They left Oakhaven before sunrise.
Abigail rode her own horse this time.
Gideon had purchased a small gray mare named Willow.
“She looks gentle,” Abigail said.
“She bites.”
Abigail glanced at him.
“You bought me a biting horse?”
“She only bites rude people.”
“How does she decide?”
“Good judgment.”
Abigail stroked the mare’s neck.
“I like her already.”
Their supplies were minimal.
Food.
Blankets.
A small canvas tent.
Rope.
Rifles.
Gideon carried the brass key inside a pouch beneath his shirt.
Abigail had insisted.
“If they capture me, they’ll search me first.”
“If they capture you, the key will be the least of my concerns.”
“That is exactly why you should carry it.”
He had finally agreed.
They climbed toward Black Elk Canyon.
The old mining road had not been maintained in years.
In several places it narrowed to a shelf carved into the mountain with a sheer drop on one side.
Abigail tried not to look down.
“You’re staring at the drop,” Gideon said.
“I’m specifically not staring at it.”
“You’re leaning toward the mountain.”
“I enjoy mountains.”
“You’re terrified.”
“I can be both.”
By noon clouds gathered.
Gideon looked upward repeatedly.
“What?”
“Snow changed.”
“It’s snow.”
“Different kind.”
She waited.
He offered nothing.
“What does that mean?”
“Wind on the ridge.”
“You could occasionally speak in complete explanations.”
“Storm coming.”
“See? That wasn’t difficult.”
He almost smiled.
They reached the entrance to Black Elk Canyon near dusk.
Gideon stopped.
“No fire tonight.”
“Why?”
“Light carries.”
“You think Mercer sent people after us?”
“I think Mercer has done everything else.”
They camped beneath a rock overhang.
Abigail ate dried venison.
Gideon checked the horses.
When he returned, she was staring at his hands.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I was wondering how you became a mountain man.”
“I walked uphill.”
She laughed.
The sound surprised both of them.
Gideon sat opposite her.
“You should do that more.”
“What?”
“Laugh.”
Abigail’s smile faded slightly.
“I used to.”
“You will again.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Mercer doesn’t get to keep that.”
She looked at him.
Firelight would have made the moment warmer, but there was none.
Only moonlight on snow.
“Why did you never marry?” she asked.
Gideon raised an eyebrow.
“That’s direct.”
“I told you. Too many questions.”
“Women don’t exactly line up to live above the Divide.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Most women are frightened of me.”
“Are they wrong?”
He considered.
“Sometimes.”
Abigail smiled.
“Rebecca said I was bad company.”
“Was she right?”
“Usually.”
The conversation ended when Gideon suddenly stood.
“What?”
“Horse.”
Abigail heard nothing.
He extinguished even the tiny covered lantern.
“Behind the rocks.”
Minutes later three riders passed along the trail below.
One voice carried upward.
“…must reach Denver before them.”
Mercer’s men.
Abigail held her breath.
After they passed, Gideon waited another ten minutes.
“We follow.”
“Why?”
“They’ll break trail.”
“That is either brilliant or insane.”
“Both works.”
The following morning they found one rider’s camp abandoned.
Gideon examined tracks.
“They split.”
“Why?”
“One went back.”
“To Mercer?”
“Likely.”
The canyon narrowed.
Snow began falling harder.
By midday Abigail could barely see fifty feet.
A thunderous crack echoed above them.
Gideon shouted:
“Move!”
He slapped Willow’s flank.
The mare lunged forward.
Abigail heard a roar.
She looked back.
White filled the canyon.
Avalanche.
“Ride!”
Gideon grabbed her reins and pulled.
They reached a rocky outcrop seconds before snow exploded across the trail behind them.
The ground shook.
Willow screamed.
Abigail clung to the saddle.
Then silence.
The avalanche stopped.
Their path behind was gone.
Abigail stared.
“If we had been thirty seconds slower…”
“We weren’t.”
Gideon dismounted.
The route ahead was partially buried too.
“We walk.”
For six hours they pushed through deep snow.
Near sunset Abigail stumbled.
Gideon caught her.
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
“I can keep going.”
“Your lips are blue.”
“They’re fashionable.”
He did not smile.
They found an abandoned miner’s shack near the canyon exit.
The roof sagged but held.
Gideon built a fire.
Abigail sat wrapped in blankets.
Her hands shook uncontrollably.
Gideon warmed them between his own.
She did not pull away.
“You’re going to lose fingers pretending you aren’t cold.”
“I dislike admitting weakness.”
“Cold isn’t weakness.”
“People use everything against you eventually.”
His expression softened.
“Not everyone.”
She looked at him.
“I’m beginning to believe that.”
For a moment neither moved.
Then a gunshot struck the shack.
Gideon pulled Abigail down.
Another bullet tore through the wall.
The riders they had followed had doubled back.
Gideon pushed his rifle toward Abigail.
“You know how?”
“My father taught me.”
“Stay low.”
The fight lasted minutes.
One attacker fled.
Another surrendered after Gideon shot his rifle from his hands.
The third was wounded in the leg.
They tied both survivors.
Abigail recognized one.
Caleb Dorn.
The man who had grabbed her outside the saloon.
His face changed when he saw her.
Gideon crouched.
“Mercer sent you?”
Dorn spat.
Gideon waited.
Abigail stepped forward.
“Why did my father die?”
Dorn’s eyes flickered.
She saw it.
“You know.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Dorn looked toward Gideon.
Abigail crouched directly in front of him.
“You helped drag me toward that saloon. You watched Mercer destroy my name. Now you’re following us to Denver. Don’t insult me with another lie.”
Dorn swallowed.
“I didn’t kill Nathaniel.”
“Who did?”
“Nobody was supposed to.”
Abigail stopped breathing.
“What does that mean?”
Dorn looked defeated.
“Mercer wanted the records. Nathaniel wouldn’t say where they were. Yates arranged for the mine supports to be weakened.”
Gideon went utterly still.
Abigail whispered:
“They murdered my father.”
“Collapse happened early. Mercer thought your father would be underground later.”
“That makes no difference.”
“I know.”
“Who else knows?”
“Yates. Mercer. Vick. Maybe two men at Crown Ridge.”
Abigail stood slowly.
Every emotion disappeared from her face.
Gideon recognized what was happening.
“Abigail.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
She walked outside.
Snow hit her face.
She made it twenty feet before her knees buckled.
Gideon caught her.
She fought him once.
Then stopped.
“My father knew.”
“Yes.”
“He knew they were coming after him.”
“Yes.”
“I should have noticed.”
“No.”
“I should have asked why he was frightened.”
“You were his daughter, not his guard.”
Her face pressed against Gideon’s chest.
For the first time since Nathaniel Lawson’s funeral, Abigail cried.
Not politely.
Not quietly.
She cried with the grief of seven months finally given a name.
Murder.
Gideon held her.
No speeches.
No false comfort.
Only his arms around her while the mountains listened.
Hours later Dorn signed a confession.
They reached Denver the following afternoon.
First Territorial Bank was a marble building unlike anything in Oakhaven.
Abigail entered wearing the same worn coat that had gotten her thrown from Mrs. Gable’s boarding house.
People glanced at her.
She did not care.
The bank manager inspected the key.
“Box 417.”
His expression changed.
“Nathaniel Lawson?”
“My father.”
He led them into the vault.
The brass key turned.
Inside the box were three ledgers.
Dozens of copied loan documents.
Claim deeds.
Letters.
And one sealed envelope marked:
TO THE TERRITORIAL ATTORNEY.
Abigail opened the first ledger.
Names filled every page.
Loans supposedly taken by miners.
Properties transferred to Mercer Bank after default.
Signatures.
Some crossed out and replaced.
Gideon pointed to one.
Nathaniel Lawson.
Seven hundred dollars.
Beside it, written in another hand:
Fabricate after death if necessary.
Abigail stared.
There it was.
Proof.
Not just that Mercer had lied.
Proof that the lie had been planned.
The manager looked horrified.
“I believe you need federal authorities.”
Abigail closed the ledger.
“No.”
Gideon looked at her.
“No?”
“We need copies first.”
He smiled slowly.
“That’s my girl.”
Silence.
Abigail looked at him.
Gideon realized what he had said.
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant.”
But she was smiling.
They spent hours copying records with the help of the bank manager and an attorney.
One set went to the territorial prosecutor.
One to a Denver newspaper.
One remained locked in another vault.
Only then did Abigail agree to return.
Outside the bank she looked toward the mountains in the distance.
“Mercer doesn’t know yet.”
“He will.”
“Good.”
Gideon looked at her.
“You want revenge?”
She thought carefully.
“No.”
“What do you want?”
“I want everyone he crushed to hear the truth.”
“That sounds better.”
“And then I want him to watch everything he built on lies collapse around him.”
Gideon nodded.
“That also sounds better.”
She smiled.
They began the journey home.
Neither knew that Josiah Mercer had already learned what they found.
And this time he was no longer trying to ruin Abigail Lawson.
He was preparing to make sure she never returned to Oakhaven alive.