Within the Door

The Pale Rider waited outside the records office while the judge decided whether I had made a mistake by asking him to come.

Tomás held the opened covenant beneath a sheet of clean paper. The red seal lay broken beside it. Across the room, Vincent stood near the window, still as a fence post. He had not offered sanctuary. I had asked him to let me speak first, and he had kept his word.

The judge looked from the instrument to the door. “He has requested admission to inspect the document. You understand what he is.”

“I do.”

“You may refuse him.”

“I know.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “I consent to his admission for the purpose of inspection. Here, in this room, while you and Mr. Vigil are present. He goes no farther into the records office.”

The judge studied me a moment, then nodded. He addressed the closed door. “Elias Vale, you are admitted to this room solely to inspect the instrument under my supervision. You will not pass beyond this room, and the witnesses will remain present.”

The latch turned.

The Pale Rider entered with the patient care of a man coming to a formal appointment. His black face and painted white bones looked the same beneath the office lamps as they had beneath open sky. He removed his hat. Orange trim edged its brim. He looked first at the judge, then at the covenant.

“I accept the stated limits,” he said.

He stopped at the table. The judge kept one hand near the paper covering the instrument. Tomás did not move his own hand from the ledger where he had begun a record of the hearing.

“May I examine it?” the Pale Rider asked.

“You may read it where it lies,” said the judge. “You will not touch it.”

The Rider bent his head. His glowing eyes moved over the page, following the lines of ink. I watched his attention settle on Hiram Bell’s name, then on the creditor’s name written beside it.

“Elias Vale,” I said to the judge, keeping my eyes on the record. “That is the name written here.”

“It is,” Tomás said. “The instrument identifies Hiram Bell and a creditor styled Elias Vale.”

The Pale Rider’s face turned toward me. I felt the old instinct to meet his gaze and answer whatever he put to me. I looked instead at the covenant. The coyote’s warning had stayed with me through the miles and the papers: never answer the Rider in my own voice. I had no wish to test the reason for it in a room with one door.

The judge asked, “Does this instrument contain any clause releasing the Bell line from the claim?”