"You don't have to tell me anything else."
Clara looked at him.
"But I want to."
He waited.
"My husband was named Thomas Bennett. He worked for a rancher near Cheyenne. A wealthy man named Silas Crowe."
Elias frowned.
"Silas Crowe?"
"You know him?"
"Everyone knows him. Owns three ranches, a grain warehouse, and half the bank in Red Willow."
Clara nodded.
"He hired Thomas to manage his cattle. At first, everything was good. Thomas earned enough to rent a little house, and we talked about buying land of our own."
She swallowed.
"Then Thomas started drinking. He lost money gambling. Crowe offered him loans, and soon Thomas owed more than he could ever repay."
Elias understood.
"Did Crowe own your house?"
"He said he did."
"Did you sign any papers?"
Clara shook her head.
"Thomas signed them. I never saw what they said."
Elias looked toward the mountains.
"There's a lawyer in Red Willow. Samuel Whitmore. He might be able to help."
Clara stiffened.
"I can't go back."
"Why?"
"Because Crowe will find me."
Elias looked at her steadily.
"Then we'll make sure he doesn't get the chance to hurt you."
Clara stared at him.
For the first time, she allowed herself to believe that perhaps she had found a place where she did not have to run.
But Silas Crowe had already begun searching for her.
Crowe was a tall man with silver hair, expensive clothes, and a smile that rarely reached his eyes. He owned enough land to employ dozens of men and possessed enough money to make the sheriff hesitate before questioning him.
He had built his fortune by lending money to struggling ranchers and acquiring their land when they could not repay him.
Sometimes the debts were legitimate.
Often, they were not.
When Clara disappeared, Crowe sent a hired hand to investigate.
The man returned three days later with news that a woman matching her description had been seen near the northern trail.
Crowe sat behind his desk, examining a document bearing Clara's name.
"You're certain?"
"Yes, sir."
"Which direction?"
"Toward the Mercer place."
Crowe's expression hardened.
Elias Mercer had refused to sell his ranch despite owing money to the bank. He had recently begun asking questions about the railroad survey and the land purchases along the northern route.
Now he was sheltering a woman who knew too much.
Crowe folded the document.
"Find her."
The hired hand hesitated.
"And if Mercer refuses to cooperate?"
Crowe smiled.
"Then remind him that his bank loan is due in November."
The following morning, Elias drove Clara into Red Willow.
She wore a blue dress that had belonged to Margaret. Elias had offered it to her after she complained that her own clothes were nearly falling apart.
Clara had initially refused.
Then she had touched the fabric and whispered a thank-you.
The town was small, with a main street lined by wooden buildings, a blacksmith's shop, a general store, a church, and a hotel with a faded sign.
As the wagon entered the street, several people turned to stare.
Clara lowered her head.
"Don't mind them," Elias said.
"They're looking at me."
"People here look at everything. Last week, they spent three days discussing a chicken that laid two eggs in one morning."
Clara almost laughed.
They stopped outside the general store. Elias helped her down and tied the reins to a post.
"I'll be inside for a few minutes."
"I'll wait here."
He entered the store and purchased flour, coffee, salt, and a small sack of sugar. The storekeeper, an old man named Henry, placed the supplies on the counter.
"How's your ranch, Elias?"
"Still standing."
"Bank giving you trouble?"
Elias nodded.
Henry sighed.