Chapter 15 - The Storm at Bitterroot Pass
Judge Shaw issued warrants.
For Hyram Cole.
For Charles Tagot.
For three board members involved in the fraudulent transactions.
Charles protested loudly until a marshal removed him from the courtroom.
Cora watched without satisfaction.
The valley was still in danger.
Boon gathered the documents.
“We ride.”
Judge Shaw stopped him.
“You do not.”
Boon turned.
“Those are my cattle.”
“And Hyram has armed men.”
“Which is why—”
“Which is why territorial marshals go first.”
Cora agreed.
Boon did not.
For once, Cora enjoyed watching someone else argue with him.
They compromised.
Six marshals.
Boon.
Cora.
Pike.
Marcus.
And twelve settlers.
The rest would follow later.
They reached Bitterroot Pass during another storm.
Snow began lightly.
Then thickened.
By dusk visibility dropped to twenty yards.
Cora hated the pass.
This was where Boon had nearly died.
He rode beside her.
“You’re quiet.”
“So are you.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
He smiled.
Then raised a hand.
Stop.
Everyone halted.
Boon looked at the slope.
“What?”
Cora asked.
“Tracks.”
“Whose?”
“Riders.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
A marshal dismounted.
“Hyram?”
Pike examined the tracks.
“His men.”
They continued carefully.
At the old bridge ruins, gunfire came from the ridge.
Horses panicked.
Nobody was hit.
The marshals returned fire toward the rocks.
Boon pulled Cora behind a fallen log.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
“This is becoming repetitive.”
“What?”
“Men shooting while you’re near me.”
“I noticed.”
They waited.
The storm intensified.
The attackers withdrew.
But the road ahead was blocked by a fallen wagon.
A trap.
Boon saw another route.
“Old cattle trail.”
Pike shook his head.
“Not in this weather.”
Cora asked, “How long?”
“Five miles over the ridge.”
“Do it.”
Pike stared.
“You’re not afraid?”
“I have been afraid since January started. It’s becoming boring.”
Boon laughed despite himself.
They climbed.
Wind tore across the ridge.
Cora’s hands went numb.
Halfway up, the mare slipped.
Boon caught the reins.
They continued on foot.
Near midnight, they reached a sheltered basin.
A cabin stood there.
The same line cabin where Boon had first discovered discrepancies.
Inside they found two wounded ranch hands.
Not badly.
Both abandoned by Hyram.
Pike recognized them.
“Where is he?”
One answered.
“Main ranch.”
“How many men?”
“Maybe fifteen.”
“And the cattle?”
“Penned.”
Boon relaxed slightly.
Hyram had not released them.
“Why?”
The ranch hand laughed weakly.
“Can’t.”
“What?”
“Hands won’t do it.”
Cora looked at Boon.
The man explained.
“Hyram ordered us to open the north gates. Nobody moved.”
“Why?”
“Those families are neighbors.”
The answer was simple.
And powerful.
Hyram had money.
Threats.
Documents.
But his authority had finally reached its limit.
Men who might lie for wages would not destroy homes they had known for years.
Cora felt hope.
Then the ranch hand added:
“So Hyram locked twelve of them in the bunkhouse.”
Hope vanished.
Boon stood.
“We move.”
At dawn they reached the main ranch.
The compound sat beneath a wide ridge.
Barns.
Corrals.
Office.
Bunkhouse.
Hyram stood on the office porch.
He had been expecting them.
His men were scattered nearby.
Some armed.
Some not.
Boon rode forward.
Hyram smiled.
“You look better.”
“You missed.”
“So did you.”
Boon dismounted.
Marshals spread out.
One shouted the warrant.
Hyram laughed.
“You think paper matters here?”
Cora stepped forward.
“It mattered when you used it to steal farms.”
Hyram saw her.
Something like hatred crossed his face.
“The widow.”
“The thief.”
He smiled.
“You should have stayed cold in your cabin.”
“You should have left my window alone.”
Silence.
The marshal called again.
“Hyram Cole, surrender.”
Hyram looked toward his men.
“Any man who puts down his weapon is fired.”
Nobody moved.
Then an older ranch hand lowered his rifle.
“Then I’m fired.”
Another lowered his.
Then another.
Hyram’s face changed.
Within seconds, only four men remained beside him.
Pike walked forward.
Hyram stared.
“You.”
Pike nodded.
“You tried to have me killed.”
“You deserved worse.”
“Maybe.”
Pike looked at Cora.
“But Caleb didn’t.”
Hyram’s jaw tightened.
Cora asked:
“Why him?”
Hyram laughed.
“You came all this way for that?”
“Yes.”
“He found the maps.”
“That’s all?”
“That was enough.”
Cora felt tears sting.
Hyram continued.
“Your husband believed rules protected him.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“He believed people should.”
For the first time, Hyram had no answer.
A marshal approached.
Hyram raised his pistol.
Boon moved.
Cora shouted.
The shot fired.
It struck the porch post.
Boon tackled Hyram.
Both fell into the snow.
The pistol slid away.
Hyram punched Boon near the healing wound.
Boon staggered.
Hyram reached for the weapon.
Cora stepped on it.
Hyram looked up.
She held his gaze.
“No.”
He froze.
Marshals seized him.
The fight ended not with another shot.
Not with blood.
But with iron cuffs closing around Hyram Cole’s wrists.
As they led him away, he looked at Cora.
“You think this valley will thank you?”
She answered:
“I didn’t do it for the valley.”
“What then?”
“My home.”
Behind her, ranch hands opened the bunkhouse.
Men poured outside.
Families began arriving from Black Pine.
And as the storm finally broke above the mountains, Cora realized Hyram had lost long before the marshal touched him.
He lost the moment frightened people stopped standing alone.
But one question remained.
Now that the valley was free—
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What would Boon Tagot do with everything he still owned?
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