The first bullet shattered the window.
Abigail dropped behind the table.
Glass exploded across the floor.
Gideon fired once through the opening.
A man outside shouted.
Thompson overturned the heavy dining table and dragged Abigail behind it.
“Stay down!”
Another bullet struck the logs.
Gideon moved toward the back wall.
He was unnervingly calm.
“How many?” Thompson asked.
“Three horses.”
“You saw them?”
“Heard them.”
Of course he had.
Abigail pressed her father’s letter and brass key inside her dress.
“Are they Mercer’s men?”
Gideon reloaded.
“Does it matter?”
It did not.
Outside someone yelled:
“Cross! We don’t want trouble!”
Gideon answered:
“You rode six miles through a blizzard and shot through my window.”
Silence.
“That suggests trouble.”
Thompson almost laughed.
Another shot struck the cabin.
Gideon waited.
Then he fired.
A horse screamed outside.
“Damn you!”
Gideon crouched beside Abigail.
“Back room.”
“I can help.”
“With what?”
She looked around.
“I don’t know yet.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“Neither are you.”
He stared at her.
Then, unbelievably, nodded.
“Fair.”
A burning smell entered the cabin.
Thompson’s face changed.
“Smoke.”
Gideon ran to the rear window.
A flaming bundle had landed against the woodshed.
“They’re trying to burn us out,” Abigail said.
Gideon opened a floor hatch beneath a rug.
A narrow storage cellar appeared.
“Both of you down.”
“No.”
“Abigail.”
“My father spent his life uncovering what these men were doing. I am not hiding in a hole while they burn the proof with me inside.”
“You’re not proof.”
“I have the key.”
“You’re also a human being.”
The words stopped her.
Gideon continued.
“Your father didn’t leave evidence so you could die defending it.”
Another flaming bundle hit the roof.
Gideon grabbed a wool blanket, soaked it in a water barrel, and threw it over his shoulders.
“Thompson, cellar.”
The older man obeyed reluctantly.
Abigail did not.
Gideon turned.
“If you want to fight Mercer, survive tonight.”
She clenched her jaw.
Then climbed into the cellar.
Gideon closed the hatch above them.
Darkness.
Abigail heard boots running overhead.
The back door opened.
Wind roared.
Shots followed.
Then silence.
Minutes passed.
Too many.
Abigail whispered:
“What is happening?”
Thompson shook his head.
She reached toward the hatch.
He grabbed her wrist.
“Wait.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
A gunshot thundered directly above them.
Then another.
Someone crashed into furniture.
A man cursed.
Gideon grunted.
Abigail pushed open the hatch.
“Stay here.”
She climbed out before Thompson could stop her.
The cabin was filled with smoke.
One attacker lay unconscious near the fireplace.
Another had Gideon pinned against the wall.
Gideon’s rifle was on the floor.
The attacker raised a knife.
Abigail grabbed the first thing within reach.
An iron skillet.
She swung.
The skillet hit the man’s shoulder.
He turned in surprise.
Abigail swung again.
This time it struck his face.
He collapsed.
Gideon stared at her.
She lowered the skillet.
“You said survive.”
His eyes dropped to the weapon.
“Effective.”
“Thank you.”
A third man appeared in the doorway.
Gideon lunged.
They disappeared outside.
Abigail ran to the broken window.
Through the snow she saw Gideon tackle the man near the fence.
The struggle lasted less than twenty seconds.
Gideon pinned him.
“Who sent you?”
The attacker spat blood into the snow.
“Go to hell.”
Gideon pulled him closer.
“Who?”
The man laughed.
“You think this is about the girl?”
Abigail froze.
Gideon did too.
The man continued:
“Mercer wants what Lawson hid. Girl’s just leverage.”
“Who killed Nathaniel Lawson?”
The laughter stopped.
Gideon’s voice became colder.
“Answer.”
“You already know.”
A distant rifle cracked.
The attacker jerked.
Gideon immediately rolled aside.
Blood spread across the man’s coat.
Abigail gasped.
“Inside!” Gideon shouted.
Another shot struck the fence.
Someone was firing from the trees.
Gideon ran toward the cabin.
Thompson pulled Abigail down.
A minute later hoofbeats faded into the storm.
The final shooter escaped.
The captured attacker was dead.
Gideon dragged the other two unconscious men into the barn and tied them.
By dawn the storm began weakening.
The cabin survived.
The woodshed did not.
Half the roof had burned.
Abigail stood near the broken window wrapped in a blanket.
Gideon entered carrying firewood.
Blood stained his sleeve.
“You’re hurt.”
“Scratch.”
“Sit.”
“I’m fine.”
“You say that more than I do.”
He looked at her.
Then sat.
Abigail rolled up his sleeve.
A bullet had grazed his upper arm.
“That isn’t a scratch.”
“It didn’t stay inside.”
“That does not make it pleasant.”
She cleaned the wound.
Gideon watched her hands.
“You hit a man with a skillet.”
“He had a knife.”
“Rebecca would have liked you.”
Abigail smiled faintly.
“I think I would have liked her.”
Gideon looked away.
For a moment the mountain man disappeared.
What remained was a brother who still missed his sister.
Abigail tied the bandage.
“There.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Thompson entered.
“I recognized one.”
“Who?” Abigail asked.
“Man named Lucas Trent. Works cattle outside Oakhaven.”
“For Mercer?”
“Sometimes.”
Gideon stood.
“We take them to town.”
Abigail stared at him.
“Town?”
“Yates needs to answer for this.”
“Yates is part of it.”
“That’s why we don’t give him a choice.”
They rode into Oakhaven that afternoon with two bound attackers tied across packhorses.
People emerged from businesses to stare.
Josiah Mercer was standing outside the bank.
His expression changed when he saw them.
Gideon stopped directly in front of him.
One attacker had regained consciousness.
The other groaned.
Sheriff Yates hurried over.
“What happened?”
“These men attacked my cabin,” Gideon said.
“Proof?”
Abigail nearly laughed.
Gideon pointed at the tied men.
“Ask them.”
Yates looked alarmed.
Mercer spoke first.
“Perhaps Miss Lawson has brought criminal acquaintances into your life, Cross.”
Gideon dismounted.
Mercer took a step backward.
“Careful.”
Gideon stopped inches from him.
“Your man Lucas Trent died last night.”
Mercer blinked.
Only once.
But Abigail saw it.
So did Gideon.
Mercer recovered quickly.
“I know dozens of men.”
“You knew that one.”
“Everybody knows Lucas.”
“Then you’ll miss him.”
Gideon walked toward the sheriff’s office.
Abigail followed.
Inside, one prisoner finally talked.
His name was Silas Ward.
He claimed Mercer had paid them fifty dollars each to retrieve “documents or keys” from Abigail.
Sheriff Yates immediately tried to discredit him.
“Criminal accusing a banker.”
Gideon leaned against the wall.
“Write the statement.”
Yates frowned.
“What?”
“Write it.”
“I decide procedure.”
Gideon looked at his badge.
“For now.”
The sheriff wrote.
By evening half the town knew.
For the first time, whispers about Abigail changed direction.
Maybe she had been telling the truth.
Maybe Mercer had lied.
Maybe Nathaniel Lawson’s supposed debt deserved another look.
Abigail should have felt satisfaction.
Instead she felt exhausted.
They stayed at Thompson’s home that night rather than returning to the cabin.
His wife, Mary, hugged Abigail the moment she entered.
“I’m sorry.”
Abigail stood rigid.
“For what?”
“For believing them.”
The apology almost broke her more than cruelty had.
Mary began crying.
Abigail finally hugged her back.
“You were afraid.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t.”
For once Abigail did not soften truth to make someone else comfortable.
Mary nodded.
“I deserved that.”
Later, Gideon sat on Thompson’s porch.
Abigail joined him.
Snow had stopped.
Stars covered the sky.
“You could stay here,” Gideon said.
“With the Thompsons?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me gone?”
His head turned.
“No.”
“Then why suggest it?”
“Because choice matters.”
Abigail looked at him.
“You keep saying things nobody else seems to understand.”
“Rebecca taught me.”
They sat quietly.
“Gideon?”
“Yes?”
“Are you afraid of anything?”
He thought for a long moment.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Failing someone twice.”
Abigail understood.
“Rebecca wasn’t your fault.”
His jaw tightened.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough.”
He looked at her.
She continued.
“You arrived too late once. So now you think you must arrive in time for everyone.”
“That sounds foolish.”
“It sounds painful.”
He gave a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.
“You ask too many questions.”
“And you avoid too many answers.”
“Balanced.”
She smiled.
This time he smiled too.
The moment disappeared when the front door opened.
Thompson stepped outside holding a newspaper.
“Stage came in from Denver.”
He handed it to Gideon.
On the front page was a small notice.
FIRST TERRITORIAL BANK ANNOUNCES TRANSFER OF PRIVATE DEPOSIT HOLDINGS.
Abigail read quickly.
“All unclaimed private boxes will be moved to the new Denver vault beginning Monday.”
Her stomach dropped.
“What day is it?”
“Friday,” Thompson said.
The mountain pass normally required two days in winter.
If weather cooperated.
Which it rarely did.
“We leave tomorrow,” Abigail said.
Gideon shook his head.
“No.”
She turned.
“What?”
“Pass isn’t safe.”
“If we wait, Mercer gets there first.”
“How?”
“He knows there’s a key.”
“He doesn’t have it.”
“He owns half the people who could help him open a box.”
Gideon considered.
Thompson said:
“There’s another route.”
Both looked at him.
“Old mining road through Black Elk Canyon.”
Gideon’s expression darkened.
“No.”
“Why?” Abigail asked.
“Avalanche country.”
“How long?”
“Day and a half.”
“We take it.”
“No.”
Abigail stood.
“You don’t decide for me.”
“I decide whether I guide someone through a canyon that may bury us.”
“Then don’t guide me.”
She walked toward the door.
Gideon caught her arm gently.
She looked down at his hand.
He released her immediately.
“Abigail.”
“My father died for whatever is in that box.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Then I intend to find out.”
Silence.
Gideon looked toward the mountains.
Finally:
“We leave before dawn.”
Abigail nodded.
“You always surrender this easily?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Pack warm.”
She went inside.
Thompson looked at Gideon.
“You’re in trouble.”
Gideon stared after Abigail.
“Yes.”
“You know what kind?”
Gideon’s eyes remained on the closed door.
“The kind I don’t know how to handle.”