Now he was beginning to wonder whether someone had deliberately arranged them.
"Tell me something," he said.
"Yes?" Gabriel answered.
"How many people have lost their homes?"
Gabriel didn't immediately respond.
"At least eleven families that we know about."
Walter looked toward the dark window.
Eleven families.
Eleven kitchens where someone might have placed two plates on a table before remembering that a loved one was gone.
Eleven houses where children might have grown up believing that the world was something that happened to them rather than something they could influence.
He thought about his father.
He thought about Eleanor.
He thought about the oak tree.
Then he looked at Gabriel.
"What do you intend to do?"
"Find proof."
"And then?"
"Take it to the authorities."
Walter nodded.
"Good."
Gabriel looked surprised.
"You believe us?"
Walter gave him a tired smile.
"I believe that somebody is trying to take my home. I believe your wife was frightened enough to walk through a storm rather than stay where she was. And I believe that people don't usually go to such lengths to hide something harmless."
He placed the letter on the table.
"Now, I want to know what I can do."
Gabriel studied him.
"Mr. Briggs, you don't have to get involved."
Walter's expression hardened.
"Son, I have spent most of my life being told what I can and cannot do by people who wanted something from me."
He looked at the riders around the room.
"At my age, I have very little patience left for that."
Doc smiled.
"I like him."
"Get in line," Walter replied.
The following morning arrived beneath a pale gray sky.
The storm had finally moved east, leaving behind flooded ditches, fallen branches, and a thick layer of mud across the farm road.
Walter woke at six.
He discovered that someone had already made coffee.
Doc was standing outside near the old barn, examining a rusted tractor.
"Morning," Walter called.
Doc turned.
"Morning, boss."
Walter frowned.
"Don't call me that."
"Sorry, boss."
Walter shook his head.
Duke trotted toward the barn, his tail moving slowly.
Doc crouched and offered the dog a biscuit.
"What's his name?"
"Duke."
"Good-looking animal."
"He's an expert at doing nothing."
Doc looked at the dog.
"Then he's qualified to be a mechanic."
Walter laughed.
For a few minutes, they discussed the tractor.
It had belonged to Walter's father. The engine had been rebuilt twice, and several parts had been replaced over the years.
Doc listened carefully.
"Would you mind if I took a look?"
Walter hesitated.
"You're welcome to try. But she hasn't run properly in eighteen months."
Doc opened the hood.
"There's always a reason."
He examined the fuel lines, checked the battery, and inspected the wiring.
Walter watched him work.
The man handled the machinery with the familiarity of someone who had spent a lifetime listening to engines.
After twenty minutes, Doc straightened.
"Your fuel line's cracked."
"That all?"
"That's enough."
"Can you fix it?"
Doc grinned.
"I'd be insulted if you didn't let me."
They worked until nearly eight.
When the tractor finally started, Walter stood completely still.
The old engine coughed twice.
Then it settled into a familiar rhythm.
For a moment, Walter was no longer seventy-eight.
He was twenty-five, standing beside his father in the same barn, listening to the same machine.
His father had once told him that machinery had a memory.
Not like people.
But every repair, every adjustment, every careful decision left something behind.
Walter rested his hand on the tractor's hood.
"Thank you."
Doc wiped his hands.
"You're welcome."
Walter looked at him.
"You know, I thought you people came here to cause trouble."
Doc laughed.
"We've been accused of worse."
"I can imagine."
"But sometimes we fix things."
Walter looked at the running tractor.
"Apparently."
Gabriel woke later that morning.
He found Mara standing near the kitchen window.
She was looking toward the driveway.
"What's wrong?"
She turned.
"I don't think those men have given up."
Gabriel followed her gaze.
A dark SUV was parked near the far end of the road.
It had been there for several minutes.
Gabriel's expression changed.
He stepped outside.
Two riders were already approaching the vehicle.
The SUV reversed.
Then it disappeared around the bend.
Gabriel watched until the road was empty.
When he returned, Mara was waiting.
"See?" she whispered.
He wrapped his arms around her.
"We'll deal with it."
"I don't want Walter dragged into this."
"Neither do I."
She looked toward the kitchen.
The old farmer was sitting at the table, writing something in a small notebook.
"What is he doing?"
Gabriel smiled faintly.
"Planning."
Walter looked up.
"Correct."
He turned the notebook around.
It contained a list of names, dates, and property addresses.