"Then it should be easy enough for the doctor to provide the records."
The tall husband smiled thinly.
"The doctor has already certified the deaths."
"Good," I said. "We'll ask him for those certificates."
Something changed in his face.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
He looked toward the deputy.
The deputy took one step forward.
"You're making accusations you can't support."
"Not yet."
His eyes narrowed.
"What does that mean?"
"It means we're asking questions."
The shorter husband spat into the dust.
"Those women are liars."
A voice came from behind me.
"No."
I turned.
The older Apache woman stood in the doorway.
She had wrapped a clean blanket around her shoulders. Her hair was braided, and her face was pale from exhaustion, but she stood upright without assistance.
The younger woman appeared beside her.
The older woman's eyes were fixed on her husband.
"You told me my son was dead."
The man looked away.
She took a step forward.
"Look at me."
He didn't.
Her voice strengthened.
"You took him from my arms."
The shorter husband shifted.
The younger woman looked toward him.
"And you took my daughter."
He laughed nervously.
"You're confused."
She shook her head.
"I remember her."
He opened his mouth.
She continued.
"I remember her crying. I remember the little mark beside her left ear. I remember the blanket I wrapped around her."
Her voice broke.
"And I remember you telling me I would never see her again."
The deputy moved quickly.
"That's enough!"
I stepped between him and the doorway.
He stopped.
For a moment, we stood facing each other.
Then I heard the widow's voice behind me.
"Get off my property."
The deputy turned.
She stood beside the women, holding a heavy wooden broom.
The sight might have been amusing under other circumstances.
It wasn't amusing then.
She looked at the four men.
"Every one of you."
The tall husband opened his mouth.
She raised the broom.
"I've buried one husband and outlived every fool who thought he could frighten me. Don't test whether I'm feeling patient today."
The ranch hand appeared beside the stable.
The baker stepped out of the adjoining shop.
Then two other townsmen came onto the street.
Nobody drew a weapon.
Nobody shouted.
But suddenly the deputy no longer had an isolated house to intimidate.
He had witnesses.
The red-mustached man looked around.
His face tightened.
"This isn't over."
I nodded.
"You keep saying that."
He mounted his horse.
The husbands followed.
As they rode away, the older woman began trembling.
I turned toward her.
She was gripping the doorframe so hard that her knuckles had gone pale.
"Are you all right?"