A horse waited nearby.
Caleb helped Clara mount, then swung up behind her.
They rode hard toward town.
Wind tore at Clara’s hair.
“Why are we going back?” she shouted.
“Because Rusk will burn the church first.”
The realization hit her.
The final pie.
They reached Red Creek as flames appeared beyond the rooftops.
The church bell began ringing wildly.
Clara and Caleb galloped into the square.
Father Daniel stood outside the church, struggling with a man who held a kerosene can.
Caleb leaped from the saddle and tackled the man.
Clara ran inside.
Smoke drifted through the nave.
The pie sat on the altar.
She rushed toward it.
A hand grabbed her from behind.
Sheriff Rusk dragged her backward and pressed a revolver beneath her jaw.
“You always were your father’s daughter,” he whispered.
Clara froze.
Caleb entered the church and stopped.
Rusk tightened his hold.
“Drop the gun.”
Caleb obeyed.
The revolver struck the floor.
Rusk laughed bitterly.
“Silas should have stayed gone.”
“You killed him?” Clara asked.
“I tried.”
His breath smelled of whiskey and smoke.
“He found the deeds. Thought truth mattered more than survival. I shot him by the river, but he escaped. After that, I kept you under my roof. He knew what would happen if he returned.”
Clara’s eyes filled with tears.
“You told me you loved me like a daughter.”
“I did.”
Rusk’s voice softened with something almost sincere.
“That was the inconvenience.”
He aimed at the pie.
“Now tell me where the records are.”
Caleb looked at Clara.
The smallest movement passed through his face.
A warning.
Clara understood.
She began to laugh.
Rusk stiffened.
“What is funny?”
“You are too late.”
His grip tightened.
“You think the papers in that pie will save you?”
“No.”