Chapter 10 - The Night the Mountain Came for Them
The Mercer ranch burned against the night sky like a second sunset.
Flames tore through the upper floor.
Workers formed bucket lines.
Snow around the house turned black with soot.
Caleb shouted at everyone.
“My mother is upstairs!”
No one could reach her.
A staircase had collapsed.
Clara arrived behind Sheriff Cole.
Elias stayed beside her.
“Where is Beatrice’s bedroom?” he asked.
Caleb pointed.
“North side.”
Elias studied the building.
“There’s another entrance?”
“Servant stairs.”
“Collapsed.”
“Balcony?”
“Too high.”
Clara grabbed his arm.
“Don't.”
Elias looked at her.
“You were going to.”
“I’m not you.”
“Correct.”
He removed his coat.
“You've already almost frozen once this month.”
“Elias.”
“I’ll be back.”
“That promise isn't becoming comforting.”
His eyes held hers.
Then he ran.
Clara watched him climb the stable roof and leap toward the lower balcony.
Everyone shouted.
Elias broke a window.
Smoke swallowed him.
Minutes passed.
One.
Two.
Three.
Clara stopped hearing the crowd.
Four.
Then movement appeared.
Elias emerged through the balcony door carrying Beatrice Mercer.
Her gray hair hung loose.
She coughed.
People lifted a ladder.
Elias passed her down.
Then climbed himself.
The moment his boots touched the ground, Clara hit him.
Again.
“Enough,” Elias said.
“You keep doing things that require hitting.”
Beatrice stared at them from the snow.
Then at Clara.
For years she had treated Clara as defective.
A failed daughter-in-law.
A vessel expected to produce sons.
Now Clara knelt beside her.
“You’re safe.”
Beatrice's eyes filled with tears.
“Why?”
Clara knew what she meant.
Why save me?
Why care?
Why behave better than I did?
Clara answered:
“Because my daughters will someday ask what kind of woman their mother was.”
Beatrice began crying.
Caleb looked away.
The fire destroyed most of the Mercer mansion.
By morning, investigators found oil in three places.
Arson.
But Caleb had been in court when the fire started.
Someone else wanted Mercer records destroyed.
Elias found Sheriff Cole beside the ruins.
“Railway company?”
“Maybe.”
“Lawyer?”
“Maybe.”
“Thomas?”
Cole frowned.
“Why Thomas?”
“He disappeared.”
The sheriff looked around.
He was right.
Thomas Whitmore was gone.
By noon, they learned why.
A telegram arrived.
Thomas had boarded a train heading east.
Before leaving, he withdrew twelve thousand dollars from an account linked to the Whitmore trust.
Clara stared at the telegram.
“My uncle stole from me?”
Elias’s jaw tightened.
“Maybe.”
“You always say maybe.”
“It keeps me from shooting conclusions.”
She gave him a tired look.
“That was terrible.”
“I know.”
The trust bank confirmed Thomas possessed an old authorization signed by Evelyn decades earlier.
Technically valid until challenged.
The money belonged to a reserve fund intended for homesteader repairs.
Without it, dozens of families might lose homes before spring.
Clara sank into a chair.
“I trusted him.”
Elias stood beside her.
“You wanted to.”
“Is that supposed to help?”
“No.”
She looked up.
“I keep choosing people who lie.”
“You chose me.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re terrible at lying.”
He almost smiled.
Then Anna cried.
Clara lifted her.
“I don't know how to fix this.”
Elias sat.
“You don't have to fix everything today.”
“Those families need money.”
“We have timber.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“My timber rights.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re yours.”
“Exactly.”
“Elias—”
“I can sell enough to cover the reserve until Thomas is found.”
“You spent years building this place.”
“And?”
“You can't sacrifice it because of me.”
His expression hardened.
“Stop deciding what I'm allowed to care about.”
Clara went silent.
Elias continued.
“I’m not giving you charity.”
“What is it?”
“Investment.”
“In what?”
He looked around the cabin.
Then toward the twins.
“Something better than being alone.”
Clara swallowed.
That afternoon Elias rode into Blackridge and sold one-third of his winter timber contract.
The money kept every Whitmore tenant housed.
People heard.
By evening, someone painted a message on the mercantile wall:
VANCE SAVED THE VALLEY.
Elias hated it.
Clara laughed for ten minutes.
But the relief lasted less than a day.
A telegram arrived from Denver.
Thomas Whitmore had never boarded the eastbound train.
The conductor remembered the ticket.
Not the passenger.
Someone else had used Thomas's name.
Hours later, his horse was found near the frozen river.
No rider.
No tracks leading away.
Elias studied the location.
“This was staged.”
Sheriff Cole nodded.
Clara felt dread rising.
“Then where is he?”
A sound came from the trees.
Samuel appeared, breathing hard.
“I know.”
Everyone turned.
The boy held a leather notebook.
“I found this in Gideon’s old room.”
The notebook contained names.
Payments.
Railroad officials.
Judges.
Land agents.
And one entry circled three times.
Silas Ward — finish Whitmore matter before spring.
Clara looked at Elias.
“Who is Silas Ward?”
Elias's expression became cold.
“The most dangerous man in Colorado you've never heard of.”
And somewhere beyond Vance Mountain, wolves began howling.
Not one.
A whole pack.
May you like
As if the mountain itself had sensed that the real fight had finally arrived.
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