THE RANCH THAT RAN OUT OF WATER

Chapter Two: The Men at the Door

“Open the door, Mercer!”

The voice outside was sharp and impatient. Eleanor stood beside the table, her heart pounding as Caleb lifted his rifle from the wall.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered.

“I won’t have armed men threatening me in my own house without an explanation,” Eleanor replied.

Caleb gave her a grim look. “Then pray you don’t get one.”

Another fist slammed against the door.

Eleanor took a deep breath and opened it just enough to see three men sitting on horseback. The man in front wore a black hat, a fine leather coat, and a smile that seemed entirely out of place beneath the merciless prairie sky.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he said pleasantly. “My name is Silas Boone. We’re looking for a little girl who belongs to a dangerous man.”

“Then you should look somewhere else,” Eleanor answered. “This is a private ranch.”

Silas’s smile widened.

“Unfortunately, the girl we’re looking for is inside your house.”

Behind Eleanor, Clara let out a frightened gasp.

Silas tilted his head, listening.

“There she is.”

Eleanor stepped into the doorway, blocking his view. “You have no right to enter my property.”

“Perhaps not. But I have every right to reclaim what was stolen from me.”

Caleb appeared behind her, rifle held firmly in both hands.

“Tell them the truth, Silas.”

The stranger’s smile disappeared.

“The truth?” Silas repeated. “You murdered my brother and stole his property. Now you expect us to believe you’ve suddenly become an honorable father?”

“You know what your brother was doing,” Caleb said. “He was selling land that didn’t belong to him and threatening anyone who refused to sign his papers.”

Silas’s eyes narrowed.

“Careful, Mercer. A man with a daughter should learn when to keep his mouth shut.”

At the mention of Clara, Eleanor felt anger rise inside her.

“She is a child,” she said. “Whatever disagreement you have with her father, you have no business frightening her.”

Silas looked at Eleanor as though he had only just noticed her.

“Miss Whitmore, isn’t it? I hear your ranch is dying. No water, no money, and cattle that won’t last another week.”

Eleanor stiffened.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything.” He leaned forward in his saddle. “I’m buying abandoned properties throughout this county. I’ll give you enough money to leave this miserable place and start over somewhere civilized.”

“And in exchange?”

“Hand over the girl.”

“No.”

The answer came so quickly that even Caleb turned to look at her.

Silas’s pleasant expression hardened.

“Think carefully, ma’am. A woman alone on the prairie has very few friends.”

“So does a coward who needs three armed men to frighten a child.”

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Silas laughed softly.

“You have spirit. I admire that.”

He pulled the reins and turned his horse toward the road.

“But spirit won’t fill your well.”

His companions followed him into the darkness. Before disappearing beyond the fence, Silas glanced back.

“Three days, Miss Whitmore. That’s all the time you have. When I return, I expect the girl to be waiting.”

The horses vanished into the night.

Eleanor shut the door and leaned against it, trying to steady her breathing.

“Who is he?” she demanded.

Caleb lowered his rifle.

“Silas Boone owns half the land east of here. Or at least, he claims he does.”

“And Clara?”

Caleb looked toward the stairs.

“Her father was Silas’s brother.”

Eleanor stared at him.

“You brought the daughter of a powerful landowner into my house without telling me?”

“I brought an innocent child to a place where I hoped she’d be safe.”

“From her own uncle?”

“From a man who would destroy an entire county to get what he wants.”

A small sound came from the stairs.

Clara stood there, clutching her leather bag. Her eyes were red, but she had stopped crying.

“Papa said Uncle Silas was a good man,” she whispered. “Before he died.”

Caleb’s expression softened.

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Did Papa die because of him?”

The question hung in the room like smoke.

Caleb knelt before his daughter.

“Your father died because he refused to let Silas take something that belonged to everyone.”

Clara lowered her head.

Inside her leather bag was a small folded paper. She had carried it for months, through rainstorms, across dry riverbeds, and beneath the blankets of strange wagons.

Now she slowly took it out.

“Papa told me to give this to someone who would protect the land.”

Caleb stared at the paper.

“Clara, where did you get that?”

“From Papa. Before he died.”

Eleanor watched as the child unfolded it. The paper contained a rough drawing of the surrounding prairie, with several marks near the hills behind the ranch.

At the center was a single sentence written in a hurried hand.

The water belongs to those who need it, not those who can buy it.

Caleb looked up at Eleanor.

“Your father knew,” he whispered.

“Knew what?”

“That there’s more beneath this land than an ordinary underground stream.”

For the first time since the well had run dry, Eleanor felt the ground beneath her feet shift in a way that had nothing to do with drought.

Outside, the wind swept across the prairie.

And somewhere beyond the distant hills, Silas Boone was already preparing his next move.