened. "Did you arrange that?" Silas asked. "The visit, I mean.
Did you talk to Sarah about getting them here?" "No," Norah said. "But I'm glad they came. You needed to hear what Tom said. You've been carrying James's death like a millstone for 6 years.