"The women too."
"Yes, Wade. I had noticed."
Briggs wiped blood from his cheek.
"We can still catch them."
Ashcroft stared toward the ruined passage.
"No."
Briggs frowned.
"No?"
"Not by chasing them through the mountains."
"Then what?"
Ashcroft adjusted his coat.
"We make them come to us."
He turned toward the surviving gunmen.
"Send word to Silver Creek."
Briggs waited.
Ashcroft's voice became cold.
"Arrest every person who ever helped Thomas Whitmore."
Briggs smiled slowly.
"And the ranch?"
"Burn it."
"What about the horses?"
"Take them."
"And Mercer?"
Ashcroft looked toward the darkness where Daniel had disappeared.
"By tomorrow night, Daniel Mercer will have a choice."
He lifted his cane.
"Save the Whitmore sisters."
A cruel smile touched his lips.
"Or save the people of Silver Creek."
CHAPTER EIGHT: THE HOUSE AT THE END OF THE VALLEY
By late afternoon, the mountains had begun to turn gold.
The storm clouds had moved east, leaving a clear sky above the high country. Sunlight spilled across the aspen groves, setting their leaves ablaze with yellow and copper.
Daniel led the sisters through a narrow valley where the grass grew tall and the mountains sheltered the land from the wind.
They had been walking for hours.
Their horses were still tied near the abandoned church, and returning for them was impossible while Ashcroft's men searched the ridge.
Lucy was struggling.
She had stopped complaining about her arm, but Daniel noticed the way she favored it and how often she stumbled.
Her face was pale.
Her breathing was shallow.
Abigail walked beside her, supporting her whenever the trail became steep.
Rachel carried the satchel containing the notebook and the documents recovered from the hidden room.
Daniel carried the wooden box.
He had wrapped it in his coat to protect it from the water.
Inside were the photograph, the silver ring, and the sealed letter that might finally expose Edward Ashcroft.
He had not yet opened the letter.
Something about the seal troubled him.
He wanted to examine it somewhere safe.
If such a place still existed.
They reached the edge of a meadow shortly before sunset.
Daniel stopped.
Across the valley stood a small log cabin.
Smoke rose from its chimney.
A vegetable garden surrounded the house, and a wooden fence enclosed several goats.
Abigail stared.
"Someone lives here?"
Daniel nodded.
"An old friend."
Rachel looked skeptical.
"Another one of your old friends?"
"Yes."
"Should we be worried?"
"Depends how much she likes you."
Rachel frowned.
"She?"
Daniel smiled faintly.
"Mrs. Martha Bellamy."
Lucy looked relieved.
"A woman?"
"Last time I checked."
Rachel gave him a tired look.
"You're enjoying this."
"More than I should."
They approached the cabin.
Before they reached the fence, the front door opened.
A short, broad-shouldered woman stepped onto the porch carrying a double-barreled shotgun.
Her gray hair was pinned into a severe bun.
She wore a faded blue dress beneath a heavy wool apron.
And she looked furious.
"Daniel Mercer!"
Daniel stopped.
"Afternoon, Martha."
"Don't you afternoon me!"
She raised the shotgun.
Rachel instinctively reached for her revolver.
Daniel caught her wrist.
"Easy."
Martha marched down the porch steps.
"Do you have any idea how long it's been since you visited?"
Daniel looked thoughtful.
"Six months?"
"Eight!"
"Time flies."
"Not when a person is waiting for someone to fix her roof!"
Daniel glanced at the cabin.
"Roof looks fine."
"Because I fixed it myself!"
He smiled.
"Then you didn't need me."
Martha narrowed her eyes.
"Boy, I ought to shoot you just for that."
Lucy gave a startled laugh.
Martha turned toward her.
Then she noticed the sisters.
Her expression changed.
"Oh, my."
She lowered the shotgun.
"Who are these poor creatures?"
Daniel stepped aside.
"Abigail Whitmore. Rachel Whitmore. Lucy Whitmore."
Martha studied their torn dresses, muddy boots, and exhausted faces.
Then she looked at Daniel.
"What have you done now?"
"Nothing."
"That's what you said the last time you brought trouble to my door."
Daniel sighed.
"Martha—"
"Wasn't that the time you had a wounded deputy in your wagon and three men chasing you from Silver Creek?"
"Two men."
"Three."
"One was a boy."
"He had a gun!"
Daniel opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Martha nodded triumphantly.
"That's what I thought."
She turned to the sisters.
"Inside. All of you."
Abigail hesitated.
"Ma'am, we don't want to impose."
"Nonsense."
Martha opened the gate.
"Any woman who looks like she's been dragged through a river and chased over a mountain is welcome in my kitchen."
She glanced at Daniel.
"Men, on the other hand, can sleep in the barn."
Rachel laughed.
Daniel shook his head.
"Good to see you too, Martha."
The cabin was small but warm.
Bundles of dried herbs hung from the rafters. A large iron stove occupied one corner, and shelves lined with jars of preserved fruit covered the far wall.
The air smelled of bread, cinnamon, and woodsmoke.
Lucy nearly collapsed into a chair.
Martha noticed immediately.
"That girl needs a bed."
Daniel nodded.
"She's been wounded."
Martha's expression sharpened.
"Shot?"
"Grazed."
"Let me see."
She examined Lucy's arm with practiced efficiency.
Then she looked at Daniel.
"You cleaned it?"
"Yes."
"With what?"
"Water and spirits."
"Fresh bandage?"
"Yes."
Martha nodded reluctantly.
"Well, perhaps you aren't entirely useless."
Daniel smiled.
"High praise."
"Don't get accustomed to it."
She sent Abigail to fetch hot water and Rachel to bring clean linens from the cupboard.
Within minutes, the cabin became a place of purposeful activity.
Lucy was settled into a bed near the stove.
Martha prepared a warm compress and examined the wound again.
Daniel stood beside the window, watching the valley.
He could see the trail they had followed.
No riders.
Not yet.
Martha noticed his vigilance.
"You're expecting trouble."
Daniel nodded.
"Probably."
"How much?"
"More than usual."
She sighed.
"That's what I was afraid of."
After Lucy had eaten a bowl of broth and fallen asleep, Martha gathered the others around the kitchen table.
"Now," she said, "somebody had better explain why three young women are being hunted through my mountains."
Abigail looked at Daniel.
He nodded.
"Tell her."
And so Abigail told the story.
She spoke of her father's death, the forged loan, the threats from Caleb Voss, Deputy Samuel Price's murder, and the hidden chamber beneath Blackstone Ridge.
Martha listened without interruption.
When Abigail finished, the older woman sat very still.
Then she asked, "Thomas Whitmore was your father?"
Abigail nodded.
"Yes."
Martha closed her eyes.
"Oh, Thomas."
Daniel leaned forward.
"You knew him?"
Martha looked at him.
"Of course I knew him."
"Why didn't you ever mention it?"
"Because he asked me not to."
The room fell silent.
Rachel stared at her.
"You knew our father?"
Martha nodded.