A Small Request

We reached the farm just before midday. It was a small place, barely more than a house and a couple of fields that looked like they had already given up. A man was working near the fence when we rode up. He stopped when he saw Voss.

Voss dismounted and handed his reins to Marlow without looking at him. Then he turned to me.

“There’s a man inside who’s been making things difficult,” he said. “Name’s Harlan. Tell him we’re not interested in any more delays. Make sure he understands that this isn’t a request.”

I nodded once and walked toward the house.

The door opened before I reached it. The farmer was older than I expected, maybe fifty, with tired eyes and dirt under his nails. He looked past me at Voss and Marlow, then back at me.

“I already told him I’m not signing,” he said. His voice was rough but steady. “I don’t care what he’s offering.”

I stopped a few steps from the door. Close enough that he had to look up at me.

“He’s not offering anymore,” I said. “He’s telling you how it’s going to be. You sign, or someone else will. Either way, the land changes hands.”

The man’s jaw tightened. He glanced toward the fields, then back at me.

“My family’s worked this ground for thirty years.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Not to him.”

He didn’t answer right away. I could see him thinking about whether it was worth pushing back. It wasn’t. I could tell he knew it too.

After a moment he gave a short nod and looked down at the ground.

“Tell him I’ll think about it,” he muttered.

I turned and walked back to the horses. Voss was waiting with his arms crossed.

“Well?” he asked.

“He’ll think about it.”

Voss studied me for a second, then gave a small, satisfied smile.

“That’s enough for now,” he said. “We’ll come back in a few days. He’ll see reason.”

I took the reins Marlow handed me and swung back into the saddle. The farmer was still standing by the door when we rode away. He didn’t watch us leave.

The road ahead was empty. I kept my eyes on it anyway.