Chapter 5 - The Secret Beneath Clara’s Sleeve
Gideon moved before Clara could.
He extinguished the kitchen lamp.
The cabin went dark except for the weak glow from the hearth.
Outside, snow reflected the moon enough to shape the clearing in silver.
“Stay behind the wall,” Gideon whispered.
Clara caught his sleeve.
“He wants you outside.”
“I know.”
“He’ll have men.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I know.”
Despite her fear, frustration flashed in her eyes.
It was strangely reassuring.
Fear had ruled Clara when she arrived.
Anger meant some part of her had begun to return.
Rusk called again.
“Mr. Cobb, I’d prefer a civilized conversation.”
Gideon opened the front door but remained inside.
“Then have one from there.”
A shape stood beyond the porch.
Twenty yards out.
Calvin Rusk.
He was not physically impressive.
That surprised Gideon.
Rusk was perhaps forty-five, narrow-shouldered, carefully shaved, dressed in a dark city coat poorly suited to Wyoming weather.
The dangerous thing about him was how ordinary he looked.
Two riders waited behind him.
One was the man from Bitter Creek.
The scar by the ear.
“I’m here for Miss Wynn,” Rusk said.
“No.”
“You don’t even know why.”
“I know she doesn’t want to go.”
“This is a financial matter.”
“Then send a bill.”
Rusk smiled.
“Mr. Cobb, you paid for a service. Surely you understand contractual obligations.”
“I burned mine.”
The smile faded slightly.
“That was unwise.”
“Paper burned fine.”
Behind the wall, Clara nearly smiled.
Rusk lifted his voice.
“Clara, I know you’re inside.”
She closed her eyes.
“I know you can hear me.”
Gideon stepped farther into the doorway, blocking the interior.
Rusk continued.
“You have property belonging to my company.”
Clara whispered, “Don’t answer.”
Gideon didn’t.
“Return it,” Rusk said, “and I’ll forget the money.”
Silence.
“I’ll forget the travel debt.”
Still silence.
“I’ll even forget what happened in St. Louis.”
Clara began trembling.
Gideon sensed it behind him.
Rusk knew exactly which words to use.
The man with the scar shifted in his saddle.
Rusk added, “You remember Anna, don’t you?”
Clara made a sound.
Very small.
Gideon’s expression hardened.
Rusk heard it.
His smile returned.
“She’s alive.”
Clara stepped from behind the wall.
Gideon tried to stop her with a look.
She ignored him.
“Where?”
Rusk looked satisfied.
“There you are.”
“Where is Anna?”
“Safe.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
Clara took one step toward the doorway.
Gideon blocked her with his arm without touching her.
Rusk watched.
“You care about her,” he said to Gideon.
“We met yesterday.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
Gideon’s eyes narrowed.
Rusk continued.
“Be careful. Miss Wynn has a talent for creating trouble, then finding men willing to absorb the cost.”
Clara’s face changed.
Gideon noticed.
A familiar wound.
Rusk knew where to cut.
“Mr. Cobb,” Rusk said, “you’re a practical man. I checked. Good land. No debt. Fair reputation. You don’t want this.”
“You broke my window.”
“I paid someone to deliver a message.”
“That person broke my window.”
“I’ll reimburse you.”
“Then we’re settled.”
Rusk’s smile vanished.
“I want the key.”
Gideon said nothing.
“You know about it, then.”
Still nothing.
Rusk sighed.
“Clara stole something that could be misunderstood by authorities.”
“Funny thing about truth,” Gideon said. “Usually only people lying worry about misunderstandings.”
For the first time, anger showed on Rusk’s face.
Then vanished.
“I’ll return with legal authority.”
“Bring the sheriff.”
“I’ll bring better.”
Rusk turned.
Before mounting, he looked toward Clara.
“Anna asked about you.”
Clara stepped forward.
“When?”
Rusk smiled.
“Come to town tomorrow and perhaps I’ll tell you.”
Then he rode away.
His men followed.
Gideon closed the door.
Clara remained staring at the wood.
“He has her.”
“Maybe.”
“He said she’s alive.”
“He wanted you to believe that.”
“What if it’s true?”
“What if it isn’t?”
She rounded on him.
“I can’t just sit here!”
“I didn’t say sit.”
“Then what?”
“Think.”
“I have been thinking since St. Louis!”
“And he knows that. He knows you feel responsible for Anna. That’s why he used her name.”
Clara paced.
“If she’s alive—”
“If she’s alive, running into Bitter Creek and handing Rusk the key may be the worst thing you can do for her.”
Clara stopped.
The logic hurt because it was true.
Gideon repaired the window temporarily with a board.
When he finished, he found Clara sitting at the table.
Her left sleeve had slipped up.
For the first time he saw thin scars around her wrist.
Not fresh.
Old.
Clara noticed his gaze.
She pulled the sleeve down.
Gideon looked away immediately.
“They locked the doors,” she said.
He remained still.
“At the bureau?”
She nodded.
“If a woman changed her mind after accepting the travel advance, they called it breach of contract.”
Gideon sat across from her.
“Rusk?”
“Sometimes.”
She rubbed her wrist.
“Mostly his assistant.”
“Scar beside his ear?”
Her eyes lifted.
“Ephraim Dodd.”
“That him?”
“Yes.”
Gideon memorized the name.
Clara continued.
“Anna worked in the accounting room. She discovered the same women were being charged several times for identical expenses.”
“And bribery?”
“She copied entries. Judges. Constables. Rail agents.”
“How did she get the ledger into Cheyenne?”
“She didn’t. Rusk did.”
Gideon frowned.
“It’s his?”
“He kept the original records away from St. Louis. If the office was raided, the official books would look clean.”
“So Cheyenne was his hiding place.”
“Yes.”
“Anna stole the key.”
“And gave it to me.”
“When?”
“The night before I left.”
Gideon leaned back.
“Does Rusk know the exact box?”
“Number seventeen.”
“Does he need the key?”
“According to Anna, the bank requires both the key and identification from the depositor.”
“Who’s the depositor?”
“Not Rusk.”
“Who?”
Clara hesitated.
“A man named Walter Keene.”
Gideon’s expression changed.
She noticed.
“You know him?”
“Territorial judge.”
Clara went pale.
“You’re sure?”
“Very.”
Everything became worse.
If Judge Walter Keene was connected to Rusk, then Rusk had influence far beyond St. Louis.
Gideon stood.
“We need Sheriff Bell.”
“Rusk said he’d return with legal authority.”
“Exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if Keene signs something, Bell may have no choice but to follow it.”
Clara looked toward the window.
“Then we have to get the ledger first.”
“Cheyenne’s two days in good weather.”
“And this isn’t good weather.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“When can we leave?”
Gideon almost laughed.
Yesterday she could barely walk.
Today she wanted to cross a mountain pass in winter.
“Your feet.”
“I have boots.”
The answer hit him unexpectedly.
He looked down.
The brown boots he had bought sat beneath the table.
Still new.
Still too clean for what lay ahead.
Gideon nodded slowly.
“We leave before dawn.”
That night they packed food, blankets, ammunition, lantern oil, and enough supplies for four days.
Clara slept in her locked room.
Gideon barely slept at all.
At three in the morning he heard something outside.
This time it was not a rider.
It was the barn.
The horses screamed.
Gideon ran downstairs.
Orange light exploded through the rear window.
The barn roof was burning.
“Clara!”
She came running.
Fire climbed through the dry beams while the animals kicked against their stalls.
Gideon rushed outside.
Clara followed.
“No! Stay back!”
She ignored him.
Together they opened the barn doors.
Smoke rolled out.
Gideon released the first horse.
Then the second.
A burning beam crashed behind them.
Clara screamed his name.
They stumbled into the snow as flames swallowed the loft.
Within minutes, the barn was beyond saving.
Gideon stood in the clearing, breathing hard.
Clara beside him.
Snow melted against their faces.
The horses trembled near the fence.
Then Gideon saw something nailed to a post.
A folded piece of paper.
He tore it free.
Five words.
YOU WON’T REACH CHEYENNE.
Clara read over his shoulder.
The barn cracked behind them.
Gideon crushed the note in his fist.
Rusk had made one mistake.
He thought burning the barn would frighten Gideon into staying home.
Instead, as Gideon watched years of work collapse into sparks, he made a decision.
They would reach Cheyenne.
May you like
And when they did, they would stop running.
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