Jonas did not tell Rebecca how frightened he was.
Fear was useful when controlled.
It sharpened hearing.
Improved judgment.
Kept a man alive.
But the fear he felt now was different.
For fifteen years, Jonas had needed to protect only himself.
Now every sound outside the cabin made him think of Rebecca.
That complicated everything.
For three days after the shooting, he found no further sign of the rider.
No campfire.
No tracks.
No discarded food.
Whoever had been watching them knew how to disappear.
That worried Jonas more than an obvious attack would have.
Rebecca tried behaving normally.
She baked bread.
Mended his coat.
Carried water.
But Jonas noticed that she looked toward the window whenever the wind shifted.
On the fourth morning, he announced, "We're going to Silver Plume."
Rebecca stopped stirring oatmeal.
"The trail is buried."
"I know."
"You said it wouldn't be passable until spring."
"It isn't."
"Then?"
"We use snowshoes for part. Horses where we can."
"Why?"
"Need to speak to Abbott."
"The reverend?"
"And Marshal Mercer."
Rebecca's face tightened.
"No."
Jonas expected resistance.
"Rebecca."
"I told you the ledger includes officials."
"Mercer's not on it."
"You don't know that."
"I know Mercer."
"You knew him before?"
"Ten years."
"Charles had friends he knew twenty years."
Jonas leaned against the table.
"Running didn't stop Silas."
"I understand."
"No. You're still thinking like someone alone."
Rebecca set down the spoon.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you don't have to protect me from your trouble by keeping me ignorant."
"I'm trying to keep you alive."
"So am I."
Her eyes flashed.
"You think because you're bigger than everyone you can simply order the world into cooperating."
"Usually works."
Rebecca stared.
Jonas smiled slightly.
She threw the dishcloth at him.
He caught it.
"You are impossible."
"So you've said."
The argument ended with Rebecca agreeing to travel.
They departed at dawn the following morning.
The weather appeared calm.
Jonas knew better.
Clouds had gathered over the western peaks.
He watched them throughout the descent.
By midday, the wind increased.
"We need to move faster."
Rebecca looked toward the sky.
"Storm?"
"Coming quicker than I expected."
They pushed forward.
Two miles outside town, the world turned white.
Snow came horizontally.
Visibility collapsed.
Jonas dismounted.
"We can't continue."
"Can we go back?"
"No."
"Then where?"
He knew an old prospecting shelter nearby.
If he could find it.
They left the horses in a protected stand of trees and continued on foot.
Wind erased their tracks almost immediately.
Rebecca struggled.
The snow reached her knees.
Jonas tied a rope between them.
"Don't let go."
"I won't."
Twenty minutes passed.
Then thirty.
Rebecca stumbled.
Jonas pulled her upright.
"You all right?"
"Yes."
She was lying.
Her lips had lost color.
He removed one glove and touched her cheek.
Too cold.
"We stop."
"Here?"
"I'll build shelter."
"No."
He looked at her.
"If we stop in the open, we die."
"You said there was a mining shelter."
"Can't see it."
Rebecca turned slowly.
"Which direction should it be?"
"Northwest."
She looked at the wind.
Then at the slope.
"Water runs down toward the valley."
Jonas frowned.
"The shelter was beside an old drainage ditch?"
"How'd you know that?"
"You mentioned prospectors."
She pointed.
"Then the ditch should cross lower ground. Follow the slope instead of trying to see through the storm."
Jonas stared at her.
She was right.
They moved downhill.
Ten minutes later, Jonas found the shallow depression.
They followed it.
The shelter appeared as a dark shadow against the hillside.
Jonas nearly laughed with relief.
Inside, it was filthy but dry.
He built a fire.
Rebecca's hands shook violently.
Jonas removed her wet outer coat.
"Sit."
"I can help."
"Sit."
This time she obeyed.
He wrapped her in blankets stored in an emergency cache.
Rebecca watched him.
"You keep supplies everywhere?"
"Enough places."
"For yourself?"
"For anyone."
"That's surprisingly generous for a man who greeted his wife by trying to send her away."
Jonas looked at her.
"You still thinking about that?"
"Occasionally."
"I was wrong."
Rebecca blinked.
"What?"
Jonas added wood to the fire.
"I said I was wrong."
"You might need to repeat it. The storm was loud."
He gave her a warning look.
Rebecca smiled weakly.
Jonas sat opposite.
"You weren't what I requested."
"Apparently not."
"You were better."
The smile disappeared.
Rebecca looked at him.
He immediately focused on the fire.
"Jonas."
"Get warm."
"Look at me."
He did.
Rebecca's voice was quiet.
"You don't have to say things because we nearly died."
"I don't."
"Then why?"
Jonas exhaled.
Because he was tired of pretending.
"Because the cabin doesn't feel right when you're not in it."
Rebecca stopped moving.
Jonas continued.
"I spent years thinking I wanted someone practical. Someone who could cook and help with work."
"I can do those things."
"I know."
He almost smiled.
"But I didn't expect..."
"What?"
"You."
The word was simple.
It frightened him more than gunfire.
Rebecca looked down.
"When I answered your advertisement, I didn't care who you were."
Jonas absorbed that.
"I know."
"I only wanted somewhere Silas wouldn't find me."
"I know."
"But now..."
She stopped.
Jonas waited.
Rebecca looked at him.
"Now I care very much who you are."
The wind screamed outside.
Inside, neither moved.
Jonas crossed the small space between them.
He gave Rebecca every opportunity to turn away.
She didn't.
His hand touched her face.
Rebecca closed her eyes.
Jonas kissed her.
Not like a husband claiming something owed to him.
Not like a lonely man taking advantage of a promise.
He kissed her carefully.
Almost reverently.
Rebecca's hand rose to his chest.
For several seconds, the world outside vanished.
When Jonas pulled back, Rebecca opened her eyes.
"I thought you didn't want romance."
"I didn't."
"What changed?"
"You keep rearranging my furniture."
She laughed softly.
He kissed her again.
The storm lasted until dawn.
When they finally reached Silver Plume the next afternoon, Reverend Abbott nearly fell over seeing them.
"You two look half dead."
Jonas removed his hat.
"Good to see you too, Reverend."
Marshal Daniel Mercer arrived minutes later.
He was a broad-shouldered man in his forties with a graying mustache.
Jonas explained everything.
Not every detail.
But enough.
Mercer listened.
When Jonas mentioned Silas Vane, the marshal's expression changed.
"You know him?" Rebecca asked.
"I know the name."
"How?"
Mercer hesitated.
"Telegraph came from Denver two weeks ago."
Jonas leaned forward.
"Saying?"
"A man named Silas Vane was asking after Rebecca Hale."
Rebecca went pale.
"He described you."
"Why didn't you warn us?"
"Storm shut the trail. I sent a rider."
Jonas's eyes narrowed.
"What rider?"
"Caleb Morris."
Jonas and Rebecca exchanged looks.
"What was he wearing?" Jonas asked.
"Black winter coat."
Rebecca whispered, "The man I saw."
Mercer frowned.
"Caleb should've reached you."
"He shot at us."
The room went silent.
Mercer's face hardened.
"You're sure?"
"He fired four times."
"Caleb worked for me."
"Worked?"
Mercer moved toward the door.
"He hasn't returned."
They found Caleb's horse that evening in an abandoned shed outside town.
No Caleb.
Inside the saddlebag was money.
More than a local deputy could have earned in months.
And a telegram.
Three words.
BRING HER ALIVE.
Rebecca stared at it.
Jonas stood beside her.
Marshal Mercer said, "Silas paid him."
"Then where is Caleb?" Rebecca asked.
Nobody answered.
The following morning, another telegram arrived.
This one was from Denver.
Mercer read it twice.
"Federal investigator coming."
Rebecca's heart lifted.
"When?"
"Three days, weather permitting."
Jonas looked toward the window.
Dark clouds again.
Rebecca understood immediately.
"If Silas knows investigators are coming..."
"He'll move sooner," Jonas said.
They stayed at Reverend Abbott's home.
Jonas refused to leave Rebecca alone.
That night, shortly after midnight, someone knocked.
Three slow taps.
Jonas woke instantly.
Rebecca sat up.
Again.
Three knocks.
Jonas drew his revolver.
"Stay here."
He opened the bedroom door.
Reverend Abbott stood in the hallway holding a lamp.
"You expecting someone?"
"No."
Another knock.
Jonas approached the front door.
"Who is it?"
A voice answered.
"Message for Mrs. Hargrave."
Rebecca appeared behind him.
Jonas looked furious.
"I told you to stay upstairs."
"And I ignored you."
"Rebecca."
"Later."
He opened the door only a few inches.
A boy stood outside.
Perhaps fourteen.
Terrified.
He held an envelope.
"A man paid me."
"Where?"
"Hotel."
Jonas took the letter.
"Which man?"
"Never said his name."
The boy ran.
Rebecca opened the envelope.
Inside was one page.
She read aloud.
"Rebecca. You possess property that does not belong to you. Return it and your new husband continues living. Refuse, and this mountain will become his grave."
Jonas took the paper.
Rebecca's hands went cold.
"He knows we're married."
"Not hard to learn."
"He knows where we are."
"So do we."
She looked at him.
"What?"
Jonas folded the letter.
"For months, he's controlled where you run."
Jonas's eyes hardened.
"Now we know where he'll come."
Rebecca understood.
"You want to trap him."
"I want Mercer and the federal investigator to trap him."
"And if they don't arrive?"
Jonas didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Two days passed.
No federal investigator.
The storm worsened.
The telegraph line went dead.
On the third afternoon, Jonas walked from the church toward the marshal's office.
A rifle cracked.
The church window shattered.
Rebecca dropped.
Jonas turned.
Another shot struck the church wall.
People screamed.
Marshal Mercer ran outside.
Men scattered for cover.
Jonas reached Rebecca.
"Are you hit?"
"No."
He checked anyway.
Then he saw something outside the broken window.
A man on horseback near the far end of town.
Dark coat.
Black hat.
Watching.
Rebecca looked.
Her entire body froze.
"Silas."
Jonas turned toward her.
"You're sure?"
Rebecca's voice trembled.
"Yes."
The rider tipped his hat.
Then disappeared into the snow.
And Jonas finally understood.
Silas Vane had not come merely for documents.
He had come because Rebecca had escaped him.
Because she possessed the one thing men like Silas feared more than any gun.
Proof.
The mountain was no longer keeping danger away.
Danger had climbed the mountain itself.
---