I stared.
In that part of the territory, a working cowboy might earn thirty dollars in a good month.
Six hundred dollars was not the kind of sum a man misplaced in his accounts.
I looked toward the women.
"Did your husbands explain these payments?"
The older woman shook her head.
"No."
The younger woman spoke softly.
"We heard them arguing once."
"About what?"
She swallowed.
"One husband wanted more money."
I felt the muscles in my jaw tighten.
"From whom?"
She looked toward the doorway.
"The deputy."
I looked down at the scrap again.
The first set of initials appeared beside a small mark resembling a cattle brand.
The second carried the same mark, followed by a different number.
I had seen that symbol before.
Not often.
But enough to recognize it.
It belonged to a prosperous ranching concern operating north of the Copper Ridge settlements, more than a day's ride from Cuervo Creek.
The business was known for raising fine horses and supplying cattle to wealthy families throughout the territory.
I stared at the mark.
Then folded the paper.
"Where are your husbands now?"
The older woman watched my face.
"At the freight office."
"And the doctor?"
"In town."
I nodded.
The widow immediately understood what I was thinking.
"You're not marching back there alone."
I looked toward her.
"Wasn't planning to."
She raised an eyebrow.
"You looked exactly like a man planning to."
I couldn't argue with that.
The older woman reached for my sleeve.
"Please."
I turned.
She looked directly into my eyes.
"If my son is alive, I need to know."
The younger woman began crying again.
"And my daughter."
I took a slow breath.
"I can't promise what we'll find."
The older woman nodded.
"I know."
"But I can promise I won't stop asking because somebody tells me the answers are inconvenient."
For a moment, neither woman spoke.
Then the older one released my sleeve.
"That is enough."
It wasn't enough.
Not nearly.
But it was the first promise I had made in a long time that felt as though it mattered.
I had not always been a lonely man.
Eight years earlier, I had owned a small cattle spread outside Santa Fe. It wasn't much, but it was mine. I had a wife who could make almost anything grow in dry soil, a little adobe house with a blue door, and plans for a family that seemed as solid as the mountains.
My wife became ill during an unusually cold winter.
At first, we thought it was an ordinary fever.
Then it worsened.