The sun hung low in the sky, casting an amber glow across the endless fields of wheat surrounding the Rivers’ farm. Ollie Rivers sat atop his horse, Blackjack, surveying the horizon. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a faint plume of dust rising on the far side of their land, near the old split-rail fence. A furrow crossed his brow. No one lived that way for miles, not since the Thompson place burned down years ago.

“Pa,” he called, glancing back towards the farmhouse. Warren Rivers emerged from the barn, wiping his hands on a rag, his eyes sharp and questioning.

“What is it, boy?” Warren grunted, squinting against the setting sun as he followed Ollie’s gaze.

“We got new neighbors, looks like,” Ollie replied, nodding toward the distant speck of a cabin that had seemingly sprung up overnight.

Warren gave a low whistle, adjusting his hat. “Well, I’ll be damned. Reckon we oughta go introduce ourselves. Saddle up, Ollie.”

Within minutes, both men were on horseback, heading toward the new homestead. The ride was quiet, the only sounds being the rhythmic clopping of hooves and the rustling of the wheat in the breeze. Ollie’s mind raced with possibilities – who were these newcomers, and why here, so close to the Rivers’ domain?

As they approached the cabin, the scent of fresh-cut timber and earth filled the air. Smoke curled lazily from the chimney, suggesting someone was inside. Ollie and Warren pulled up their horses, glancing at each other before Warren gave a nod.

Ollie dismounted first, smoothing the front of his dust-covered coat, his sharp eyes scanning for movement. He took a deep breath and approached the front door, knocking lightly. “Howdy!” Warren called out in his deep, gravelly voice. “Name’s Warren Rivers, and this here’s my boy, Ollie. We come by to welcome ya to the neighborhood!”

Ollie stood a step behind his father, hands resting casually at his sides, though his gaze stayed sharp, ready to greet their new neighbors with a cautious but polite demeanor