Ellen's Arc

Chapter 15 of 45

The armored man shrank to a dot in the eastern haze. Ellen turned back to the wagon. Six women watched her from the shadow of the plating, waiting to be told where to run. She had a window now, and no place to send them. The flats stretched flat and open in every direction. Out here, anyone with a horse would spot them by noon. "We can't stay," Cade said. "Vincent's men know this wagon." He was right. The wagon was Vincent's, and Vincent counted her debt like a coin in his pocket. Ellen knelt and scratched a line in the dust with her knife. She had no map. She only had the man who owned half this plain. Hooves came from the south. Two riders, then Vincent on foot between them, his black suit clean against the dirt. He walked to the wagon like he owned it, because he did. His eyes moved over the women, over Cade's crusted wound, over Ellen. Five seconds, and he knew all of it. "You used my Gatling," Vincent said. Not a question. "Your gun saved your wagon," Ellen said. "Call it even." "Nothing's even." He looked east, where Stark had vanished. "Your tracker's gone. That won't last. Brennan still breathes." He let it sit. "You need walls I don't own." Ellen stood. "You have a place." "I have many." Vincent studied her. He knew what she wanted before she said it, and he knew what it would cost her. "There's a dry well past the salt beds. Stone lining. One way in. No one goes there. Not even mine." He paused. "It's yours. For the ledger." "I already keep your ledger secret," Ellen said. "Now you help me find it." Flat. No softening. "That's the price of a roof." Cade's hand drifted toward his hip. Ellen stopped him with a look. Six women behind the plating. No water past nightfall. No walls. She had spent every trick she owned. This was the last door, and Vincent held the key. "Show me the well," she said. "I'll help you find your ledger. When the women are safe. Not before." Vincent nodded once. He mounted, and one rider swung down to lead them. "South, past the white ground. My man takes you in." He looked at Cade. "He stays useful, he stays alive. That's on you." The riders turned. Ellen waved the women out of the shadow and onto the plain. They walked south in a tight line, Cade at the rear, watching every rise. The dry well waited past the salt beds, stone-walled, hidden, with one way in and out. She had a haven now. She had bought it with a promise to hunt a ledger for a man who ate promises for breakfast. The women would sleep behind stone tonight. And Vincent Marconi owned another piece of her.