Chapter 19 - The Rider at Midnight
It took until past midnight to draft the cooperative charter and collect the signatures of the twelve ranch families gathered at the house.
The kerosene lamps inside the main cabin cast a warm, golden glow across the rough-hewn cedar walls. Outside, the night was crisp and clear, the storm clouds having blown eastward over the mountains, leaving a vast canopy of cold Arizona stars arching over the quiet valley.
In the kitchen, Elena was spooning hot venison stew into tin bowls, while Nia sat by the hearth, her head resting against her folded arms on the table, fast asleep from pure exhaustion.
Mara stood on the back porch, her arms wrapped tightly around herself against the chill wind blowing down from the pass.
The screen door creaked softly, and Elias stepped out, carrying two tin mugs of steaming black coffee. He handed one to her, leaning his shoulder against the rough timber post beside her.
She took the mug, wrapping both hands around the warm metal, inhaling the dark, bitter steam. "Did the last of them sign?" she asked quietly.
"Every one of them," Elias said. "Even old man Henderson, who hasn't spoken to a Sandoval since the range war of '78. He said if your father could outsmart a Chicago syndicate from beyond the grave, the least he could do was sign his name to the paper."
A soft, genuine laugh escaped Mara's lips—the first true laugh Elias had heard from her since the day they had found her father's dead cattle in the wash.
"My father would have hated this," she murmured, looking out toward the dark horizon where the line of the San Pedro ran beneath the cottonwoods. "He was a stubborn man, Elias. He believed a man ought to stand on his own fence line and ask nothing of his neighbors."
"Your father stood alone," Elias said gently. "And that's why Vance thought he could break him. But you didn't stand alone, Mara. Not in town, not in that wash, and not here."
Mara turned her head, looking at him in the starlight. The bruises and scratches on her face couldn't diminish the fierce, striking beauty of her dark eyes.
"Neither did you, Elias Burke."
She reached out, her fingers sliding over the back of his hand where it rested on the cedar rail. Elias turned his palm upward, closing his fingers around hers. Her skin was rough, calloused from reins and rifle stocks, but her touch was warm and steady.
"What happens when the circuit court opens?" she asked softly. "Harshaw won't stop with that tax claim. He has more money than this entire territory combined."
"Let him bring his money," Elias answered, squeezing her hand. "We have the original land patents now. We have the cooperative trust. And tomorrow morning, Cole will have Vance in the territorial jail. Once Vance starts talking to save himself from the rope, Harshaw’s syndicate won't be able to buy enough lawyers to clean up the stink."
Mara looked down at their joined hands, her thumb tracing the scarred knuckles of his right wrist. "For the first time in three years, Elias... I don't feel like I have to sleep with one boot on."
Before Elias could answer, the sharp, distant crack of a rifle echoed from the north pasture.
Both of them stiffened.
Down by the stone granary, a shout went up. "Rider! Rider coming in hard!"
Elias set his coffee mug down instantly, his hand dropping to the Colt at his hip as he stepped off the porch into the yard. Mara was right behind him, drawing her carbine from where it rested against the wall.
A single horse galloped into the clearing, its sides heaving, white foam flying from its bit. The rider pulled the mount up so violently the animal sat back on its haunches, kicking up a shower of dry gravel.
It was Deputy Miller.
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The young lawman’s hat was gone, his coat torn, and a dark, sticky stain soaked the left shoulder of his wool shirt.
"Burke!" Miller cried, struggling to catch his breath as he slumped forward against the horse’s neck. "Burke... get your rifle!"
