Chapter 3 - Thomas Whitfield's Glove
Silas did not allow Cora outside for more than a few seconds.
“Back to bed.”
“That is Thomas's glove.”
“I know.”
“Then he was here.”
“Maybe.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you're freezing.”
Cora resisted, but weakness won.
Silas helped her inside and placed another log in the stove.
Hope slept peacefully against her mother.
Cora watched Silas examine the glove.
“You're hiding something.”
“I'm thinking.”
“That's what men say when they're hiding something.”
Silas glanced at her.
“Thomas ever mention those numbers?”
“What numbers?”
“Four, seven, twelve.”
Cora's expression changed.
Silas noticed.
“You know them.”
“No.”
“Cora.”
She looked toward the baby.
“My husband had debts.”
Silas waited.
“Gambling?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know, or he didn't tell you?”
“The second.”
Silas sat opposite her.
“Who did he owe?”
“A man named Gideon Vale.”
Silas's expression hardened.
Cora noticed.
“You know him.”
“Know of him.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Gideon Vale doesn't lend money because he's generous.”
Vale owned a freight company in Helena, two saloons, several mining claims, and enough men with guns to make local sheriffs suddenly interested in other problems.
“What did Thomas borrow money for?”
“Our ranch.”
Silas looked at her.
Cora continued.
“The cattle died during last winter's fever. Thomas borrowed to replace them. Then prices fell. He borrowed again.”
“And gambled.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
“How did you end up here?”
“We were traveling to my sister's place near Deer Lodge. Thomas said we'd lost the ranch. Two days into the journey, I started having pains. We found this cabin.”
“And he went for help.”
“Yes.”
Silas looked at the glove.
Something didn't fit.
After breakfast, he told Cora he needed to search nearby.
“No.”
“I won't go far.”
“You promised.”
His eyes met hers.
“I'm not leaving.”
“That sounds like leaving.”
“I'll be within shouting distance.”
Cora hesitated.
Finally, she nodded.
Silas took his rifle.
He followed the sheltered side of the cabin, searching places where the storm might not have completely erased signs.
Behind a stand of pines he found broken branches.
Then blood.
Not much.
Farther down the slope, something metallic glinted beneath snow.
A cartridge casing.
Silas picked it up.
Rifle ammunition.
Fresh.
He continued.
Thirty yards farther, he discovered a depression where a horse had fallen before the storm.
No horse remained.
There were more dark stains.
Silas stood slowly.
Someone had been here.
More than one person.
When he returned, Cora read the answer in his face.
“You found him?”
“No.”
“What did you find?”
Silas told her.
Not everything.
Enough.
Cora pressed Hope closer.
“Vale's men?”
“Maybe.”
“Thomas said Vale wouldn't follow us.”
“Thomas said a lot of things.”
Anger flashed in her eyes.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Speak about my husband like that.”
Silas nodded.
“You're right.”
That surprised her.
“I don't know what happened.”
Cora stared at the fire.
After a long silence, she whispered, “He wasn't always like this.”
Silas said nothing.
“When I met Thomas, he could make an entire room laugh. He built our house himself. Planted apple trees even though everyone said Montana winters would kill them.”
“Did they?”
“Every one.”
Silas almost smiled.
“He planted them again.”
This time Silas did smile.
Cora noticed.
“He loved this baby.”
“Then we'll find him.”
“You believe he's alive?”
Silas chose his words carefully.
“I believe we don't know enough to bury him.”
That afternoon the weather improved.
Silas prepared to move them the following morning.
The nearest settlement was nearly fifteen miles away.
Cora could not walk.
Fortunately, behind the shack Silas discovered an old hand sled.
He repaired it with rope and pieces of wood.
“You expect to pull me fifteen miles?”
“You and Hope.”
“That's impossible.”
“So was last night.”
Cora had no answer.
That evening, Silas made rabbit stew from meat in his pack.
Cora ate slowly.
Hope slept.
For several hours they almost resembled a strange little family.
Then came the sound.
A horse.
Silas instantly extinguished the lantern.
Cora stiffened.
“What—”
Silas raised one finger.
Outside, hooves crunched through snow.
One horse.
Maybe two.
Silas took his rifle.
“Stay behind the stove.”
Cora clutched Hope.
A shadow crossed the frosted window.
Then someone knocked.
Three slow knocks.
Silas positioned himself beside the door.
“Who is it?”
Silence.
Another knock.
“Thomas?” Cora whispered.
Silas shook his head.
He opened the door a few inches.
A man collapsed forward.
Silas caught him.
The stranger's coat was soaked with blood.
Cora gasped.
Silas dragged him inside and closed the door.
The man was perhaps twenty-five, blond, half frozen.
Silas recognized him.
“Eli Mercer.”
The man's eyes opened.
“Hayes?”
“What happened?”
Eli looked toward Cora.
His face changed.
“Mrs. Whitfield?”
Cora moved closer.
“You know me?”
Eli coughed.
“I know your husband.”
Cora dropped beside him.
“Where is Thomas?”
Eli grabbed Silas's sleeve.
“Vale.”
“What about him?”
“He took Thomas.”
Cora covered her mouth.
“Why?”
Eli looked at her.
“Because Thomas stole something.”
Silas's eyes narrowed.
“What?”
Eli struggled to breathe.
“A ledger.”
Cora shook her head.
“Thomas never said anything about a ledger.”
“He couldn't.”
“Why?”
Eli looked directly at her.
“Because that ledger is worth enough to hang Gideon Vale and half the men working for him.”
Silence filled the cabin.
Then Eli spoke the words that changed everything.
“Thomas hid it before they caught him.”
“Where?” Silas asked.
Eli's gaze drifted toward the wall outside.
“Four… seven… twelve.”
Silas and Cora looked at each other.
The numbers.
Thomas hadn't carved them as a message about where he was going.
He had carved them to tell Cora where something was hidden.
May you like
And if Gideon Vale learned she had survived the storm, Silas knew exactly where his men would come next.
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