Chapter 8 - Silas’s Table
Mason went to Silas’s ranch that evening.
Clara wanted to come.
He refused.
She hated the decision.
“That sounds like protection.”
“It is.”
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“No.”
“Then don’t decide for me.”
Mason looked at her.
“Silas may have ordered your father beaten.”
“Which is exactly why—”
“And if I take you into his house while I confront him, I make you part of my strategy.”
Clara stopped.
Mason continued.
“I won’t use you that way.”
She looked annoyed.
But less angry.
“Come back alive.”
“I intend to.”
Silas’s ranch house was twice the size of Mason’s.
Polished floors.
Silver serving trays.
Oil portraits of Callaghan men staring down from every wall.
Silas ate steak alone.
He gestured toward the opposite chair.
“Sit.”
Mason remained standing.
“I spoke to Elijah Cross.”
Silas cut another piece.
“Poor Elijah. Outlived his usefulness by twenty years.”
“He notarized Thomas’s confession.”
“So?”
“So it’s real.”
“I never said it wasn’t.”
Mason stared.
Silas chewed calmly.
“Thomas became sentimental.”
“He admitted fraud.”
“Yes.”
“You admit it too?”
Silas smiled.
“Careful.”
“That isn’t denial.”
“No.”
Mason felt anger rising.
“You stole water from six families.”
“I acquired water.”
“With forged deeds.”
“With documents people accepted for fourteen years.”
“Because you frightened witnesses.”
“Because the county needed stability.”
Mason almost laughed.
“Stability?”
“You were young. You remember dead cattle but not the panic.”
Silas put down his knife.
“Banks were failing. Ranches were collapsing. Families were selling everything. We consolidated water, kept operations alive, employed hundreds.”
“You stole.”
“We survived.”
“Samuel Vale refused your money.”
Silas’s expression changed slightly.
“Elijah told you.”
“Yes.”
“Samuel was stubborn.”
“Did you send Harlan?”
Silas leaned back.
“I told Pike to persuade him.”
“He was beaten.”
“I didn’t order that.”
“Did you punish Harlan?”
“No.”
“Then you accepted it.”
Silas stared at him.
“You sound like Ruth.”
Mason went still.
“How well did you know what Ruth was doing?”
“Enough.”
“Did you threaten her?”
“No.”
“Did you know she went to Samuel?”
“Not until after she died.”
Mason believed him.
That disturbed him.
Silas continued.
“She came to me once.”
“When?”
“A month before the fever.”
“What did she say?”
“That she found irregular payments.”
“And you?”
“Told her marriage would be easier if she stopped digging through dead men’s mistakes.”
Mason’s jaw tightened.
“She was sick when she went to Samuel.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?”
Silas took a drink.
“Because she knew you.”
Mason hated hearing Clara’s words repeated.
“You would have confronted Thomas,” Silas said.
“He was already dead.”
“You would have confronted me.”
“Yes.”
“And if I showed you that correcting every deed could destroy the ranch, what would you have done?”
Mason opened his mouth.
No answer came.
Silas smiled sadly.
“That’s why Ruth didn’t tell you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you better than she did.”
“No.”
Silas’s expression hardened.
“I raised you after your father died.”
“You taught me cattle.”
“I taught you everything.”
“You taught me a lie.”
“I gave you a ranch.”
“You gave me stolen water.”
Silas slammed his hand onto the table.
“For God’s sake, Mason, stop pretending virtue feeds cattle!”
The room shook with his voice.
Mason remained still.
Silas leaned forward.
“You close Piedra Creek and you lose pasture. You recognize Vale claims and five more families come. You restore all of it and Callaghan land fractures into pieces.”
“Then it fractures.”
Silas laughed.
“You say that now because you think sacrifice will make the girl trust you.”
“This isn’t about Clara.”
“It became about Clara the moment you paid fifty dollars.”
Mason’s face hardened.
Silas continued.
“You think you rescued her.”
“I cut her loose.”
“Yes.”
“And now you need her to prove you’re different from us.”
Mason hated the accusation because part of it struck near something true.
Silas saw the hesitation.
“There.”
He smiled.
“You don’t love truth, boy.”
“You love feeling clean.”
Mason looked around the dining room.
Thomas’s portrait hung beside the fireplace.
For years Mason had admired it.
Now he saw a frightened man who chose inheritance over confession.
“Maybe.”
Mason turned toward the door.
“But feeling unclean is still better than staying dirty.”
Silas stood.
“If you expose those deeds, you will lose the ranch.”
“Maybe.”
“You’ll lose cattle.”
“Maybe.”
“You’ll lose the Callaghan name.”
Mason looked back.
“That sounds less like a threat every day.”
Outside, Harlan waited near the stable.
Mason stopped.
Harlan smiled.
“You should’ve minded your own business at the auction.”
Mason walked closer.
“You should’ve cut Clara loose before I arrived.”
Harlan’s smile faded.
“What happens next won’t be fifty dollars.”
Mason mounted.
“What happens next won’t be an auction either.”
He rode home beneath a red sunset.
Halfway there, he saw smoke.
At first one thin column.
Then several.
Coming from his property.
Mason kicked his horse hard.
The west pasture was burning.
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And Piedra Creek was the only water close enough to stop it.
The same channel Mason had ordered closed that morning.
