Cole stared at Nalin.
For several seconds, he couldn’t speak.
“The sheriff?”
She nodded.
Cole felt cold anger rise.
The nearest town’s sheriff was a man named Walter Haines.
He had held office for four years.
He was popular among wealthy ranchers.
Polite to merchants.
And famous for claiming that outlaw gangs were impossible to control across such a large territory.
Cole had never trusted him.
But he had never suspected he might be working with Rourke.
Nalin continued.
“When men drink, they talk.”
Cole listened.
She swallowed.
“Rourke say sheriff tell him where soldiers go.”
Cole’s jaw tightened.
“Patrol routes?”
She nodded.
“He say sheriff get money.”
Cole looked toward the window.
Suddenly, several things made sense.
Rourke had escaped repeated attempts to capture him.
Witnesses had disappeared.
And every time a posse approached one of his camps, the gang seemed to know in advance.
Cole took a slow breath.
“Did you see the papers?”
Nalin nodded.
“Small book.”
He frowned.
“A ledger?”
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Book.”
Cole looked at her.
“Where is it?”
She swallowed.
“Rourke keeps it.”
He sighed.
Then she reached beneath the collar of her borrowed shirt.
Cole watched as she pulled out a small folded piece of paper.
Her hands trembled.
“I take one.”
Cole stared.
She unfolded it carefully.
The paper was stained and creased.
Several names appeared beside amounts of money.
One name stood out.
**W. HAINES — $1,200**
Cole felt his stomach drop.
Nalin watched him.
“I hide.”
He looked up.
“When?”
She swallowed.
“Before I run.”
Cole stared at the paper.
It wasn’t proof of every crime Rourke had committed.
But it was evidence worth investigating.
And it might explain why the gang had been so determined to find Nalin.
Cole took a slow breath.
“Do they know you have this?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t think.”
He nodded.
Then looked toward the door.
Mateo’s son had ridden to town.
If he contacted Sheriff Haines, the warning might reach Rourke instead.
Cole felt a chill.
“We need to change our plan.”
Nalin looked frightened.
“What?”
“Mateo sent word to the sheriff.”
Her eyes widened.
Cole nodded.
“If Haines is involved, we may have told Rourke exactly where to find us.”
Nalin’s breathing quickened.
Cole stepped back.
“Listen. We’re not helpless.”
He looked toward the northern ridge.
“Mateo has family near Santa Fe. We can send another message through them.”
Nalin nodded.
Cole continued.
“And there’s a territorial marshal who sometimes works out of the military post.”
He paused.
“I knew him years ago.”
Nalin looked at him.
“Good man?”
Cole considered the question.
“Good enough that I’d trust him with my life.”
He looked toward the barn.
“But first, we need to survive until morning.”
They worked through the night.
Cole prepared the horses.
Packed water.
Food.
Bandages.
And the paper Nalin had taken.
He placed it inside an oilskin pouch.
Then gave it to her.
She looked surprised.
“You keep.”
Cole shook his head.
“You found it.”
She stared.
He continued.
“And you decide what happens to it.”
Nalin’s eyes filled with tears.
She nodded.
Near dawn, Cole heard movement beyond the barn.
He raised his rifle.
A figure stepped from the shadows.
Cole nearly fired.
Then recognized Mateo Ortega.
The older rancher raised both hands.
“Easy, amigo.”
Cole lowered the weapon.
“Mateo?”
Mateo hurried toward him.
His face was grim.
“My son never reached the sheriff.”
Cole frowned.
“What happened?”
Mateo swallowed.
“He saw armed men outside town.”
Cole felt his stomach tighten.
Mateo continued.
“They were waiting near the road.”
Nalin stepped into the doorway.
Mateo looked at her.
Then at Cole.
“We have a problem.”
Cole nodded.
“I know.”
Mateo shook his head.
“No, you don’t.”
He pointed toward the southern ridge.
“Rourke isn’t coming with seven men anymore.”
Cole stared.
Mateo continued.
“My son counted twelve.”
The first light of dawn appeared over the mountains.
And somewhere beyond the ridge, twelve armed men were preparing to ride toward the ranch.
