Eli’s voice hardened. I’m not asking her to fight. I’m asking her to hide two little girls for a few hours while we figure out our next move.
That’s all. Clara was quiet for a long moment. And if she says no? Then we find someone else.
But we have to try. Eli reached out and took her hand. Clara, I need you to trust me.
Can you do that? Her fingers tightened around his. I trusted you the moment you came back through that door last night instead of riding away. That might have been the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.
Maybe. Clara almost smiled. But it was also the bravest.
And I’ve had enough of smart men who play it safe. Thomas played it safe for years. Look where it got him.
Eli pulled her closer. This isn’t over. Burnett still has the law on his side.
He still has money connections power. All we’ve got is a dead man’s journal and a prayer that the marshal arrives in time. Then we better pray hard.
The sound of hoofbeats shattered the moment. Eli’s hand went to his gun as he spun toward the road. Single rider coming fast from the direction of town.
He positioned himself between Clara and the approaching figure, his body coiled for violence. But as the rider drew closer, he saw the badge glinting on the man’s chest. Sheriff Wade Colton, alone.
Get inside, Eli murmured. No. Clara stepped up beside him.
This is my property, my fight. I’m not hiding. The sheriff reined in at the fence line, his breath steaming in the cold morning air.
He was younger than Eli had expected, maybe 35, with the weathered face of a man who’d spent his life outdoors. His eyes were tired, haunted. The eyes of a man who’d made too many compromises.
Mrs. Whitfield. Colton’s voice was careful neutral. Mr. Mercer.
Sheriff, Clara replied. You’re out early. Had reports of gunfire last night.
Thought I should investigate. Investigate what? There’s nothing to see here. Colton’s gaze drifted to the fresh graves behind the cabin.
Nothing to see, he repeated flatly. Seven men rode out to your property last night, Mrs. Whitfield. Seven men employed by Silas Burnett.
None of them came back. Maybe they got lost. In snow this deep, with torches and horses.
Colton shook his head slowly. Whatever happened here, I need to know about it. Officially.
Eli stepped forward. You want to know what happened, I’ll tell you. Seven armed men attacked this homestead in the middle of the night.
They tried to burn us out. We defended ourselves. You killed seven men.
They tried to kill two children, and their sick mother. What would you have done? Colton’s jaw tightened. That’s not the question, Mr. Mercer.
The question is whether you had legal right to be on this property in the first place, whether Mrs. Whitfield invited you here, or whether you forced your way in, whether this was self-defense or vigilante justice. You know damn well what it was. What I know doesn’t matter, Colton’s voice dropped.
What I can prove matters. What witnesses say matters. And right now the only witnesses are you, Mrs. Whitfield, and two little girls.
Against the word of Silas Burnett. Clara pushed past Eli. Wade, Wade, look at me.
The sheriff’s expression flickered. Mrs. Whitfield. Clara, I was your sister’s best friend.
I held her hand when she died. I’ve known you for ten years. Clara’s voice shook with controlled fury.
You know what Burnett is. You know what he did to Thomas. You know what he’s been doing to this whole town.
Are you really going to stand there and pretend you don’t? Colton’s face went pale. What I know and what I can prove. Stop saying that.
Clara’s composure cracked. Stop hiding behind procedure and protocol and legal technicalities. A good man is dead because of Silas Burnett.
My husband is dead. And you did nothing. You looked at his body and you did nothing.
I couldn’t prove. You didn’t try. Tears were streaming down Clara’s face now.
You were scared, just like everyone else. Scared of what Burnett might do to you if you asked the wrong questions. So you let him win.
You let him murder my husband and destroy our name and terrorize our family. And you did nothing. Colton sat rigid in his saddle, his face a mask of pain.
Ruth would have been ashamed of you, Clara whispered. My sister loved you because she thought you were a good man. She would have been ashamed.
The sheriff closed his eyes. For a long moment nobody spoke. Then Colton dismounted.
There’s a posse forming in town, he said quietly. Burnett’s got them worked up. Says a dangerous criminal is holding the Whitfield family hostage.
Says they need to ride out here and rescue the women and children. Eli’s hand tightened on his gun. How many? Twelve.
Maybe fifteen. Good men mostly. Farmers and shopkeepers who believe what they’re told.
Colton looked at Eli directly. They’ll be here by noon. And you came to warn us.
I came to do my job. The sheriff’s voice was tired. My actual job.
The one I swore an oath to do before Burnett started paying my salary. Clara stared at him. Wade? I’ve been a coward, Clara.
You’re right about that. I’ve been scared and compromised and everything Ruth would have hated. Colton’s jaw set.
But I’m done. Whatever happens today, I’m done being Burnett’s puppet. What changed? Colton reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a leather satchel.
This. He handed it to Eli. Inside were documents.
Dozens of them. Financial records, property deeds, correspondence with territorial officials. And at the bottom, a letter bearing the seal of the territorial governor.
I’ve been collecting evidence for two years, Colton said. Ever since Thomas died. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn’t prove it alone.
So I started keeping records, making copies of documents that crossed my desk, building a case piece by piece. Eli flipped through the pages, his eyes widening. This is everything.
Bank transactions showing money flowing to the governor’s office. Deeds signed over under duress. Witness statements that were buried.
He looked up. Why didn’t you come forward? Because I was scared. Colton’s voice was raw.
Because Burnett owns the territorial court. Because the last man who tried to expose him ended up dead in a mining accident. He paused.
Because I’m not brave like Thomas was. I’m just a small town sheriff who wanted to keep his head down and survive. Clara moved toward him slowly.
But you kept collecting. I had to do something, even if I was too afraid to use it. Colton met her eyes.
Ruth would have wanted me to try. Even if I failed. She would have wanted me to try.
Clara reached out and touched his arm. She would have been proud of you for this. Maybe.
Colton’s voice cracked. But it doesn’t undo what I let happen. What I let Burnett do to your family.
No, it doesn’t. Clara’s grip tightened. But it’s a start.
Eli closed the satchel. This evidence combined with Thomas’s journal is enough to bring down Burnett and everyone connected to him. We just need to get it to federal authorities.
Marshal Dawkins, Colton said. I know him. He’s honest.
One of the few marshals who can’t be bought. I sent him a telegram yesterday. He should be on his way.
Then we hold out until he gets here. Colton glanced toward the road. But that posse will arrive first, and they won’t wait for explanations.
Eli’s mind was racing. Twelve to fifteen armed men. Believing they were rescuing hostages from a dangerous criminal.
They’d shoot first and ask questions never. Unless someone changed the narrative. The church, he said suddenly.
Clara and Colton both looked at him. What about the church? Burnett built it. Paid for it.
His name is on the cornerstone. Eli’s eyes gleamed with sudden intensity. But Thomas’s journal proves the materials are rotten.
The whole building could collapse at any moment. What are you suggesting? I’m suggesting we stop playing defense. Eli handed the satchel back to Colton.
You said the posse is made up of good men. Farmers and shopkeepers. People who go to that church every Sunday…
