Silas ignored him.
“Drought makes plants strange.”
Clara said, “Does it?”
Silas looked at her.
“So I’m told.”
“You ranch.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would someone need to tell you?”
Silence.
Tomás looked between them.
Silas smiled again.
“You ask many questions.”
“I worked with men who lied for a living.”
“Bankers?”
“Meat buyers.”
Even Tomás smiled.
Silas did not.
He turned toward Tomás.
“You still have time.”
“For what?”
“My offer.”
Clara’s eyes moved toward Tomás.
Tomás’s voice hardened.
“No.”
“Four thousand clears the bank and leaves you something.”
Clara looked at Silas.
“Four thousand for the ranch?”
Silas nodded.
“How many acres?”
“Twenty-two hundred.”
Clara’s expression did not change.
Tomás almost admired her control.
Silas continued.
“Fair given conditions.”
Clara asked, “How much water?”
Silas went still.
Tomás felt the room tighten.
“What?”
“Water.”
Clara’s voice remained calm.
“How much reliable water comes off his north quarter?”
Silas stared at her.
“Enough.”
“Then four thousand sounds inexpensive.”
Wade shifted by the barrel.
Gideon smiled.
Silas looked at Tomás.
“Your bride understands business.”
“Apparently.”
“She’ll understand eventually that sentiment doesn’t change mathematics.”
Clara answered before Tomás could.
“Neither does intimidation.”
Silas’s smile vanished.
For the first time.
Only briefly.
Then it returned.
“I look forward to seeing you Sunday.”
Clara frowned.
“Why?”
“The wedding.”
Tomás stared.
“How do you know about that?”
Silas smiled.
“Small town.”
He walked out.
Clara watched through the window until he mounted.
“He knew.”
Tomás lowered his voice.
“Knew what?”
“What was in the bag.”
“He could have heard.”
“Maybe.”
“You think he planted it.”
“I think he looked at that sack before anyone told him what it contained.”
Tomás’s heartbeat quickened.
Gideon joined them.
“She’s right.”
Tomás looked at him.
“You saw?”
“I’m old, not blind.”
Clara tied the bag again.
“How do we prove it?”
Gideon rubbed his beard.
“Catch him doing something.”
Tomás frowned.
“He won’t repeat it now.”
Clara looked toward the feed clerk.
“Who sells death camas seed?”
Everyone stared.
Gideon said, “Nobody.”
“Then how does a man get enough to scatter a field?”
Silence.
The feed clerk slowly said, “Might buy dried bulbs from herb dealers.”
“What for?”
“Some folks use it for pests.”
Clara nodded.
“Who around here sells that?”
The clerk looked uncomfortable.
Tomás saw it.
“Who?”
“Traveling supply wagon came through last month.”
“Records?”
The clerk swallowed.
“I keep receipts.”
Silas Mercer had bought two sacks of rodent poison.
Not death camas.
But one line beneath the purchase listed dried range bulbs.
The clerk claimed he did not know exactly what species.
Silas paid cash.
Tomás wanted to take the receipt directly to the sheriff.
Clara stopped him outside.