By morning, Beatatrice had burned the threatening note.

She told herself it was to keep Caleb from worrying.

But that was only half the truth.

The other half was that she recognized the handwriting.

And the person who had written those six words was supposed to be dead.

Caleb rose before sunrise and found his wife already working.

She had prepared coffee, biscuits, and a small packet of food for his ride.

“You don’t need to do all this,” he said.

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because you have enough trouble outside this house.”

He looked at her for a long moment.

“Beatatrice, what did Rusk mean last night?”

She continued folding the cloth around his breakfast.

“I don’t know what he meant.”

“Did you know him before coming here?”

“No.”

It was not entirely a lie.

She had never met Silas Rusk face-to-face.

But she knew his name.

She had known it since she was twelve years old.

And she had crossed half the country to find out what he had done.

That afternoon, Caleb rode into Oak Haven to negotiate another extension on his debt.

Beatatrice remained behind.

She waited until the sound of his horse faded.

Then she walked toward the eastern pasture.

The land looked ordinary.

A frozen creek twisted between two low ridges. Sagebrush grew in stubborn clusters. An abandoned windmill leaned against the sky.

But Beatatrice carried something that made the landscape look very different.

Her mother’s railway map.

She unfolded it beside the creek.

On the old paper, a narrow red line crossed the pasture.

Beside it were three handwritten words.

ORIGINAL SURVEY MARKER.

Beatatrice searched for nearly an hour.

Then she found it.

A flat stone half-buried beneath frozen mud.

She scraped away the dirt with a broken horseshoe.

Underneath was a small iron plate stamped with a date.

1871.

She knelt closer.

The plate bore an unfamiliar company name.

Hawthorne Land and Water Company.

Beatatrice’s breath caught.

Her mother’s maiden name had been Hawthorne.

She pulled a small notebook from her pocket and copied the markings.

Then a voice sounded behind her.

“That’s private land.”

Beatatrice turned.

A young man sat astride a gray horse.

He wore Rusk’s brand on his coat.

His name was Daniel Pike, one of the cattleman’s hired riders.

“This belongs to my husband,” Beatatrice replied.

Daniel smiled unpleasantly.

“That’s what he thinks.”

He dismounted.

“Mr. Rusk doesn’t appreciate strangers digging around.”

“Then Mr. Rusk should mind his own property.”

Daniel’s smile vanished.

“You’re making a mistake, Mrs. Hayes.”

Beatatrice rose.

She was broad, heavy, and nearly a head shorter than him.

But she did not step backward.

“Then I suppose we’ll both have something to discuss with the sheriff.”

Daniel looked at the iron plate.

Then at her notebook.

“Give me that.”

“No.”

He reached for it.

Beatatrice struck his hand with the horseshoe.

Daniel shouted.

Before he could recover, she shoved him backward into the shallow creek.

He landed in icy water with a tremendous splash.

Beatatrice stepped away.

“Tell Mr. Rusk I don’t enjoy being interrupted.”

Then she turned and walked toward the cabin.

She did not run.

But her heart was pounding.

Because she now knew one thing with certainty.

The eastern pasture contained something Rusk desperately wanted hidden.

Meanwhile, Caleb’s visit to Oak Haven had gone badly.

The bank manager refused to extend his loan.

Rusk had purchased the outstanding note.

Unless Caleb paid four hundred dollars by Friday, Broken Spur would be seized.

Four hundred dollars.

Caleb had nineteen.

He returned home near sunset, carrying defeat like a physical weight.

Beatatrice met him at the door.

“How much?”

He stared.

“What?”

“How much money does Mr. Rusk claim you owe?”

“Four hundred dollars.”

“May I see the papers?”

Caleb frowned.

“Why?”

“Because I used to keep accounts.”

“For a boardinghouse?”

“For several businesses.”

He hesitated.

Then retrieved the leather folder from beneath his bed.

Beatatrice sat at the table and began reading.

Caleb watched her turn each page.

At first, her expression remained calm.

Then her eyebrows drew together.

She turned back three pages.

Read again.

And finally whispered, “Oh, you foolish man.”

Caleb stiffened.

“Excuse me?”

“Not you. Mr. Rusk.”

She spread the documents across the table.

“Caleb, your father borrowed two hundred dollars in 1878.”

“I know.”

“These papers show payments totaling two hundred and sixty-seven dollars.”

“Interest.”

“Not all of it.”

She pointed to a column.

“Here. And here. These payments were entered twice under different dates. Then someone added a penalty that doesn’t appear in the original agreement.”

Caleb leaned closer.

Beatatrice continued.

“And this signature supposedly belongs to your father.”

“Yes.”

“Was he alive in March of 1881?”

Caleb went still.

“No.”

“Then how did he sign this document?”

Silence filled the cabin.

Caleb stared at the paper.

His father had died in December of 1880.

Yet the bank’s records contained a new agreement bearing his signature three months later.

Beatatrice placed both hands flat on the table.

“Caleb, I believe someone has been stealing from you.”

He looked at her.

“Can you prove it?”

“Not yet.”

“Then what good does it do?”

She reached into her pocket and placed the survey notebook beside the papers.

“Because the debt isn’t the only thing Mr. Rusk has been lying about.”

Before Caleb could respond, a gunshot cracked outside.

The window shattered.

Caleb grabbed Beatatrice and pulled her beneath the table.

A second shot struck the mantel.

Then came the sound of galloping horses.

When Caleb finally reached the door, the riders were gone.

But something had been nailed to the porch post.

A small wooden board.

Painted across it in black letters:

LEAVE THE EASTERN PASTURE ALONE.

Caleb turned toward his wife.

“What have you done?”

Beatatrice looked at the warning.

Then she said something that changed everything.

“I came here because your father knew my mother.”

Caleb stared at her.

“Your mother?”

Beatatrice nodded.

“And I believe both of them were cheated out of something worth far more than this ranch.”

END OF PART 2