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Marmee rose from her chair. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I told him it was private property. I didn’t know he meant harm.”

“Neither did anyone else,” Eden said.

Rose gave her a grateful nod.

“Did he ask about the Pickett land?” Marmee asked.

“Not by name. He asked where the cattle ranches lay along the creek and which crossings were shallow.”

Eden opened her notebook to a clean page. Crowley’s description matched the man Jesse remembered: silver tooth, polished boots, peppermint. The road questions matched Rusk’s interest in the south pasture.

“Was anyone with him in the store?” she asked.

“Another man waited outside. Couldn’t tell you what he looked like under his hat.” Rose hesitated. “Crowley said they had business that couldn’t wait on the weather.”

Hannah leaned forward. “That’s an odd thing to say while asking which roads wash out.”

“Unless the rain was part of the business,” Eden said.

A hard gust drove water against the windows. She remembered what her father had told the visitor in Missouri about the mill road, and the stranger’s answer: low water was better than no water if a man understood the timing. She had already written home to ask her father to write down what he remembered. Until he replied, she had only that recollection.

“Hiram says a heavy rain can hide tracks at a crossing,” Hannah said. “The creek rises, the bank goes soft, and by morning, it’s hard to know how many horses passed.”

Eden went to the window. Water streamed off the porch roof. Beyond it, the road had become a brown ribbon of mud.

“Jesse heard Rusk wouldn’t wait for Pike,” she said. “Crowley asked about the old road and the crossing. If they intend to use that route, they may not wait for clear weather.”

“When?” June asked.

Eden faced the room. “Tonight would suit them.”

Marmee reached for the bellpull by the door, then thought better of it. “June, find Weston. We’ll send for Sheriff Hartman.”

Before June reached the hall, someone knocked. Wes Chapman entered with his rain-darkened coat over one arm. Whit Hartman and Marshal Davis followed him; Bass and Beau were close behind.

Marmee met her husband’s gaze. “We’ve learned something you need to hear.”

Whit removed his hat. “Then let’s hear it.”

Eden had no desire to speak before all those men. She could have passed the notebook to Whit and retreated to the window. Jesse had trusted her to keep his words, and Izzy had found the courage to explain them.

She stood.

“The silver-toothed man has a name. Frank Crowley.”

Whit took a step toward her. “Where did that come from?”

“Hannah’s husband refused him horses at the livery two weeks before the attack. Rose sold him peppermint and tobacco. He asked about the old mill road, the south crossing, and what happens after heavy rain.”

“And Izzy has explained Jesse’s warning,” Marmee said.

Eden turned to the girl. “Would you like me to tell them?”

Izzy nodded.

She explained the three notes Jesse had struck on the piano, the instructions to keep playing, and his return to the back hall. Whit asked only enough questions to establish what Izzy had witnessed for herself.