Judson dragged Winifred behind the thick log wall seconds before another bullet tore through the window.
“Stay down.”
“I am down.”
“Stay farther down.”
“There is a floor beneath me, Judson.”
Under almost any other circumstances, he might have laughed.
Instead, he crawled toward the broken window and lifted his revolver just enough to see through the shattered frame.
Snow fell heavily outside.
Shapes moved among the pines.
At least four men.
Possibly five.
Gar Dempsey writhed on the floor, grunting through his gag.
Judson glanced at him.
“Who’d you bring?”
Gar’s eyes gleamed.
Judson pulled out the gag.
Gar coughed.
“Untie me and maybe I’ll introduce you.”
Judson pressed the barrel of his revolver against Gar’s shoulder.
“Try again.”
Gar grinned despite his burned face.
“You kill me, you’ll never know where they’re positioned.”
Winifred spoke from behind the table.
“I know where one is.”
Judson turned.
“How?”
“He fired twice from the same place.”
She pointed toward the northeast corner.
“Behind the woodpile.”
Judson stared at her.
“How do you know?”
“Because both bullets entered at almost the same angle.”
Gar’s smile faded.
Judson shifted toward the side window.
Sure enough, movement.
He fired once.
A man cursed outside.
Judson withdrew.
Winifred looked impressed.
“You hit him?”
“Probably scared him.”
“Could you sound less disappointed?”
A voice came from outside.
“McIntyre! Send Dempsey out and we walk away!”
Judson shouted back.
“You always fire at a man’s wife before asking favors?”
“She wasn’t supposed to be standing there!”
Winifred frowned.
“How considerate.”
Judson almost smiled again.
Then Gar said quietly, “They’ll burn you out.”
Judson looked at him.
Gar’s expression had changed.
For the first time there was genuine concern.
“You think those fools came to rescue you?” Judson asked.
Gar said nothing.
“They want something.”
Winifred looked from one man to the other.
“What?”
Gar turned away.
Judson understood.
“The claim map.”
Gar’s eyes betrayed him.
“What map?” Winifred asked.
Judson lowered his voice.
“Three years ago I found an exposed silver vein north of here.”
“You told me maybe there was silver.”
“There is.”
Winifred stared.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“That is not a number.”
“Enough to make men kill.”
Gar laughed.
“There’s the truth.”
Winifred looked at Judson with a mixture of shock and frustration.
“You might have mentioned that before bringing your mail-order bride into a private war.”
“I didn’t expect—”
“A murderer to walk into the kitchen?”
“No.”
“A gang to shoot through the window?”
“No.”
“Any other small details I should know?”
Judson opened his mouth.
She raised one finger.
“Later.”
Another shot struck the door.
Judson moved toward it.
“They’re testing positions.”
“What does that mean?”
“They’re deciding how to get inside.”
Gar laughed again.
Judson shoved the gag back into his mouth.
For the next hour the cabin became an island under siege.
Judson fired sparingly.
The men outside did the same.
Darkness deepened.
Snow thickened.
Winifred crawled through the cabin extinguishing lamps until only the fire remained.
Judson whispered, “Put that out too.”
“We’ll freeze.”
“If they can see us, they’ll shoot us.”
Winifred began banking the fire.
Then she noticed something.
“The chimney.”
Judson looked at her.
“What about it?”
“If we smother the fire, smoke will stop.”
“Yes.”
“They’ll know.”
Judson frowned.
Winifred continued.
“But what if we make more smoke?”
“Why?”
“To make them think we’re preparing to stay inside.”
Judson stared.
“What are you thinking?”
She pointed toward the rear wall.
“The cellar hatch.”
The cabin had a shallow storage cellar dug into the slope beneath it, with a narrow exit concealed behind a pile of stones outside.
Judson understood immediately.
“No.”
Winifred blinked.
“No?”
“You’re not going out there.”
“You just said they’ll burn the cabin.”
“I’ll go.”
“And leave me here with him?”
She pointed toward Gar.
Gar glared.
Judson hesitated.
Winifred leaned closer.
“You know the mountain. I know how to make a kitchen look occupied.”
“This isn’t baking bread.”
“No. It’s keeping us alive.”
That silenced him.
They made a plan.
Winifred packed the stove with damp wood and green pine branches, creating thick smoke.
She positioned a lantern behind one curtain and occasionally moved near it with a broom handle so shadows appeared against the cloth.
Meanwhile Judson descended into the cellar.
Before leaving, he gripped Winifred’s shoulders.
“If anything happens—”
“I’ll scream.”
“No. You go through the cellar.”
“Judson.”
“Promise.”
She looked into his eyes.
“I promise.”
His hands remained on her shoulders a moment longer.
Then he disappeared.
Outside, Judson crawled through snow beneath the cover of darkness.
The first outlaw never saw him.
Judson struck him with the butt of his revolver and dragged him behind a fallen log.
The second heard something.
“What was that?”
Judson threw a stone.
The man turned.
Judson tackled him.
Inside, Winifred heard distant shouting.
Gar began struggling wildly.
She moved toward him.
“What?”
He shook his head.
She removed the gag.
“You’re all dead.”
“Comforting.”
“They aren’t my men.”
“What?”
Gar spit blood from his mouth.
“Not anymore.”
Winifred stared.
“Explain.”
“They’re Rourke’s.”
“Who is Rourke?”
Gar looked toward the window.
“Silas Rourke.”
Winifred felt a chill unrelated to winter.
“The mining investor?”
Even she had heard the name in Silver Creek.
Rourke owned half the freight businesses in the county.
Gar laughed bitterly.
“He knows about the silver.”
“How?”
“I told him.”
Winifred’s eyes narrowed.
“You came here for Judson’s map.”
“I came here to steal it before Rourke’s men did.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if you know Rourke.”
Gar swallowed.
“I gave him the location. Told him Judson had proof of the vein. Thought we’d split it.”
“And?”
“And men like Rourke don’t split anything.”
Outside, a gunshot cracked.
Then another.
Winifred ducked.
Gar spoke quickly.
“They’ll kill me too.”
“I’m struggling to find sympathy.”
“Lady, untie me.”
“No.”
“You want your husband alive?”
The word husband struck her strangely.
“He needs help.”
“You pointed a gun at me.”
“And you hit me with a frying pan. I’d say we’re even.”
“You’re accused of murder.”
“Two were self-defense.”
“And the third?”
Gar said nothing.
Winifred folded her arms.
“Thought so.”
A smell reached her.
Not wood smoke.
Kerosene.
Winifred turned toward the back wall.
A bottle crashed against the cabin.
Flames climbed the logs.
“Fire!”
Outside, Judson heard her scream.
He abandoned stealth.
A man emerged from the trees.
Judson fired.
The man went down.
“Winifred!”
Inside, flames licked the window frame.
Winifred grabbed blankets and beat at the fire.
Smoke poured inside.
Gar shouted, “Untie me!”
“No!”
“Then drag me outside!”
“I’m considering leaving you.”
“Woman!”
She threw water against the wall.
A second burning bottle struck the roof.
The dry shingles caught.
Winifred looked upward.
This fire was not going out.
She ran to Gar.
“Listen to me.”
“I am listening.”
“If I untie your legs, you will go through the cellar.”
“Untie everything.”
“No.”
“Are you insane?”
“Yes. Apparently marriage does that.”
She freed his ankles but left his wrists tied.
Gar staggered upright.
Winifred opened the cellar hatch.
“Go.”
He hesitated.
“What about you?”
“I’m waiting for Judson.”
“The roof is burning.”
“I know.”
Gar stared at her.
Then he disappeared below.
Winifred ran toward the door.
Outside, gunfire erupted.
She could no longer tell who was shooting.
Smoke filled the room.
The roof groaned.
“Judson!”
No answer.
She grabbed the shotgun from the wall.
Another outlaw approached the porch.
Winifred saw his silhouette.
The door burst inward.
She raised the shotgun.
“Winifred!”
Judson.
She lowered it.
He rushed inside.
“Move!”
“The cabin—”
“Forget the cabin!”
He pulled her toward the cellar.
She resisted.
“My trunk!”
“No.”
“My aunt’s book is in it!”
“Winifred!”
A burning beam crashed between them and the bedroom.
She stared at the flames.
Everything she had brought from Boston was there.
Her aunt’s letters.
The last photograph of her parents.
The one dress that had belonged to Martha.
Gone.
Judson saw her expression.
“I’m sorry.”
Winifred looked at him.
Then she took his hand.
“Go.”
They descended.
Behind them, the cabin that had slowly become home burned.
They crawled through the narrow tunnel and emerged into the snow.
Gar waited behind a rock.
Judson immediately pointed his revolver at him.
“Why is he loose?”
“His hands aren’t.”
Gar said, “Can we discuss this somewhere that isn’t on fire?”
More men shouted near the cabin.
Judson led them uphill.
They moved through darkness and falling snow until the burning cabin became an orange glow below.
Winifred struggled to keep up.
Her lungs burned.
Her dress caught on branches.
Judson repeatedly reached back for her.
Eventually they reached an abandoned mining shack two miles higher on Granite Ridge.
Inside, Judson barred the door.
Winifred sank against the wall.
Gar collapsed nearby.
Judson looked down the mountain.
His home was burning.
Eleven years.
Tools.
Food.
Pelts.
Memories.
Gone.
Winifred stood beside him.
“I’m sorry.”
Judson laughed without humor.
“I should be apologizing.”
“For what?”
“For bringing you into this.”
She looked at the distant flames.
“You didn’t burn the cabin.”
“No. But I brought you somewhere men were willing to.”
Winifred was silent.
Judson turned toward her.
“I was wrong.”
She frowned.
“About what?”
“Everything I said at the depot.”
The words came painfully.
“You crossed half the country alone. You made that place a home in weeks when I couldn’t do it in eleven years. You faced Dempsey armed with a skillet.”
Gar muttered from the floor, “Still hurts.”
Neither looked at him.
Judson continued.
“You’re tougher than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Winifred’s eyes filled.
He stepped closer.
“I treated you like something I’d ordered out of a catalog.”
“You did.”
“I’m ashamed of it.”
“You should be.”
Judson nodded.
“I am.”
Winifred studied him.
“I don’t need you to tell me I’m beautiful.”
His expression changed.
“I was going to.”
She almost smiled.
“I need you to never make me feel worthless again.”
“I won’t.”
“Words are easy.”
“Then watch what I do.”
Before she could answer, Gar cleared his throat.
“This is touching.”
Judson turned.
Gar nodded toward the door.
“But if you two are finished discovering feelings, Rourke’s men will be up here before daylight.”
Judson’s face hardened.
“How many?”
“Tonight? Six.”
“And after tonight?”
Gar looked between them.
“All of them.”
Winifred asked, “How many is all of them?”
Gar’s answer killed the warmth in the room.
“Enough to own Silver Creek.”
---