Edward Ashcroft stood beneath the mountain with the calm expression of a man who had never doubted that the world would eventually bend to his wishes.
The lantern behind him threw a long shadow across the wet stone floor. His silver-tipped walking cane rested against his right leg, and his expensive black coat seemed almost absurdly clean in a chamber filled with mud, dripping water, and the smell of ancient timber.
Daniel Mercer kept his rifle trained on the older man's chest.
For five years, he had imagined this moment.
In some versions of the dream, he found Ashcroft in a crowded Kansas saloon and shot him before the man could speak. In others, he dragged him before a judge, placed Eleanor's bloodstained letters on the witness stand, and watched the law finally deliver justice.
But never had Daniel imagined meeting him in a forgotten mine beneath the Colorado mountains, with three innocent women crawling through freezing water behind him.
And never had he imagined hearing the words Ashcroft had just spoken.
Your wife didn't die because she found my secrets. She died because she discovered yours.
Daniel's grip tightened around the Winchester.
"You have ten seconds to explain what you mean."
Ashcroft smiled faintly.
"Still impatient."
"Nine."
"Daniel, surely we can discuss this like civilized men."
"Eight."
Wade Briggs shifted in the passage behind Ashcroft.
"Boss, maybe we ought to—"
"Be quiet, Wade."
Ashcroft did not take his eyes off Daniel.
"You see, Mr. Mercer, the trouble with men like you is that you divide the world into simple categories. Good men. Bad men. Innocent women. Murderers. You never consider how easily those categories overlap."
"Seven."
Ashcroft sighed.
"Very well."
He reached slowly into his coat.
Daniel raised the rifle another inch.
"Take your hand out empty."
Ashcroft paused.
Then he withdrew a folded sheet of paper between two fingers.
"Do you recognize this?"
Daniel stared at it.
The paper was yellowed and creased. A red wax seal had been broken near the bottom.
He could not read the writing from where he stood.
"Put it on the floor."
Ashcroft obeyed.
"That document," he said, "is a copy of an order you signed in Red Hollow, Kansas, on April seventeenth, 1878."
Daniel's stomach tightened.
He remembered the date.
It had been the day before the first raid on the settlements east of Red Hollow.
At the time, Daniel had been a young deputy working under Marshal Gideon Pike, a decorated former cavalry officer who claimed to be investigating cattle thieves and organized land fraud.
Pike had ordered Daniel and four other deputies to serve eviction notices on several farming families.
The documents appeared legal.
They carried the county seal.
A judge had signed them.
Daniel had questioned the speed of the proceedings, but Pike assured him the matter had already been settled.
He had believed him.
That decision had haunted him ever since.
"What about it?" Daniel asked.
Ashcroft's smile widened.
"Twenty-three families were removed from their land under your authority."
"Under Pike's authority."
"Your signature appears on the order."
"I was a deputy."
"You were the man who delivered the papers."
Daniel said nothing.
Ashcroft continued.
"Several of those families resisted. There was violence. A barn burned. An elderly farmer died. And the land eventually passed into the hands of a company called Western Continental Holdings."
Daniel felt the familiar sickness rising in his throat.
He remembered the farmer.
His name had been Henry Collins.
He was seventy-one years old.
Daniel had helped carry him from the burning barn.
The old man died two days later.
"I didn't know the deeds were forged," Daniel said.
"Of course you didn't."
Ashcroft's tone was almost gentle.
"That's what makes you so useful."
Daniel's eyes narrowed.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying your beloved Eleanor discovered the truth about those evictions. She discovered that the documents were fraudulent. She discovered that the men responsible had used the sheriff's office to make their crimes appear legal."
Daniel stared at him.
"And?"
"And she discovered that her own husband had helped them."
The words hung between them.
Daniel heard the underground stream flowing behind him.
He heard Briggs shifting his boots.
He heard the faint creak of a wooden support beam.
But for one terrible moment, he heard Eleanor's voice most clearly.
Daniel, you have to understand what you've been part of.
He had not listened.
Not at first.
He remembered that argument.
It had taken place three nights before her death.
Eleanor had spread documents across their kitchen table, her eyes bright with anger and fear.
She had told him that the men he trusted were criminals.
He had defended Marshal Pike.
He had told her she was mistaken.
He had accused her of allowing her investigation to cloud her judgment.
Then he had left the house.
When he returned, she was asleep.
He had planned to apologize the following morning.
He never got the chance.
Ashcroft watched the realization move across Daniel's face.
"Ah," he murmured. "You remember."
Daniel's voice was rough.
"I remember being lied to."
"Perhaps. But ignorance does not erase responsibility."
"No."
The answer surprised Ashcroft.
Daniel lowered the rifle slightly, though he did not take his finger from the trigger.
"No, it doesn't."
Ashcroft tilted his head.
"How refreshing. An honest admission."
Daniel stared at him.
"I helped serve those papers. I trusted men I should have questioned. Families suffered because of it."
His jaw tightened.
"But Eleanor didn't die because she discovered what I'd done."
Ashcroft's expression changed almost imperceptibly.
Daniel continued.
"She died because she discovered what you had done."
The older man's smile disappeared.
"And because she was going to tell the world."
For the first time, Ashcroft looked irritated.
"Your wife was offered every opportunity to walk away."
"She was offered money."
"A considerable amount."
"She refused."
"Yes."
"Then you threatened her."
Ashcroft said nothing.
Daniel took one step forward.
"And when that didn't work, you sent men to our house."
Briggs shifted again.
Ashcroft raised one hand to silence him.
"You're making a mistake, Daniel."
"I made my mistake five years ago."
The rifle remained steady.
"Believing the law would protect her."
Ashcroft studied him.
Then he sighed.
"You always were sentimental."
"And you always mistook decency for weakness."
A faint sound came from the stream behind Daniel.
A splash.
Small.
Almost lost beneath the dripping water.
Daniel did not turn.
He knew Abigail and her sisters were still moving.
He needed more time.
Ashcroft noticed his glance toward the water.
"Your new companions are rather resourceful," he said.
Daniel's expression remained blank.
"Three young women," Ashcroft continued. "One wounded, one armed, and one who seems determined to carry the burdens of the entire family."
Daniel said nothing.
"Abigail Whitmore reminds me of Eleanor."
"Don't."
"Same stubborn expression. Same unfortunate belief that courage can defeat power."
Daniel took another step forward.
Ashcroft's eyes hardened.
"Put down the rifle."
"No."
"I have men positioned at the upper exit."
Daniel felt a cold knot form in his stomach.
Ashcroft smiled.
"You didn't think I'd enter an abandoned mine without learning where its tunnels led, did you?"
Daniel looked toward the stream.
The current flowed into darkness.
He had assumed the passage emerged somewhere along the northern slope.
If Ashcroft had men waiting there, the sisters might be walking directly into a trap.
"Call them off," Daniel said.
Ashcroft lifted his cane.
"Give me the notebook."
"I don't have it."
"Then tell me who does."
Daniel remained silent.
Ashcroft sighed.
"Very well."
He looked toward Briggs.
"Wade."
The gunman stepped forward.
"Yes, sir?"
"Send two men to the upper entrance. Tell them to hold the women there. No unnecessary violence."
Daniel raised the rifle.
"Nobody moves."
Briggs stopped.
Ashcroft's smile returned.
"You cannot shoot all of us."
Daniel glanced at the old support beams above the passage.
They were badly cracked.
The mine had been abandoned for decades.
Water had weakened the foundations.
And Ashcroft's men were standing directly beneath the most unstable section.
Daniel had spent years repairing barns, bridges, and collapsed fences.
He knew rotten timber when he saw it.
"I don't have to," he said.
He shifted his aim.
Ashcroft followed the movement.
For the first time, genuine concern appeared in his eyes.
"Daniel—"
The rifle thundered.
The bullet struck the wooden beam above Briggs.
Splinters exploded.
The beam cracked.
A deep groan rolled through the passage.
Briggs shouted.
"Everybody back!"
Daniel fired again.
The second shot shattered a supporting brace.
The ceiling trembled.
Dust poured down.
Ashcroft stumbled backward.
"You fool!"
Daniel dropped the rifle and threw himself into the stream.
Behind him came a tremendous crash.