She considered.
The marshal nodded.
“That I can provide.”
The woman looked toward cowboy.
“And you stay here.”
His face fell.
“That seems vindictive.”
“That seems medical.”
“I can ride by tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Day after?”
“We’ll see.”
He looked toward marshal.
The marshal suddenly became fascinated by his paperwork.
The woman gathered her coat.
Before leaving, she stopped beside the bed.
The cowboy looked up.
She lowered her voice.
“If I’m not back by morning—”
“No.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Don’t finish that.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what you were going to say.”
“You don’t.”
“You were going to tell me where the deed is.”
She stared.
He continued.
“Or where your brother’s letter is.”
“Or something practical.”
Her mouth tightened.
“You think you know me very well.”
“I know enough.”
He reached for her hand.
She hesitated.
Then gave it.
“Come back.”
That was all.
No command.
No heroic speech.
Just:
“Come back.”
She squeezed once.
“I intend to.”
The road home was almost invisible beneath fresh snow.
Two federal deputies rode with her.
An older local homesteader joined halfway after hearing what had happened.
The woman objected.
He shrugged.
“I owe your brother.”
She looked at him.
“For what?”
“He kept my son out of jail.”
“How?”
“Long story.”
She almost laughed.
Apparently her brother had spent years building a life she knew only in pieces.
That hurt.
But it also comforted.
The dead can surprise us.
It means they were more than the version we were given.
They reached the cabin after midnight.
From the ridge, the woman saw smoke.
Not chimney smoke.
Too dark.
Too low.
Her heart stopped.
She kicked her horse.
One deputy grabbed her reins.
“Wait.”
“My house.”
“I know.”
“My house is burning.”
“Wait.”
Flames had begun near the shed, not the cabin.
The deputies spread.
One rode around north side.
The woman dismounted and ran.
A man emerged from behind the barn.
She recognized him as one of the younger cattle-company riders.
He carried a lantern.
He froze.
The woman raised rifle.
“Drop it.”
He looked toward woods.
Another man ran.
The deputy shouted.
A gunshot cracked.
Not clear who fired first.
The second rider disappeared into darkness.
The young man near barn dropped lantern.
Then reached toward revolver.
The woman fired into ground by his boot.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
Hands rose.
The shed roof collapsed behind him.
The woman looked toward cabin.
Still standing.