Chapter 7: First Conflict

The quiet threat issued by Jedediah Shaw did not fade with the dust cloud he left behind; it settled over the ranch like a poisonous mist. Shaw’s visit was more than a trespass; it was a psychological assault that affirmed Elara’s deepest fears: that her safety was conditional, and that her survival depended on her ability to escape before the next buyer arrived. Steward had fought the outside world, but now he had to contend with the internal fallout.

Steward found himself increasingly restless. He avoided the kitchen, knowing he reeked of the deception he’d been forced to maintain in front of Shaw. Instead, he worked. He rode long hours checking the fences, pushing the horses until his physical exhaustion could momentarily eclipse his gnawing guilt. When he returned, Maria would only communicate the girls’ status in Spanish, deliberately softening the tension.

Over the next two days, the girls’ fragile routines began to unravel. Miya (9), usually happy to chatter and practice her English ciphering with the dried beans, grew quiet, her eyes constantly darting toward the distant canyon entrance. Elara (13), however, didn’t retreat; she grew distant and fiercely meticulous. She redoubled her efforts on her lessons, seeing them now not as gifts, but as tools—weapons for self-determination. She rode ‘Silas’ relentlessly, demanding a hard gallop around the main corral until the mare was winded and Steward had to intervene.

Steward watched her from the porch, understanding the message: She was preparing to run.

The confrontation came on the fourth night after Shaw’s visit. Steward had dismissed the ranch hands and sat alone in the parlor, the house silent save for the crackle of the wood in the fireplace. He was reviewing the trust papers Kroll had drafted—documents meant to secure the girls’ financial future—when Maria appeared in the doorway, her face shadowed and grave.

“Señor Grainger,” she whispered, her voice tight. “Elara has gone.”

Steward’s heart seized, a terrible, visceral punch that stole his breath. He dropped the papers onto the small reading table. “Miya?”

“Miya is asleep, still near the hearth. Elara left a note on the table. She wrote it in their language, but she left the chalk.” Maria held out the chalk. “She knows you are trying to be kind, but she does not believe in permanent safety. She believes she must protect her sister by disappearing first.”

Steward bolted to the kitchen. He saw Miya, still curled peacefully under a blanket, and felt a rush of both relief and dread. Elara, the protector, was making the ultimate sacrifice to ensure her sister’s life.

He grabbed his hat and gun belt, not bothering with a coat. “Which direction?”

“The canyon, toward the mountains,” Maria said, already saddling the mare. “She took a saddle, a water skin, and some jerky. She took ‘Silas’.”

“Damn the girl!” Steward muttered, the anger a sharp shield against the fear. He knew the gray mare was fast, and Elara was a quick, natural rider. She had several hours head start, riding through terrain she was learning by heart.

He mounted his own powerful gelding, ‘Justice’, and spurred him into the dark. The canyon mouth was a black maw, but Steward knew the land. He knew Elara wouldn’t ride toward Tucson, not after the trauma of the auction block. She would ride into the mountains, toward the Sonora border, believing she could somehow reach the Yaqui homeland, or at least lose herself in the peaks until the danger passed.