"Did you forget how to be a child?"
"A long time ago. Different reasons, but yes."
"Do you remember what it was like before you forgot?"
Norah searched her memory for some fragment of childhood innocence.
Some moment before life got hard and stained.
She found almost nothing.
"Not really. Just pieces. The smell of my mother's soap. The sound of my father laughing before he got sick. Small things."
"I'm going to try to remember," Ru said seriously. "So when I'm grown, I can tell my kids what being little was like before everything got complicated."
"That's a good plan."
"Will you help me remember?"
Norah's chest tightened.
"How?"
"By not letting me forget. By reminding me when things are good, not just when they're bad."
She hugged him properly then.
This four-year-old who somehow understood more about life than most adults.
"I promise."
Harlon returned late afternoon with Willis Mercer, Charlotte Webb, and three other ranchers Norah didn't know.
They crowded into the house, bringing cold air and grim expressions.
"Tell them what you told me," Harlon said to one of the unfamiliar men.
The man was younger than Harlon, maybe 30, with burn scars covering half his face.
"Black Hollow hit the Morrison place two nights ago. Burned the barn. Stole what livestock they could move. Left a message."
"What kind of message?" Norah asked.
The man's scarred face twisted.
"They painted words on what was left of the barn. 'Pay or burn.' Simple enough."
"Pay what?"
"Whatever they decide. Protection money, they call it. You pay them regular, they leave you alone. You don't pay..."
He gestured to his scars.
"This was three years ago when I told them no. They didn't burn my whole place, but they made their point."
Charlotte spoke up, her voice hard.
"They've been doing this for years. Picking off isolated ranches, terrorizing families until they either pay or leave. Most people pay."
"Do you?" Thomas asked.
"No. But I've been lucky. Or too poor to be worth their time. Either way, my luck's running out same as everyone else's."
Harlon spread a rough map across the table.
"Here's what we know. Black Hollow operates out of the pass north of here. There's maybe 20 of them, give or take. They hit ranches in a pattern, working south through the valley, hitting families that can't defend themselves."
Willis Mercer pointed to the map.
"We're right in their path. Between here and the Morrison place, there's six ranches, including ours. If they're working south, we're next."
"When?" Eli asked.
"Could be days. Could be weeks. But it's coming."
The room went quiet.
Outside, snow continued to fall, burying the world in white that looked peaceful if you didn't know better.
"So what do we do?" one of the other ranchers asked. "We can't fight 20 outlaws."
"Not individually," Harlon agreed.
"But together, we're still just farmers with hunting rifles going against men who kill for a living."
"Then we make ourselves not worth the trouble," Norah said.
Everyone turned to look at her.
"Explain," Charlotte said.
Norah moved to the map.
"They're counting on us being isolated, scared, easy targets. But if we consolidate, if we move families and livestock to one location and defend that, we change the equation."
"You're talking about abandoning our ranches," the scarred man said.
"I'm talking about temporarily relocating to save lives. Your buildings don't matter if you're dead."
"Where would we consolidate?" Willis asked.
Harlon answered.
"Here. The Greer Ranch is central. We've got the most space."
And he glanced at Norah.