"You're right," she said finally. "I can't promise nothing bad will happen. But I can promise I'll try my hardest to come back. That's all any of us can do."
Ru hugged her fiercely, then let Charlotte guide him into the cellar.
Norah took her position near the house, a rifle in her hands that she barely knew how to use.
Around the perimeter, men crouched behind barricades, their breath visible in the cold morning air.
Thomas was at the north position.
Eli at the south.
Harlon was everywhere, checking on people, offering last words of encouragement that sounded more like goodbyes.
The sun rose slowly, turning snow pink, then white, then blinding.
And then they came.
Black Hollow appeared from the north.
Twenty riders moving fast through snow that should have slowed them down.
They spread out as they approached, flanking the ranch on three sides, cutting off escape routes.
The scarred man had been right.
These weren't farmers or shopkeepers playing at violence.
These were men who killed professionally, whose survival depended on being faster, meaner, more willing to do terrible things than their victims.
They stopped just outside rifle range.
The leader, the same scarred man who'd come to the door days earlier, rode forward alone.
His hands visible.
His posture radiating confidence.
"Harlon Greer," he called out. "We need to talk."
Harlon stood up from behind the barricade.
"Nothing to talk about."
"I think there is. You've made things complicated by gathering all these people. That's inconvenient."
"Life's inconvenient. You'll survive."
The outlaw leader smiled.
"See, that's the question, isn't it? Who survives today?"
He gestured at the gathered defenders.
"You've got maybe 30 people. Half of them women and children. We've got 20 men who do this for a living. You do the math."
"Math says you die if you attack."
"Some of us, sure. But all of you."
The smile widened.
"Those aren't good odds for you."
"Then ride away. Find easier targets."
"Can't do that. You've made an example of yourselves by gathering like this. If we let you stand, other ranches might get ideas. Can't have that."
The outlaw's voice hardened.
"But I'm reasonable. Here's my offer. You pay us what the Morrison family would have paid, plus a little extra for the inconvenience. Everyone walks away alive."
"How much?"
"Everything you've got. Livestock. Supplies. Weapons. You keep your lives and the roof over your heads. That's generous, all things considered."
Harlon looked at the faces behind the barricades.
Families who'd brought everything they owned, trusting him to keep them safe.
Giving up their supplies meant slow starvation.
But fighting meant immediate death for some.
Maybe all of them.
Before he could answer, Norah stood up.
"No," she said clearly.
The outlaw leader turned his attention to her.
"And who are you?"
"Nobody important. Just someone who's tired of men like you deciding who gets to survive."
"Is that right?"
He seemed amused.
"And what do you propose instead?"
"I propose you leave now, while you still can."
The outlaws laughed.
"Lady, I don't think you understand the situation."