For two months, my attorney and the tribe’s lawyers moved with absolute silence. I paid my outstanding property taxes, transferred my cattle to a small LLC, and locked up my books. Delilah structured the sale so the tribe would inherit all unrecorded encroachments—specifically including Corrine’s gravel road.
Corrine spent those 61 days digging her own grave deeper.
She filed a preemptive lawsuit demanding permanent community property rights. My attorney filed a motion to stay pending a real property transfer. Corrine’s lawyer was confused. Delilah just smiled.
On day 54, someone shot out my mailbox with a 12-gauge. My trail cameras caught Corrine’s second cousin driving a UTV with Bitterroot Ridge stickers on the bumper. We logged the footage. We didn’t call the sheriff. Not yet.
On day 61, I woke up at 4:40 AM. I put on my father’s good Pendleton jacket. Wyatt drove me into town.
