Now you’ve got a choice. You can turn around and tell Burnett his intimidation didn’t work. Or you can die right here in this snow and let your families wonder what happened to you.
Nobody moved. The wind whistled through the silence. Then slowly Cobb raised his hands.
Easy there, Ranger. Nobody needs to die today. Then ride.
Cobb turned his horse, gesturing for his men to follow. This ain’t over, he called back. Mr. Burnett always gets what he wants.
Always. Not this time. The three riders disappeared down the road, their hoofbeats fading into the winter quiet.
Eli didn’t holster his weapon until they were completely out of sight. You can come out now, he said. The cabin door creaked open, and Clara appeared.
Her face pale, but her eyes burning with something that might have been admiration. You just faced down three armed men. They weren’t expecting a fight.
Bullies never do. They’ll come back. I know.
Clara stepped onto the porch, pulling her shawl tight against the cold. With more men. With guns blazing.
They’ll burn this place down with us inside if they have to. Probably. And you’re still staying.
Eli finally holstered his pistol. I told you before, I’m done running. Clara was quiet for a moment.
My husband said something like that once. The night before he died. Her voice cracked.
He said some things were worth dying for. I told him nothing was worth leaving our daughters without a father. What did he say? He said some things were worth dying for because they were about more than just him.
They were about what kind of world our daughters would grow up in. Clara wiped her eyes. I hated him for that.
For being willing to die for principle, when I needed him to live for us. Eli understood. God help him, he understood completely.
Clara. I don’t hate you. She continued.
For doing what he did. For being willing to fight when running would be safer. I just.
She pressed her hand to her mouth fighting for control. I can’t watch another good man die for my family. I can’t.
Then don’t watch. Clara looked at him. What? I’m not asking you to watch.
I’m not asking you to do anything except keep those girls safe and let me handle what’s coming. Eli met her eyes steadily. I know what I’m risking.
I know the odds. But Clara. I’ve spent three years wishing I’d been home when those outlaws came.
Wishing I’d died instead of Sarah and Hope. Wishing I’d had the chance to fight for them. His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper.
You’re giving me that chance. A chance to be there when it matters. A chance to fight for something instead of running from everything.
Even if I die doing it, that’s more than I’ve had in three years. Clara’s tears were falling freely now. That’s a terrible reason to stay.
Maybe. But it’s the only one I’ve got. The cabin door opened again and Rosie appeared her small face solemn and pale.
Mama. The bad men are coming back. Eli spun toward the road.
Nothing. Empty snow and gray sky. Rosie.
There’s nobody. Not now. The little girl’s eyes were distant unfocused.
Tonight. When the moon rises. A lot of them.
Clara’s hand found Eli’s arm, her grip tight with fear. She does this sometimes. Sees things before they happen.
Thomas thought she was gifted, I thought she was just imaginative. But she’s never been wrong. Eli looked at the child at those ancient eyes in that young face.
How many men Rosie? Seven. Her voice was flat emotionless. Seven men with fire.
What else do you see? Rosie’s gaze drifted past him toward something invisible. Snow. Red snow.
And screaming. Her lower lip trembled. So much screaming.
Then she blinked, and the spell broke. She was just a little girl again, frightened and cold, reaching for her mother. Clara gathered her up pressing kisses to her hair.
It’s okay baby. It’s okay. We’re going to be fine.
But her eyes met Eli’s over her daughter’s head, and he saw the terror there. Seven men. Tonight.
The telegram to Marshal Dawkins wouldn’t reach Helena until tomorrow at the earliest. Even if Dawkins dropped everything and rode hard, he couldn’t arrive before New Year’s Eve. They were on their own.
I need to fortify this cabin, Eli said quietly. Can your girls shoot? Clara’s face went rigid. Their children.
Their targets. Tonight when those men come, they’ll be targets. I’m not saying give them guns.
I’m saying can they run? Can they hide? Can they survive if things go bad? Clara was silent for a long moment. Lily can shoot. Thomas taught her last summer.
She’s not good, but she knows which end is which. Clara’s voice shook. Rosie won’t touch guns.
She says they make her head hurt. Then Rosie hides. Lily stays with you.
I’ll face them outside. Alone. It’s the only way.
Eli started calculating angles, cover positions, fields of fire. Inside this cabin we’re trapped. Outside I can move.
Pick them off before they can organize. Seven men, Eli. You said it yourself.
You’ve got fourteen shots. Then I better not miss. Clara set Rosie down and stepped toward him, her face fierce with desperation.
This is suicide. You know that, don’t you? You’re planning to die so we can live. I’m planning to fight.
The dying part is just a possibility. Eli? He caught her hands in his, surprising them both. Clara listened to me.
Three years ago I wasn’t there when my family needed me. I’ve been carrying that guilt every day since. Every mile I rode, every drink I drank, every time I thought about eating my own gun, it was all because I couldn’t be there.
His grip tightened. Tonight I get to be there. Whatever happens I get to stand between evil and innocent children and say, not today.
Maybe I’ll live, maybe I won’t. But I will not run. Do you understand? I cannot run.
Not again. Clara’s tears dripped onto their joined hands. Then we fight together.
Clara? No. Her voice hardened with the same steel he’d heard when she talked about her land and her husband’s memory. You don’t get to make noble sacrifices while I cower inside with my children.
Thomas did that. He went alone, kept me safe and ignorant, and he died alone. I won’t let that happen again.
You’re sick. I’m better. The medicine helped.
Clara squeezed his hands. And I’m a better shot than Lily. Thomas taught me before he taught her.
If seven men are coming to burn my home and take my children, I will stand on that porch with a rifle and shoot until I can’t shoot anymore. That’s not negotiable. Eli stared at her.
This woman. This impossible, stubborn, beautiful woman who refused to bend even when bending would save her life. Fine, he said finally.
We fight together. Clara nodded once. What do we do first? Eli released her hands and moved toward the door.
First we prepare. Move anything flammable away from the walls. Fill every bucket with water.
Board up the windows we can’t cover with gunfire. And then, he paused at the threshold. Then we wait for moonrise.
The afternoon passed in grim preparation. Eli showed Clara how to position herself by the window for maximum cover and minimum exposure. He reinforced the door with the cabin’s only table, wedging it against the frame at an angle that would force anyone trying to enter to push through a barrier while exposing themselves to fire.
Lily helped without being asked, her small hands carrying buckets and blankets with fierce determination. Rosie sat by the fire drawing in her journal with crayons that had worn down to nubs, her pictures dark and disturbing. Flames consuming buildings, figures running through snow, and over and over a tall man standing alone against a tide of shadows.
What are you drawing, sweetheart? Clara asked during one of their brief rest periods. Rosie showed her the latest picture. Clara went pale.
It was Eli. Unmistakably, Eli rendered in the simple strokes of a child’s hand. He stood in front of the cabin guns in both hands, facing a semi-circle of dark figures.
And behind him, barely visible through the doorway, were three figures watching. Clara, Lily, and Rosie herself. Is this what you see coming? Clara whispered.
Rosie nodded slowly. Does he? Clara couldn’t finish the question. Rosie looked up at her mother with ancient sorrowful eyes.
Some things I can’t see, Mama. Some things aren’t decided yet. The moon rose at seven o’clock.
Eli watched it from the porch, his breath crystallizing in the air. The cold was savage, the kind that could kill a man in hours if he didn’t keep moving. But he couldn’t afford to move…
