Chapter 6 - Rebecca’s Choice
Rebecca arrived before sunrise.
Marshal Shaw allowed her five minutes.
She stood outside Caleb’s cell.
“You’re not signing.”
Caleb stared.
“Crowe talked to you?”
“He came to the house yesterday before the warrant.”
Caleb stood.
“What?”
“He offered to buy the ranch.”
“For how much?”
“Thirty thousand.”
Caleb laughed without humor.
Five thousand in blood money had become thirty thousand in cleanup money.
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“Rebecca—”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“You think you get to sacrifice my home without asking me?”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying not to do.”
“No. You’re considering lying again to save it.”
Caleb flinched.
Rebecca continued.
“That isn’t protecting me.”
“Crowe can seize the ranch.”
“Then he does.”
“You’ll lose everything.”
Her eyes filled.
“No.”
Caleb stared.
“I’ll lose land.”
“This is Dad’s ranch.”
“That’s the problem.”
She wiped at tears angrily.
“For three years I thought you left because you hated us.”
“I hated myself.”
“Same result.”
Caleb looked down.
Rebecca’s voice softened.
“I buried my husband there.”
“I know.”
“I raised his boy there.”
Caleb frowned.
“Boy?”
“You haven’t been home enough to know.”
The accusation landed.
Rebecca’s husband, Ben, had a son from an earlier marriage.
Eli.
Thirteen now.
Caleb had met him once.
The ranch was not only dirty money anymore.
It was someone else’s childhood.
Rebecca continued.
“That makes it harder. Not clearer.”
Caleb nodded.
“Yes.”
“But if Crowe owns our silence, he already owns the ranch.”
She took his hand through the bars.
“Tell the truth.”
He looked at her.
“Even if you lose it?”
“Even if I hate you afterward.”
That was love Caleb understood less easily than sacrifice.
It allowed consequences.
Marshal Shaw called:
“Time.”
Rebecca released his hand.
Before leaving, she slipped something beneath the bars.
Samuel’s letter.
The original.
Caleb stared.
Rebecca whispered:
“Dad left one more page.”
He unfolded it.
His father’s handwriting continued.
Caleb, Crowe’s badge is not merely an insignia. Boone knows. I helped mark three officers after Quartermaster Hale suspected contract theft. Look beneath the eagle.
Caleb’s heart accelerated.
“Rebecca.”
She looked back.
“Where’s the badge?”
“You had it.”
“No.”
Caleb remembered.
Takakota gave it to him.
He had worn it beneath his shirt before the arrest.
Then Marshal Shaw searched him.
The badge was taken.
Caleb looked toward the corridor.
“Shaw.”
Nshoba heard.
“What?”
“The badge.”
Caleb explained.
Nshoba sat forward.
“So Crowe needs it because—”
“There’s something beneath the eagle.”
The front of cavalry insignia had a brass eagle fixed over a backing plate.
Samuel and another quartermaster had marked suspected officers.
Maybe numbers.
Maybe account codes.
Crowe had not known exactly what Samuel did.
Now he wanted the badge before anyone looked.
Nshoba said:
“Then Marshal Shaw has evidence.”
Caleb nodded.
“Unless Crowe already bought him.”
Footsteps.
Shaw returned.
Caleb asked:
“My property from arrest.”
“In office.”
“The badge?”
Shaw paused.
Too long.
“What badge?”
Caleb stood.
“The brass cavalry insignia.”
Shaw’s face changed.
“I logged a coin, knife, belt—”
“Nshoba’s knife.”
“Yes.”
“And the badge.”
“I didn’t see one.”
Caleb looked at Nshoba.
Crowe had it.
Or one of Shaw’s deputies.
“Who searched me?”
“Deputy Cline.”
“Where is he?”
“Off duty.”
Caleb laughed.
“Of course.”
Shaw’s eyes narrowed.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Caleb decided.
A lie now repeated the pattern.
“The badge may contain evidence against Crowe.”
Shaw went still.
“What evidence?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how?”
“My father’s confession.”
Caleb handed him the letter.
Shaw read.
His expression changed.
“This could implicate your father in contract fraud.”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“Yes.”
“You still giving it to me?”
Caleb looked at him.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you’re Crowe’s man.”
Shaw’s face hardened.
Then he did something unexpected.
He unlocked Caleb’s cell.
Nshoba reached for his crutch.
Shaw said:
“You’re not released.”
Caleb stepped out.
“Then?”
“Come.”
They entered the evidence room.
Shaw opened the property ledger.
Caleb’s belongings were listed.
Revolver.
Gun belt.
Canteen.
Three dollars.
Samuel’s old pocket knife.
No badge.
Shaw swore.
He checked Deputy Cline’s shift sheet.
Then looked at Caleb.
“Cline didn’t go home.”
“Where?”
“Red Mesa office.”
They moved toward the window.
Across the street, lights burned inside Crowe’s building.
Shaw said:
“If I cross that door without warrant—”
Caleb stared.
“You arrested me on Crowe’s paper.”
“Judge’s paper.”
“You believe that distinction?”
Shaw did not answer.
Nshoba called from behind them:
“Sometimes law moves slowly because men want time to decide who pays them.”
Shaw looked offended.
Then sighed.
“Your friend is unpleasant.”
“He saved me trouble saying it.”
A gunshot erupted across the street.
Glass shattered from an upstairs window at Red Mesa.
A man stumbled through it.
Deputy Cline.
He fell onto the awning below and crashed into the dirt.
Still alive.
Barely.
Shaw ran outside.
Caleb followed before anyone stopped him.
Cline coughed blood.
His hand clutched something brass.
The badge.
He pushed it toward Caleb.
“Crowe…”
“What?”
Cline struggled.
“He said destroy it.”
Caleb took the insignia.
“Who shot you?”
Cline whispered:
“His lawyer.”
Then unconsciousness took him.
Shaw looked up at Red Mesa’s dark window.
Caleb turned the badge over.
He slid a knife beneath the brass eagle.
The old fitting lifted.
Scratched into the hidden backing were three lines.
NC — 417
RH — 422
SM — 431
Nathaniel Crowe.
R.H.
Samuel Morrison.
And account numbers.
Nshoba had been right.
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The badge was not memory.
It was a key.
