Silver Creek had never been built to withstand an army.
It consisted of one main street, a church, a stable, a general store, two saloons, the sheriff’s office, a blacksmith, and houses scattered beyond.
Twenty armed riders could own it before supper.
Sheriff Dunn knew it.
So did Josiah.
“Everybody off the street!” Dunn shouted.
Doors slammed.
Women pulled children inside.
Ranchers positioned themselves behind wagons and windows.
Black Crow’s companions disappeared into alleys where rifles could not easily track them.
Ayanna stood beside Josiah behind the water trough.
“You should go inside.”
“No.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Then why ask?”
“Optimism.”
Hoofbeats approached.
Edmund Voss entered Silver Creek like a man arriving for a celebration.
He wore a black coat, polished boots, and a gray hat.
Age had thickened his body but not weakened his authority.
The men behind him carried Winchester rifles.
Several wore red strips of cloth around their sleeves.
Voss stopped in the middle of town.
His gaze found Josiah.
“Sergeant Mercer.”
Josiah felt the old title like a hand closing around his throat.
“Nobody’s called me that in a long time.”
“I heard you were dead.”
“Disappointed?”
“Surprised.”
Voss smiled.
“You always were difficult to kill.”
Sheriff Dunn stepped forward.
“State your business.”
Voss ignored him.
His eyes moved to Ayanna.
Then Black Crow.
“Interesting company you keep, Mercer.”
“Better than yours.”
A few ranchers almost laughed.
Voss’s smile faded.
“You broke into company property.”
“Funny. Didn’t see your name on the door.”
“You stole private documents.”
“You mean the ones describing attacks you paid for?”
Murmurs spread among Voss’s men.
Good.
Josiah wanted them hearing everything.
Voss dismounted.
“Those papers are forged.”
“Expected you to say that.”
“Then this conversation is finished.”
“No.”
Nathaniel Ward emerged from the general store.
His arm remained bandaged.
“My foreman’s dead.”
Voss looked almost bored.
“My condolences.”
“You burned my ranch.”
“That is an accusation.”
Ward trembled with rage.
“You bought timber access so your men could move through my land.”
“Can you prove that?”
Ward stopped.
Voss smiled again.
That was his power.
Not guns.
Not money.
Certainty that frightened people could rarely prove what powerful people did to them.
Then the wounded gunman stumbled from the sheriff’s office.
Two men helped him.
Voss’s expression changed.
Just slightly.
Enough.
“There’s my proof,” Josiah said.
The wounded man was named Peter Clay.
Twenty-six years old.
Drifter.
Former railroad worker.
Voss had hired him for six dollars a week.
Clay looked at the armed men.
Then Voss.
Fear nearly silenced him.
Ayanna stepped beside him.
“You came here because you wanted to speak.”
Clay swallowed.
Voss’s voice softened.
“Peter, you are injured. You’re confused.”
Clay stared at him.
“You said nobody would get killed.”
Voss’s men shifted.
“There it is,” Josiah said.
Voss ignored him.
Clay continued.
“You said burn sheds. Scare people. Leave signs.”
“Peter—”
“You shot Bennett.”
Silence.
Voss’s face went blank.
Clay pointed toward him.
“Ward’s foreman saw us. Bennett tried to stop him. Voss shot Bennett in the back.”
Nathaniel Ward made a broken sound.
Sheriff Dunn drew his revolver.
“Edmund Voss, I’m placing you under arrest.”
Voss laughed.
“For what? The rambling words of an injured thief?”
“For starters.”
Dunn stepped forward.
Voss’s riders raised rifles.
Ranchers did the same.
The entire street became a powder keg.
Josiah saw Black Crow on the rooftop of the blacksmith shop, bow drawn.
One mistake and half the town would die.
Voss knew it too.
That was why he smiled.
“Sheriff, I have legitimate claims filed in Denver.”
“Claims don’t include murder.”
“They include property rights.”
“You don’t own this town.”
“Not yet.”
Voss mounted.
“I’ll return tomorrow with a federal marshal.”
“You mean one you bought?” Josiah asked.
Voss looked at him.
“You’re still the same sanctimonious farm boy.”
“And you’re still hiding greed inside fancy words.”
Voss leaned forward.
“You should have stayed on your mountain.”
“Probably.”
“Now you’re involved.”
Josiah glanced at Ayanna.
Then Black Crow.
Then the frightened townspeople.
“I was involved the moment you decided everybody else’s home belonged to you.”
Voss turned his horse.
His men followed.
No shots were fired.
That almost made the situation worse.
Because Voss had promised to return with law behind him.
By nightfall Silver Creek was divided.
Some wanted to arrest Voss immediately.
Others believed the federal claim might be legitimate.
A few demanded Black Crow and his men leave town before “more trouble” started.
Josiah nearly punched one rancher for that.
Ayanna stopped him.
“You told Black Crow anger was what Voss wanted.”
“I hate when my own advice gets used against me.”
“You should give better advice.”
They searched town records.
Nathaniel Ward brought his timber agreement.
Sheriff Dunn examined county filings.
The truth was worse than expected.
Granite Ridge had purchased several small debts from ranchers.
If the company controlled Silver Creek’s water source, it could pressure nearly everyone.
Josiah’s deed stood in the way.
So did the seasonal rights of Ayanna’s people.
By midnight, another discovery surfaced.
The federal marshal Voss claimed was coming did exist.
Marshal Henry Talbot.
And according to Sheriff Dunn, Talbot was known for enforcing paperwork first and asking questions later.
“We need stronger proof before he gets here,” Dunn said.
Josiah looked at Peter Clay.
“You know where Voss keeps his records?”
Clay hesitated.
“Yes.”
Granite Ridge’s primary camp lay twelve miles south in an old quarry.
There was an office.
A locked safe.
Payroll books.
Correspondence.
Receipts.
Everything.
Sheriff Dunn shook his head.
“You can’t break in.”
Josiah stared.
“He’s murdering people.”
“And if Talbot arrives and finds you trespassing, Voss wins.”
Ayanna spoke.
“Then someone Voss trusts must bring the records out.”
Everyone looked at Clay.
Clay went pale.
“No.”
“You worked for him,” Ayanna said.
“He knows I talked.”
“Does he know you survived?”
Clay hesitated.
Perhaps not.
Voss had left before Clay emerged publicly.
Josiah understood Ayanna’s idea.
“You go back,” he said.
Clay shook his head.
“I go back, he kills me.”
“Not if he thinks you escaped town because you were afraid.”
“He’ll still kill me.”
“Maybe.”
“Excellent plan.”
Josiah leaned closer.
“I’ll be nearby.”
Clay laughed nervously.
“That supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
To everyone’s surprise, Black Crow volunteered to accompany them.
Ayanna translated.
Josiah sighed.
“What?”
“He says you move through the forest like a wounded buffalo.”
“I beat him.”
“He says that does not improve your footsteps.”
“Tell him I’m reconsidering the rematch.”
Ayanna did not translate.
“I am saving time.”
They left before dawn.
Clay approached Granite Ridge alone.
Josiah, Ayanna, and Black Crow hid in rocks above the quarry.
Hours passed.
Then Clay entered the office.
No alarm.
Good.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
Josiah’s anxiety grew.
Then a gunshot sounded.
“Damn.”
They ran.
Inside the camp chaos erupted.
Clay burst from the office carrying a leather ledger.
Two guards chased him.
Black Crow tackled one.
Josiah struck the other with the butt of his rifle.
Ayanna grabbed Clay.
“Where are the rest?”
“Safe!”
“Did you open it?”
“No!”
Josiah looked toward the office.
“Go.”
He and Ayanna ran inside.
The safe stood behind Voss’s desk.
Locked.
“Can you open it?” Ayanna asked.
“No.”
“Then why did we come?”
“Optimism.”
She glared.
Josiah spotted dynamite crates outside the window.
“No.”
“What?”
“I know that look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you do something stupid and call it necessary.”
Josiah grinned.
Five minutes later, the safe door blew open.
Documents filled the floor.
They grabbed everything possible.
Payroll.
Letters.
Land deeds.
Telegrams.
One letter bore the signature of a county clerk.
Another documented payments to armed men.
Then Ayanna found a small notebook.
Names.
Dates.
Targets.
Ward Ranch.
Silver Creek.
Eastern Ridge — Mercer.
Winter Camp.
Beside each name was a dollar amount.
Josiah stared.
“Enough?”
Ayanna nodded.
“Enough.”
Shouting erupted outside.
Voss had returned early.
They ran through the rear door.
Gunfire chased them.
Black Crow appeared with horses.
Josiah helped Ayanna mount.
Clay climbed behind Black Crow.
They fled into the hills.
Voss pursued personally.
For two miles bullets snapped through the trees.
Then the trail narrowed beside a ravine.
Josiah stopped.
“What are you doing?” Ayanna cried.
“Go!”
“No!”
“Take the evidence!”
He turned Gideon across the trail.
Voss appeared.
Josiah fired, forcing him behind rocks.
Black Crow stopped too.
Josiah yelled, “Get her out!”
Black Crow looked from Josiah to Ayanna.
Then did something Josiah never expected.
He handed Clay’s reins to Ayanna.
And dismounted beside Josiah.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Black Crow smiled grimly.
Ayanna translated from horseback.
“He says you owe him another fight.”
“This is a terrible time.”
“He says if you die, you cannot repay him.”
Josiah shook his head.
“I may actually like him.”
“I would not tell him.”
Ayanna rode away with Clay and the evidence.
Josiah and Black Crow remained behind.
Voss’s men approached.
Six riders.
Two men against six.
Josiah looked at Black Crow.
“You understand English better than you pretend, don’t you?”
Black Crow glanced at him.
“Little.”
Josiah stared.
“You could’ve said that yesterday?”
Black Crow smiled.
“Funny.”
“Son of a—”
Gunfire interrupted.
The fight was brutal and fast.
Black Crow moved among rocks, firing arrows with terrifying precision.
Josiah used the narrow trail to prevent the riders from surrounding them.
One man fell.
Another fled.
Voss advanced on foot.
He fired.
The bullet struck Josiah’s shoulder.
Josiah spun and collapsed.
Black Crow shouted.
Voss raised his rifle again.
Josiah saw the barrel.
Then Black Crow launched himself from the rocks.
He hit Voss.
Both men rolled toward the ravine.
Voss drew a knife.
Black Crow grabbed his wrist.
Josiah forced himself upright.
Blood poured down his sleeve.
One of Voss’s men aimed at Black Crow’s back.
Josiah fired.
The man fell.
Voss kicked Black Crow away and ran.
Coward.
Always a coward when the odds changed.
His remaining men followed.
Josiah sank against a rock.
Black Crow approached.
“You shot?”
“No. Bee sting.”
Black Crow looked confused.
“Never mind.”
He tore cloth from Josiah’s shirt and pressed it to the wound.
“Hurts.”
“Yes.”
“You smiling?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Black Crow struggled for the English.
Then said, “Now I save you.”
Josiah groaned.
“You’re never letting me forget that, are you?”
“No.”
By sunset they reached Silver Creek.
Ayanna ran toward Josiah.
When she saw the blood, color drained from her face.
“You promised not to die.”
“I’m working on it.”
She touched his face.
This time Josiah did not flinch.
Behind them Sheriff Dunn opened Voss’s records.
The evidence was overwhelming.
Fraud.
Bribery.
Arson.
Conspiracy.
Murder.
Enough to destroy Granite Ridge.
There was only one problem.
Marshal Talbot arrived an hour later.
And he did not come alone.
Edmund Voss rode beside him.
Voss had reached the marshal first.
Talbot entered Silver Creek with six federal deputies.
He carried official papers authorizing the seizure of Josiah Mercer’s land pending a disputed mineral claim.
And before Sheriff Dunn could show him the ledger, Talbot announced that Josiah, Black Crow, Ayanna, and Peter Clay were under arrest for armed robbery and attempted murder.
Voss stood behind the marshal.
Smiling.
The evidence that could save them sat only twenty feet away.
But twelve rifles were already pointed at Josiah’s chest.
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