Eleanor listened from the hallway.
Voices low.
Serious.
"It's not only us," Miguel Santos reported.
Miguel, a quiet ranch hand responsible for the horses, rarely spoke unnecessarily.
"Saw Henderson's foreman in town yesterday. They've lost cattle too."
He looked around.
"Johnson place up north is missing nearly 50 head."
"Anybody seen anything suspicious?" Thomas asked.
"Strangers in town asking questions," Jake replied. "Well-dressed fellow says he's a cattle buyer, but he's asking mighty specific things about who owns what land and how many men each ranch employs."
Eleanor's blood chilled.
Not random theft.
Reconnaissance.
Miguel spoke again.
"There's something else."
Everyone turned.
"That fellow asked about the railroad survey. Wanted to know which route they decided on."
Thomas remained silent.
Eleanor could almost hear his mind assembling pieces.
"The railroad," he finally said.
His voice hardened.
"Somebody wants our land for the railroad."
The pattern became clear.
The stolen cattle weren't simply about livestock.
They were meant to weaken Thomas financially.
Make the ranch expensive to defend and difficult to maintain.
Force him to sell.
"What do we do?" asked Peter Walsh, barely 18 and new to ranching.
"We watch."
Thomas's expression darkened.
"We wait."
Then:
"And we protect what's ours."
Eleanor returned to the kitchen before the meeting ended.
Her hands shook as she cleaned dishes.
She had come to this ranch seeking safety.
Security.
Now even this refuge was threatened.
The following morning brought worse news.
Thomas returned from the eastern pasture with a face like granite.
"They hit us again last night."
Eleanor froze.
"Fifteen more head."
His mouth tightened.
"And one of the bulls was killed rather than driven off."
Eleanor felt sick.
The unnecessary destruction indicated something worse than greed.
"Why would they do that?" Daniel asked.
Both boys were listening with the intense concentration children brought to adult trouble they only partially understood.
"To send a message," Thomas answered carefully.
He glanced at Eleanor.
"Some people think they can take what doesn't belong to them."
She saw worry beneath his words.
This was no longer only rustling.
It was intimidation.
Three days later, the campaign escalated.
Eleanor was kneading bread when shouting erupted outside.
She rushed to the window.
Jake Morrison was stumbling toward the house, supported by Miguel.
His shoulder was badly injured.
Without thinking, Eleanor ran outside.
"What happened?"
"Found him by the creek," Miguel said. "He was shot in the shoulder. Lucky it wasn't worse."
They helped Jake into the kitchen.
Eleanor immediately assessed the wound with the calm practicality she had learned while tending injuries at the schoolhouse.
The injury appeared serious but not immediately life-threatening.
She began organizing what she needed.