Reid.
Edwin Pike.
Copies of records.
Not originals.
The originals stayed hidden inside old feed bin beneath Thomas’s supervision.
Lena had learned caution quickly.
Halfway to Millstone, someone cut their wagon harness.
Reid noticed before steep grade.
A leather strap nearly severed.
Knife.
He examined.
“This was done at last stop.”
Pike went pale.
“Prescott men.”
“Maybe.”
Lena said.
Reid looked at her.
“You're doing my thing.”
“What?”
“Maybe.”
She smiled faintly.
“Good word.”
They changed harness.
Arrived Millstone after dark.
Freight agent refused tickets on morning train.
“Account problem.”
Reid leaned over counter.
“What problem?”
“Prescott Mercantile notified us your credit is disputed.”
Lena stepped forward.
“We are paying cash.”
The agent hesitated.
“We’re instructed—”
“By whom?”
“Regional contracting office.”
Pike whispered:
“Prescott.”
Lena pulled money from purse.
“Three passenger fares.”
“Cash.”
“You either sell them or provide written reason you refuse public transport.”
Agent looked toward Reid.
Then Lena.
Then cash.
He sold tickets.
Helena was larger than Lena expected.
Government offices.
Rail.
Banks.
Lawyers.
She had lived in St. Paul before Montana; cities did not frighten her.
Reid looked uncomfortable from moment they arrived.
“Too many people.”
“You have seven sons.”
“Different kind of noise.”
At Territorial Auditor’s office, a clerk nearly dismissed them.