Sheriff Walter Grady took three steps into the church.
The revolver in his hand never wavered.
“Put the ledger on the floor.”
Elias stood between him and Clara.
“I’d reconsider.”
Grady laughed.
“You’ve got one gun and I’ve got twelve men outside.”
“You counting Crowe’s men as yours now?”
The sheriff’s smile thinned.
“Does it matter?”
“To a judge, maybe.”
“There won’t be a judge.”
Clara clutched the ledger against her chest.
Outside, horses surrounded the building.
The sound seemed enormous inside the little church.
Reverend Hale had gone pale.
Grady pointed his revolver toward him.
“Sit down, preacher.”
Amos obeyed.
Silas entered.
He removed his hat as if attending Sunday service.
“Well,” he said. “That was easier than expected.”
Elias’s gaze remained fixed on Grady.
Silas approached Clara.
“Hand it over.”
She backed away.
“No.”
Crowe raised his eyebrows.
“You’re braver than Miriam said.”
At the mention of her stepmother, Clara’s anger surfaced.
“What did she promise you?”
Silas smiled.
“Your father’s property.”
“What property?”
“The northern mineral claim.”
Clara stared.
“My father didn’t own one.”
“That’s what Miriam thought too.”
Silas gestured toward the ledger.
“Thomas discovered a silver vein on land outside Crow Creek. He registered the claim under your mother’s maiden name so nobody could steal it before he finished proving its value.”
Clara’s heart pounded.
“Then why do you need the ledger?”
“Because the survey coordinates are in there.”
Elias finally looked toward Clara.
She understood instantly.
Silas had not merely come for evidence of criminal activity.
He wanted a fortune.
Crowe held out his hand.
“Give me the book.”
Clara tightened her grip.
“No.”
His face changed.
The charm disappeared.
“You’re confused about how this works.”
“No,” Clara said. “For the first time in my life, I think I understand exactly how it works.”
Silas took another step.
“Clara.”
“You threaten people until they surrender.”
Another step.
“You kill whoever refuses.”
Another.
“But my father refused, didn’t he?”
Silas stopped.
The church became silent.
Clara looked into his eyes.
“The mine collapse.”
Elias turned sharply.
Silas said nothing.
Clara’s voice trembled.
“You caused it.”
Crowe smiled faintly.
“That’s quite an accusation.”
“My father found your theft records. He was going to expose you.”
“Careful.”
“You destroyed the tunnel.”
Grady glanced toward Silas.
That was enough.
Clara saw it.
Guilt.
Not surprise.
She felt sick.
Seventeen men escaped the collapse.
Six died.
Her father had been one of them.
For five years Clara had imagined falling stone, broken beams, dust choking men in darkness.
Now she saw something worse.
It had not been an accident.
Elias’s expression became deadly.
“Is she right?”
Silas looked at him.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
Crowe tilted his head.
“Thomas was warned.”
Clara stopped breathing.
“He should’ve listened.”
She launched herself at him.
Elias caught her around the waist before she reached Crowe.
Silas laughed.
“Temper.”
“You murdered him!”
Crowe’s amusement vanished.
“I protected what belonged to me.”
“No,” Clara shouted. “You stole what belonged to everyone else!”
Grady moved closer.
“Enough.”
Elias loosened his hold on Clara.
Very quietly he whispered, “When I move, get behind the piano.”
She stared at him.
“What?”
Then Reverend Hale threw the brass candle stand through the nearest stained-glass window.
The crash exploded through the church.
Every head turned.
Elias moved.
He struck Grady’s gun arm upward.
The revolver fired into the ceiling.
Clara dove behind the piano.
Gunfire erupted.
Reverend Hale overturned a pew.
Elias drove his shoulder into Grady and sent both of them crashing into another pew.
Silas shouted.
“Get the ledger!”
Clara crawled toward the side aisle.
A bullet struck the piano.
Wood splintered above her.
She screamed.
Someone grabbed her ankle.
Clara kicked violently.
The man cursed.
She remembered the revolver Elias had given her.
Her hand found it beneath her coat.
She drew it.
The man froze.
Clara pointed toward his chest.
“Let go.”
He laughed nervously.
“You won’t shoot.”
Clara cocked the hammer.
“I learned yesterday.”
He released her.
She scrambled toward the vestry.
Behind her, Elias exchanged shots with men outside.
Reverend Hale shouted.
“This way!”
He opened a narrow door behind the pulpit.
Clara ran toward him.
“There’s an old crawl passage beneath the church.”
“What?”
“Built during the Indian raids years ago. Go!”
“What about Elias?”
“I’ll get him.”
Clara hesitated.
A bullet struck the wall.
She crawled through.
The passage smelled of earth and mildew.
She clutched the ledger and moved on hands and knees through darkness.
Behind her, more shots rang out.
Then silence.
“Elias?”
No answer.
She continued crawling.
The tunnel ended beneath an old storage shed behind the cemetery.
Clara shoved open the trapdoor and climbed out.
She expected to find Crowe’s men waiting.
Instead she saw Harlan Pierce.
The fur trader held a rifle.
“Been looking for you.”
“Harlan?”
“Elias sent word last night.”
Clara stared.
“He knew this might happen?”
“He suspected.”
“Where is he?”
Gunfire erupted again.
Harlan looked toward the church.
“Busy.”
Clara ran.
He grabbed her arm.
“Where are you going?”
“Back.”
“You’ll get killed.”
“He came here because of me.”
“He came here because it was right.”
“I’m still going.”
Harlan saw something in her face and released her.
“Then stay low.”
They approached from behind neighboring buildings.
Townspeople had gathered at windows but nobody dared step into the street.
Crowe’s riders surrounded the church.
Then the front doors burst open.
Elias stumbled outside.
Blood covered his left sleeve.
Clara’s heart stopped.
Two men pursued him.
Harlan fired.
One dropped his weapon and dove for cover.
Elias saw Clara.
His expression changed from relief to fury.
“What are you doing here?”
“Saving you.”
“This isn’t saving!”
“Then stop getting shot!”
For one absurd second, Elias looked offended.
Harlan laughed.
“Argue later.”
They retreated toward the livery stable.
Reverend Hale joined them from an alley.
“Grady’s calling more deputies.”
“They’re his men,” Elias said.
Clara held up the ledger.
“We need someone outside Silver Creek.”
Harlan nodded.
“Federal marshal in Casper.”
“That’s four days.”
“Three if someone rides hard.”
Clara looked toward the ledger.
“We need copies.”
Elias understood.
“If they catch the rider—”
“They can’t destroy the only evidence.”
They slipped into the back room of the newspaper office.
The Silver Creek Chronicle consisted of one printing press, two desks, and a permanently ink-stained editor named Samuel Perkins.
He looked up when four armed fugitives entered.
“I assume this concerns the shooting outside?”
Clara placed the ledger on his desk.
“My father was murdered.”
Perkins stared at the book.
Within minutes he understood.
His face lost color.
“My God.”
“We need copies,” Clara said.
“A lot of them.”
Perkins smiled slowly.
“Now you’re speaking my language.”
For the next hour, while Crowe’s men searched town, Samuel and his teenage assistant reproduced pages from the ledger using the press.
One copy went with Harlan.
Another was hidden beneath the floor.
A third Reverend Hale carried to Mrs. Whitcomb’s house.
A fourth Clara tucked into her dress.
Then a bell began ringing outside.
Samuel looked through the window.
“They know.”
Crowe stood in the center of town.
Beside him was Miriam Bennett.
Clara froze.
Her stepmother looked terrified.
Silas held her by the arm.
“Clara!” he shouted.
The town fell silent.
“I know you can hear me.”
Clara’s jaw tightened.
Elias stood beside her.
Silas continued.
“Bring the ledger, or Miriam pays for your stubbornness.”
Clara stared through the curtain.
Miriam looked small.
For years Clara had feared her.
Now, beside Crowe, she looked merely cruel and frightened.
Elias whispered, “You don’t owe her.”
Clara knew that.
Miriam had sold her.
Used her.
Humiliated her.
She had traded Clara’s future for money.
And yet Clara could not watch another human being die.
“I have to go.”
“No.”
“She’ll be killed.”
“That isn’t your doing.”
“I know.”
Clara looked at him.
“But if I become someone who can watch it happen when I might stop it, then Miriam will have taken more from me than my childhood.”
Elias stared at her.
Something like pride appeared in his eyes.
“Then you’re not going alone.”
They stepped into the street.
Silas smiled.
“There she is.”
Clara carried the original ledger.
Elias walked beside her.
Crowe pressed his pistol against Miriam’s ribs.
“Book.”
Clara stopped twenty feet away.
“Let her go.”
“Book first.”
“No.”
Miriam began crying.
“Clara, please.”
It was the first time Clara could remember Miriam begging her for anything.
Silas looked impatient.
“Throw it.”
Clara held it up.
“You killed my father for this.”
Crowe said nothing.
“You murdered five other miners too.”
“Accidents happen.”
“Not this time.”
She tore one page from the ledger.
Silas’s eyes widened.
Then another.
“What are you doing?”
Clara smiled.
“You thought this was the only copy.”
Crowe’s face went pale.
Behind Clara, windows opened.
Samuel Perkins threw printed sheets into the street.
Dozens.
Then hundreds.
Pages containing names, dates, bribes, thefts.
The wind carried them across Silver Creek.
Townspeople began picking them up.
Crowe released Miriam.
“You stupid girl.”
He raised his pistol.
Elias drew.
Before either fired, another gunshot cracked.
Crowe’s pistol flew from his hand.
Everyone turned.
Harlan Pierce sat on horseback at the end of town.
Beside him rode three armed men wearing federal badges.
The marshal had not been in Casper.
By chance, he had been traveling only twenty miles east investigating stolen cattle.
Silas saw the badges.
For the first time, he looked afraid.
Then he ran.
His men scattered.
Gunfire erupted across Silver Creek.
Crowe stole a horse and raced toward the mountains.
Elias started after him.
Clara grabbed his arm.
“No.”
“He’ll come back.”
“Then we face him.”
Elias looked toward the fleeing outlaw.
His entire history with Crowe was written in his expression.
Daniel.
The lost years.
The isolation.
Finally Elias lowered his weapon.
Federal deputies pursued Crowe.
Sheriff Grady was arrested.
Three riders surrendered.
Miriam collapsed in the street.
Clara stood looking at her.
Her stepmother reached toward her.
“Clara.”
For years that voice had controlled her.
Now it held no power.
“I need you.”
Clara’s eyes filled.
“You needed me before.”
Miriam began sobbing.
“I was desperate.”
“You sold me.”
“I didn’t know what Crowe would—”
“You knew enough.”
Miriam had no answer.
Clara turned away.
Elias waited beside her.
Blood still darkened his sleeve.
She looked at it.
“You’re hurt.”
“Scratch.”
“That is not a scratch.”
“Mountain definition.”
Clara almost laughed.
Instead she took his hand.
Elias looked down at their joined fingers.
Neither spoke.
For the first time in Clara’s life, walking away from the woman who called herself family did not feel like losing a home.
It felt like choosing one.
But three days later, a federal deputy arrived at Elias’s cabin with terrible news.
Silas Crowe had escaped.
And he was riding back toward the Big Horn Mountains.