Opel slept badly.
Every time she closed her eyes, she heard Jed’s voice.
Somebody besides Callaway is going to recognize that mark.
By dawn she had considered three possibilities.
The first was that Jed had simply been gossiping.
The second was that he knew something about her father that Callaway did not.
The third was that Opel had stumbled into a story her father had deliberately carried to his grave.
She liked none of them.
Work began before sunrise.
That, at least, was familiar.
Opel braided her hair, pulled on her father’s old riding gloves, and entered the barn as the eastern sky turned pale.
Jed stood near the tack room.
“You’re late.”
Opel glanced toward the clock.
“It’s five minutes before five.”
“Which means everybody else was here ten minutes ago.”
“Then everybody else should be proud.”
Jed stared at her.
“You always got something to say?”
“No.”
He waited.
“That was all.”
Eli choked on a laugh behind a stall door.
Jed pointed toward the gray gelding.
“You started him yesterday. Finish.”
Opel looked into the stall.
The horse watched her.
“What’s his name?”
“Don’t have one.”
“What do you call him?”
“Bastard, mostly.”
“Helpful.”
She entered slowly.
The gray backed away but did not panic.
That mattered.
Trust had survived the night.
Opel spent the next two hours doing almost nothing by Jed’s standards.
She touched the horse.
Moved away.
Returned.
Introduced a blanket.
Removed it.
Allowed him to smell the saddle pad.
By breakfast, the gelding tolerated a cinch resting lightly against his belly.
Jed leaned against the door.
“You planning to ride him before Christmas?”
“Maybe.”
“It’s June.”
“I’m optimistic.”
He scowled.
Opel continued.
On the third morning, the horse accepted a bridle.
On the fourth, a saddle.
On the fifth, Opel placed one boot in the stirrup.
The gray trembled.
She stepped down.
Jed swore.
Opel ignored him.
Ten minutes later, she tried again.
This time the horse remained still.
She slowly mounted.
Every ranch hand within sight stopped moving.
Opel settled gently into the saddle.
The gelding took one nervous step.
Then another.
She breathed.
He breathed.
They circled the corral.
No bucking.
No rearing.
No violence.
When Opel dismounted, Eli threw his hat in the air.
Several men applauded.
Jed did not.
Callaway stood near the porch.
His expression was quiet.
But his eyes were not.
Later, Opel named the horse Ghost.
“Because he’s gray?” Eli asked.
“Because half the ranch seems convinced he’s possessed.”
Callaway overheard.
“Not anymore.”
Opel glanced at him.
“You want to ride him?”
“No.”
“Afraid?”
“Yes.”
She laughed.
Callaway smiled.
It was the first full smile she had seen from him.
It changed his face.
For a moment he looked younger.
Then Jed called from across the yard, and the expression disappeared.
Opel began understanding the ranch.
Callaway owned more than eleven thousand acres spread across grassland and foothill timber.
Cattle paid most of the bills.
Horses were his passion.
He bred strong ranch stock, cavalry remounts, and a small number of high-priced saddle horses for buyers as far away as Denver.
The operation was profitable.
Efficient.
Respected.
And held together by Callaway’s constant attention.
He knew every injured cow.
Every broken fence.
Every hand who sent money home.
He ate with his workers twice a week.
He docked pay for drunkenness but paid doctors’ bills when accidents happened.
He was not generous in the careless way rich men sometimes were.
He was precise.
Fair.
And impossible to fool.
Except, perhaps, about Jed Pike.
Opel kept remembering the conversation behind the barn.
She watched Jed.
He had worked at Callaway Ranch for nearly eight years.
He controlled payroll when Callaway was away.
He purchased feed.
He supervised cattle sales.
The hands feared him more than they respected him.
But there was nothing obviously criminal about him.
Then equipment began disappearing.
First, two bridles.
Then a box of horseshoe nails.
Then one of the ranch’s expensive silver-mounted saddles.
Jed blamed transient workers.
Callaway believed the saddle had been misplaced.
Opel doubted a saddle worth two months’ wages simply wandered away.
One evening, while returning Ghost to his stall, she found Eli counting harness sets.
“You lose something?”
He jumped.
“No.”
“That answer sounded guilty.”
“I’m checking inventory.”
“Why?”
He glanced toward the barn entrance.
“Because Jed says there are twelve new harnesses.”
“And?”
“There are ten.”
“Could two be in use?”
“No.”
“How sure are you?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Tell Callaway.”
Eli’s face went pale.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Jed would know.”
“You’re afraid of him.”
“He can fire me.”
“Callaway owns the ranch.”
“Jed runs the crews.”
Opel leaned against the stall.
“Has this happened before?”
Eli hesitated.
“Things disappear.”
“How often?”
“Sometimes.”
“And nobody asks?”
“People ask.”
“What happens?”
“Usually the person asking doesn’t last.”
Opel thought of the warning she had overheard.
“You know anything about my saddle?”
Eli blinked.
“What?”
“The Seventh Cavalry mark.”
“No.”
“Has Jed mentioned it?”
“No.”
His answer came too quickly.
Opel stared.
Eli looked away.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You looked at the floor before you finished.”
“My ma says that means respect.”
“Your mother sounds inventive.”
Eli sighed.
“Jed asked about you.”
“What did he ask?”
“Where you came from. Whether you’d told me anything about your father.”
“When?”
“Second day.”
“What did you say?”
“That I didn’t know.”
“Anything else?”
“He asked if you ever leave the saddle unattended.”
Opel became very still.
“Why?”
“He said he thought it might be stolen army property.”
“That saddle is twenty years old.”
“I know.”
“Did he touch it?”
“Not that I saw.”
Opel left the stable immediately.
Her cabin door was closed.
She had locked it.
But the small piece of thread she had placed between frame and latch that morning was gone.
She entered.
Nothing obvious had changed.
Bed.
Chair.
Washstand.
Travel bag.
Then she looked toward the wall.
The saddle had been moved.
Barely.
Perhaps two inches.
Enough that the mark faced outward instead of toward the wall.
Opel crossed the room.
She inspected every strap.
The saddle bags were empty.
The stitching appeared untouched.
She turned it over.
Her father had repaired the underside himself years earlier.
A patch of leather covered the rear skirt.
Opel pressed it.
Something felt strange.
A hard edge beneath the leather.
She frowned.
The patch was old.
She remembered it from childhood.
Had something always been beneath it?
Opel found a small knife and carefully lifted one corner where the stitching had loosened.
A thin sheet of folded paper sat beneath the patch.
Her heart stopped.
She pulled it free.
The paper was brittle.
Covered in names.
Dates.
Numbers.
Cattle brands.
And payments.
At the top, in her father’s handwriting, were six words:
IF MERCER LIVES, GIVE HIM THIS.
Opel sat heavily.
Mercer.
James Mercer.
Callaway.
She read farther.
The list contained names she did not recognize.
Murray Boone.
Samuel Cray.
Denton Pike.
Harlan Pike.
Her eyes stopped.
Pike.
Jed?
No.
The first names were different.
Then she noticed a line near the bottom.
D. PIKE—FALSE INVOICE—REMONTS—$1,800.
Another:
PIKE BROTHERS—HORSES DIVERTED NORTH.
Then:
MERCER SAW EXCHANGE.
Opel’s pulse thundered.
The dates were from 1875.
The year Callaway had recovered the saddle.
She folded the paper quickly.
Someone had entered her cabin looking for this.
Perhaps they knew it existed.
Perhaps they only suspected.
Either way, she needed Callaway.
She had barely reached the door when footsteps sounded outside.
Opel slipped the paper inside her bodice.
The latch moved.
Jed entered.
He stopped when he saw her.
For several seconds neither spoke.
“You knock where you come from?” Opel asked.
Jed’s eyes moved through the room.
“Boss says I’m responsible for quarters.”
“Does responsibility require entering without permission?”
“Thought I smelled smoke.”
“There’s no fire.”
“Then I was wrong.”
He turned.
“Jed.”
He stopped.
Opel kept her voice casual.
“Did you know my father?”
The foreman’s shoulders stiffened.
“No.”
“Ever hear the name Silas Wren?”
“Army man.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
He started walking again.
“What about James Mercer?”
Jed froze.
Only for a second.
But enough.
Then he looked back.
“Never heard of him.”
Opel smiled without warmth.
“You’re a terrible liar too.”
His face changed.
No amusement now.
“Be careful, widow.”
“Is that advice?”
“Call it kindness.”
“I haven’t seen much evidence you possess any.”
Jed stepped closer.
He smelled of tobacco and sweat.
“You walked onto a place you don’t understand carrying a saddle that belongs to dead men.”
“It belongs to me.”
“Dead things have a way of dragging the living down with them.”
Opel held his gaze.
“I’m harder to drag than I look.”
Jed smiled.
“Everybody says that before they fall.”
He left.
Opel waited until she could no longer hear his boots.
Then she ran.
Callaway was in the north pasture inspecting a lame mare.
She found him near the fence.
“Need you.”
He looked up.
Something in her face made him immediately hand the mare’s lead to another man.
“What happened?”
“Not here.”
They walked behind the barn.
Opel pulled out the folded paper.
“I found this inside my saddle.”
Callaway unfolded it.
The moment he saw the handwriting, all color left his face.
“Where?”
“Under an old repair.”
He read.
His eyes moved quickly.
Then stopped.
“Mercer saw exchange,” Opel said.
“I see it.”
“Who are the Pikes?”
Callaway folded the document.
“Men who should be dead.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Denton and Harlan Pike ran stolen horses through army contracts.”
“Related to Jed?”
“I don’t know.”
“You thought of it.”
“Yes.”
“What exchange did you witness?”
Callaway looked toward the open pasture.
“When I was seventeen, the men I rode with stole remounts intended for cavalry posts. They altered brands and sold the horses back through corrupt contractors.”
“And your father?”
“Mine was dead.”
“I mean Jed’s family.”
“I don’t know if they were his family.”
“Callaway.”
He exhaled.
“One of the men was called Pike.”
“Which?”
“Denton.”
Opel’s chest tightened.
“And?”
“He tried to kill me after I recovered your father’s saddle.”
The knife scar.
“Did my father know?”
“Yes.”
“So this list is evidence.”
“It was.”
“Was?”
“Most men named here are dead.”
“Most?”
Callaway looked at her.
“Murray Boone isn’t.”
“Who is he?”
“A cattle buyer.”
Opel knew the name.
Boone purchased hundreds of Callaway cattle every season.
“He comes here?”
“Twice a year.”
“When?”
Callaway’s gaze hardened.
“Next week.”
Opel felt cold despite the sun.
“What about Jed?”
“I’ll find out.”
“How?”
“Quietly.”
“You’re not sending me away.”
Callaway’s eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I was.”
“No.”
“This isn’t only about a saddle anymore.”
“It was my father’s evidence.”
“And if Jed or Boone knows you found it—”
“They might come after me.”
“Yes.”
“Then sending me alone on a road would be extremely foolish.”
Callaway’s jaw tightened.
She was right.
He disliked that.
“Move into the main house.”
“No.”
“That wasn’t—”
“Don’t say it wasn’t a request.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I have a cabin.”
“Someone entered it.”
“And I’ll set a trap.”
“This is not a horse, Opel.”
“No. Horses are generally more reasonable.”
Callaway nearly smiled despite himself.
Then a shout came from the stable.
They turned.
Eli ran toward them.
“Boss!”
“What?”
“The gray.”
“Ghost?”
Eli nodded.
“Somebody opened his stall.”
Opel ran.
They found Ghost at the edge of the yard, reins tangled around his front leg.
He had been saddled.
Badly.
The cinch pulled too tight.
A cruel bit had cut the corner of his mouth.
Opel approached slowly.
Ghost recognized her.
He trembled but allowed her near.
She removed the tack.
Then she saw the blood.
Not from the bit.
From a fresh cut on the horse’s side.
Three lines had been carved into the coat.
VII.
Seven.
Opel stared.
Callaway came beside her.
His face turned to stone.
Jed appeared behind them.
“What happened?”
Opel looked at him.
His expression showed surprise.
Maybe genuine.
Maybe not.
Callaway’s voice was cold.
“Nobody leaves this ranch tonight.”
Jed frowned.
“You think one of the hands did this?”
Callaway looked toward the carved number.
“I think somebody wants us frightened.”
Opel gently covered Ghost’s wound with her hand.
Callaway’s eyes moved to hers.
“They made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“They touched your horse.”
Opel’s expression hardened.
“No.”
She stood.
“They made two.”
Callaway understood.
“They assumed I scare easily.”