The second shot shattered a stained-glass panel above the church entrance.
Colored fragments rained over the aisle.
Children cried.
Several women crawled beneath the pews while Thomas Hale and three farmers dragged heavy benches against the doors.
Caleb remained crouched near the western window.
"Nobody shoots unless they can see what they're shooting at."
A miner named Eli Brooks looked at him.
"They're shooting at us."
"Which doesn't make stupidity useful."
Eli nodded.
Caleb had never commanded men in battle, but prison and the mountains had taught him the same lesson in different forms.
Panic killed faster than cold.
Outside, the riders spread across Main Street.
There were fourteen.
Perhaps fifteen.
They did not resemble townsmen.
Their horses were expensive, their rifles matched, and several wore gray coats with a black circular emblem at the shoulder.
Northern Continental Land Company.
Mercenaries with paperwork behind them.
Caleb almost preferred ordinary outlaws.
Outlaws rarely pretended theft was business.
A voice shouted through the street.
"Caleb Ward!"
Caleb glanced toward Clara.
She sat beside Ruth behind the pulpit.
"I'm listening," he called.
"My name's Gideon Price. I work for Northern Continental."
"Congratulations."
Several frightened men inside the church almost laughed.
Price continued.
"We have no quarrel with these people."
Thomas Hale muttered, "That's generous."
"We want company property returned."
Ruth held the ledger against her chest.
Clara shouted, "It doesn't belong to you!"
Price answered immediately.
"Samuel Mercer stole confidential records from Pine Hollow Bank."
Ruth stood despite Clara's attempt to stop her.
"My husband copied evidence of crimes."
A shot struck the wall inches from the window.
Caleb pulled Ruth down.
"Maybe don't argue property law with the riflemen."
Even Ruth gave him a reluctant look.
Outside, Price called again.
"Send us the book and we'll leave."
Brant laughed from where he sat tied near the altar.
"They'll burn the church afterward."
Jacob turned.
"How do you know?"
"Because that's what I'd do."
Nobody found that reassuring.
Caleb studied the room.
The church had stone walls up to chest height, timber above, two main doors, six windows, and a narrow cellar beneath the vestry.
"Cellar have an outside exit?"
Reverend Bell nodded shakily.
"Coal hatch."
"Where?"
"North side."
Caleb crawled toward him.
"Can a person fit?"
"Yes."
Caleb looked at Clara.
She understood before he spoke.
"No."
"Clara—"
"No."
"We need somebody to get out."
"Then send somebody else."
"They won't notice you as quickly."
"That's not why you picked me."
Caleb's jaw tightened.
She was right.
He wanted her out of danger.
And Clara knew it.
"I'm not leaving my mother."
Ruth interrupted.
"You're leaving me."
Clara stared at her.
"Mother—"
"You survived three years after Henry. You survived this town. You carried me up a mountain in a blizzard."
Ruth took her daughter's face between both hands.
"I'm not asking you to run away. I'm asking you to run toward help."
Clara's eyes filled.
"Where?"
Caleb pointed toward the northern ridge.
"Old sawmill camp. Five miles."
"It's abandoned."
"Mostly."
She stared at him.
Caleb continued.
"Two brothers live there during winter. Benjamin and Luke Carver. They owe me favors."
"What kind?"
"The kind men don't discuss in church."
Despite everything, Clara almost smiled.
Caleb handed her his revolver.
She looked at it.
"I've never fired one."
"Point. Breathe. Squeeze. Don't close your eyes."
"That's the lesson?"
"It's the short version."
He placed his knife in her coat as well.
Then he removed a leather cord from around his neck.
A small iron key hung from it.
"What's this?"
"My cabin."
Clara looked confused.
"If things go bad and you can't come back here, take Ruth there."
Her throat tightened.
"Caleb—"
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Say anything that sounds like goodbye."
For a moment the gunfire disappeared.
So did the church.
There was only Caleb Ward standing close enough for Clara to see the pale scar along his cheek and the exhaustion in his eyes.
She realized how much fear he carried beneath that enormous frame.
Not fear of dying.
Fear of caring again.
Clara closed her fingers around the key.
"Then come get it back."
Something softened in his face.
"I will."
Ten minutes later Clara crawled through the coal hatch.
Snow immediately swallowed her to the knees.
She kept low behind the church foundation.
Riders occupied the southern and eastern sides.
The cemetery gave her cover to the west.
Henry's grave stood fifteen yards away.
She stopped for half a heartbeat.
Then moved.
She had spent three years coming to that grave to remember death.
Tonight she passed it to protect the living.
She reached the pines without being seen.
Then ran.
Inside the church, the siege worsened.
Price's men attempted to approach the front entrance under cover of a wagon.
Caleb fired once.
The bullet struck the wagon wheel.
Thomas Hale fired next and knocked a rifle from a man's hands.
Nobody inside the church wanted to kill.
But everyone understood what would happen if the mercenaries entered.
Jacob moved between windows.
"They're trying to get around back."
Caleb looked toward the coal hatch.
Clara had been gone twelve minutes.
He forced himself not to think about her.
A bottle smashed against the church wall.
Flame climbed the timber.
"Fire!" somebody screamed.
Men rushed with buckets from the baptismal basin.
A second bottle landed on the roof.
Price was changing tactics.
Caleb cursed.
"They're going to smoke us out."
Ruth crawled toward him.
"The ledger."
"What about it?"
"If the church burns—"
"It won't."
"You can't promise that."
Caleb looked at her.
She was right.
Ruth opened her coat and removed several folded sheets.
"I copied the important pages while Clara slept."
Caleb stared at her.
"You planned for this?"
"I ran a boardinghouse for nineteen years. You learn not to keep all your money in one drawer."
He almost smiled.
"Where are the copies?"
"One set is here."
"And the others?"
Ruth's expression became innocent.
Caleb understood.
"Good."
Another bottle exploded.
Smoke entered through the roof.
People began coughing.
Reverend Bell knelt beside the altar.
Whether he prayed for forgiveness or survival, Caleb could not tell.
Brant called from the floor.
"Untie me."
Jacob ignored him.
"I can help."
"You've helped enough."
Brant looked toward the growing fire.
"You think Price cares whether I'm inside?"
Jacob paused.
That was true.
Brant had become a liability.
Whitmore too.
Northern Continental wanted evidence destroyed, not allies rescued.
Caleb approached Whitmore.
The banker had finally lost his arrogance.
"Did you know they'd burn the church?"
"No."
"Do you believe me?"
"No."
Whitmore looked toward the flames.
"I thought they'd frighten you."
Caleb crouched.
"You spent so many years buying frightened people you forgot some things aren't for sale."
Whitmore laughed bitterly.
"Everybody is for sale."
"No."
Caleb glanced toward Ruth.
"Some people are just hungry."
Then toward Thomas Hale.
"Some are desperate."
Then Jacob.
"Some are ashamed."
Finally back to Whitmore.
"But that isn't the same thing."
The roof beam cracked.
They were running out of time.
Five miles away, Clara stumbled through waist-deep snow.
Her lungs burned.
Twice she fell.
Once she remained on her knees so long she almost surrendered.
Then she thought of Ruth in the church.
Of Caleb handing her his cabin key.
Of Henry.
She rose.
The old sawmill appeared through the trees near midnight.
No lamps burned.
"Hello!"
Nothing.
She reached the first cabin and pounded.
"Benjamin Carver!"
A rifle barrel appeared through the door.
Clara nearly screamed.
A gray-bearded man stared at her.
"Who are you?"
"Clara Mercer."
"Never heard of you."
"Caleb Ward sent me."
The rifle lowered slightly.
That name meant something.
"What happened?"
"Men from Northern Continental surrounded the church."
A second man appeared.
Luke Carver.
"How many?"
"Fifteen. Maybe."
Benjamin opened the door fully.
"Caleb in there?"
"Yes."
The brothers looked at each other.
Then Benjamin shouted toward the stable.
"Saddle everything."
Clara stared.
"Everything?"
The sawmill was not empty.
Men emerged from two other bunkhouses.
Loggers.
Trappers.
A former cavalry scout.
People Pine Hollow rarely saw because they lived beyond respectable society.
Men like Caleb.
Within fifteen minutes, eleven riders were preparing to leave.
Luke handed Clara a horse.
"You ride?"
"Poorly."
"Tonight you ride well."
They descended toward Pine Hollow.
Meanwhile, the church roof began burning.
Caleb ordered everyone toward the cellar.
"We hold there until we can break through the north side."
Thomas Hale coughed.
"And then?"
"Run for the river."
"Through fifteen gunmen?"
"Unless you have a better Sunday plan."
A rifle shot came from outside.
Then another.
But something was different.
Those shots were not aimed at the church.
Men shouted in the street.
Caleb moved to the window.
A rider fell from his horse.
Another spun toward the northern road.
Then came the thunder of hooves.
Clara emerged through the snowfall at the head of nearly a dozen riders.
Behind her came the Carver brothers and every armed man from the sawmill camp.
Caleb stared.
Thomas Hale looked over his shoulder.
"Is that Clara?"
Caleb's mouth twitched.
"Appears so."
"She's leading them."
"Appears so."
Outside, Gideon Price shouted orders.
His men suddenly found themselves caught between armed townspeople in the church and mountain riders behind them.
Benjamin Carver's voice boomed.
"Price! Throw down your rifles!"
Price fired instead.
The battle lasted less than three minutes.
Two mercenaries were wounded.
One Carver man took a bullet through the shoulder.
Most of Price's riders surrendered once they understood the church was no longer helpless.
Gideon Price attempted to escape south.
Clara saw him.
She urged her horse forward.
"Stop!"
Price turned in the saddle and raised his pistol.
Clara remembered Caleb's lesson.
Point.
Breathe.
Squeeze.
She fired.
The bullet struck Price's saddle horn.
His horse reared.
Price fell into the snow.
Benjamin Carver reached him before he could rise.
Clara looked at the revolver in her hand.
"I was aiming for his arm."
Benjamin laughed.
"Then we'll call that a warning."
The church doors opened.
Smoke rolled out.
People stumbled into the snow.
Ruth emerged supported by Jacob.
Clara ran to her.
"Mother!"
They embraced.
Then Clara looked past her.
Caleb stepped through the doorway.
His coat was blackened with smoke.
Blood ran from a cut above his eyebrow.
He was alive.
Clara crossed the distance between them.
She did not think.
She simply threw her arms around him.
Caleb froze.
The entire town seemed to vanish for him.
Slowly, carefully, he held her.
"You came back," he whispered.
"You told me to get help."
"I didn't tell you to bring an army."
"You weren't specific."
He laughed.
It was the first time Clara had heard the sound.
Then a new voice came from the southern road.
"Nobody move!"
Everyone turned.
Six mounted men approached.
At their center rode a broad-shouldered officer wearing the badge of the territorial marshal.
Deputy Mills rode beside him.
Relief swept through the crowd.
Until the marshal removed his hat.
Caleb's face changed.
He recognized the man.
So did Ruth.
"Marshal Warren Shaw," Brant whispered from the church doorway.
Clara looked between them.
Shaw.
The same surname as Judge Edmund Shaw.
The marshal dismounted.
He studied the prisoners, the burning church, Amos Whitmore, and finally Caleb.
Then he smiled without warmth.
"Caleb Ward."
Caleb's hand moved toward his holster.
Marshal Warren Shaw rested his hand on his own weapon.
"My uncle has wanted you back in custody for a very long time."