The Price of Mercy: The Legend of Nora Tate
Her son was dying before sunset. In 1877, under the burning skies of Santa Rosa, New Mexico, Nora Tate carried him through the dust — his breath shallow, his skin cold, the poison already claiming him. The only doctor left in town demanded ten dollars she didn’t have.
She looked at her child once… then at the saloon lights across the street — and made her choice.
That night, Nora walked into the saloon calm as Sunday, dressed in rags. A gambler laughed when she asked to join his game — until her knife found his throat. The laughter stopped. Nora took what she needed — no more, no less — and vanished before the whiskey stopped spilling.
By dawn, the doctor had his pay, and her boy was breathing again.
When the gambler’s friends came searching, no one spoke. Some said they saw her at sunrise, holding her son’s hand, fading into the desert wind.
The law never caught her. But every spring, a small pouch of coins appeared on the doctor’s doorstep — silent proof that Nora Tate never forgot the cost of mercy.
