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He took her because I threatened him yesterday.

For fuck’s sake, how the hell was that yesterday?

That don't make any fuckin' sense at all. Yesterday I was in Miles City gettin' a haircut, and a beard trim, and bein' dressed in fancy good ol’ boy clothes. Yesterday, I went into that club. I came out something broken and sick.

Then, that same afternoon, I was five hundred miles away. Sittin' in the Tetons with my runaway sister and her new baby.

This morning, I was fishin' on the fuckin' river.

Two hours ago I found out I was gonna be a daddy.

And now, I'm back in the makoshika. Bad lands.

A breath comes out of me.

It's an easy breath. Not quite relief, but somethin' close to that.

I get it, the Tetons are the kind of beautiful people dream about.

The badlands are the stuff of nightmares.

A bad place to cross. That's what the French called it.

A bad place to cross.

They got that right.

But this place? This harsh, ugly, stripped, and weathered graveyard of history is where I belong. It's in my bones.

I don't care how much money I get, I will never leave the makoshika.

My new Ashby truck is waiting right where we left it in the small gravel lot at the end of the runway.

Savannah and I say nothing as we walk over to it. I open her door, she gives me a weak smile, then she gets in, and I close it up, and walk around and get in my side.

The drive home is quiet and the sun has now gone far beyond the mountains, so the dark emptiness is creepin' in.

I park the truck in the same spot I found yesterday. I turn the engine off and it ticks a little. Fillin' the quiet.

"What do we do now?" Savannah asks.

"We," I stress, "aren't doin' anythin'. You're goin' inside and I'm gonna go find Cash."

"I can't possibly just… go inside and wait like some tragic, helpless heroine, Legion. That's not an option. I'm comin'—"

"You're not," I say. And this time, I don't just stress it, it comes out like I'm talkin' to Crow or Dusty. "You're not comin', you're not helpin', you're not doin' nothin’, Savannah, but goin' inside and sittin' tight. I can't fuckin' think about your safety and Mercy's at the same time. Do you hear me? I don't want no fuckin' plottin'. I don't want no fuckin' schemin'. I want⁠—"

I pause here because my tone is… well, let's just call it inappropriate when directed at a lady.

I take Savannah's hands in mine. "Baby, I need you to go inside, lock that fuckin' door, and probably even lock yourself in the goddamned bunker, OK?"

She and I just stare at each other for a moment. Eyes locked. Hers glassy and sad. Mine holdin' on to the idea of 'rational' like it's an abstract concept I'm unfamiliar with.

"OK?" I ask again.

She wants to argue, I can tell. I don't even blame her. But what I said is true. I need her to be somewhere safe.

I look at her, force myself to smile, and say, "It's gonna be fine, Savannah. It's all gonna work out just fine. But that doesn't mean it's not dangerous. He wants you. That's why he's goin' crazy right now."