Chapter 2 - The Name He Shouldn’t Have Known
Martha shoved Caleb away.
“How do you know Silas?”
Another rifle shot cracked across the plain.
Caleb grabbed Martha and pulled her behind the wagon wheel.
“Questions later.”
“No!”
“Martha!”
“You knew my husband.”
Caleb fired once toward the ridge.
The distant rider vanished behind rock.
“I knew of him.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Caleb looked at her.
“Samuel Hale saved my life twelve years ago.”
The answer struck harder than the gunshot.
Martha stared at him.
Samuel had rarely spoken about his years before Nebraska.
He had been a freighter, hunter, occasional scout, and according to him, “a young fool with more courage than sense.”
He had never mentioned Caleb Mercer.
“He never told me.”
“He had reasons.”
“What reasons?”
“We need to move.”
Caleb hurried to bring his wagon beside hers.
Martha’s fear had become anger.
“You arrived just when my wagon failed. You knew Samuel. You knew Silas. Now somebody’s shooting at us.”
“Which is exactly why you should get into my wagon.”
“What if this is all because of you?”
Caleb stopped.
“That’s possible.”
She had expected denial.
His admission frightened her more.
Within twenty minutes, they transferred Martha’s most important belongings.
Caleb refused to let her lift anything heavier than the cedar box.
She kept Samuel’s rifle beside her.
The leather document case remained beneath her dress coat.
They left the disabled wagon behind.
Martha looked back until it became a dark shape against the trail.
It felt like watching another grave disappear.
Caleb drove hard for two hours.
He chose rocky ground whenever possible.
“Trying to hide tracks?” Martha asked.
“Trying to make them harder to follow.”
“Silas is Samuel’s brother.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me everything.”
Caleb’s hands tightened around the reins.
“Samuel and I worked together years ago.”
“Doing what?”
“Guiding freight. Hunting. Sometimes jobs that paid better than they should have.”
“Illegal?”
“Sometimes.”
Martha stared.
“My Samuel?”
“Your Samuel wasn’t always the man you married.”
The words angered her.
“You don’t get to tell me who my husband was.”
“No.”
Caleb glanced at her.
“But you deserve to know who his brother is.”
Silas Hale had attended Samuel’s funeral.
He had stood beside the grave in an expensive black coat and cried more loudly than anyone.
Afterward, he had offered Martha money.
Then he had offered marriage.
Not immediately.
Three weeks later.
“You shouldn’t travel alone,” Silas had said. “Samuel would want me to protect you.”
Martha had refused.
Silas had smiled.
But his eyes had not.
“When did you last see him?” Caleb asked.
“Two months ago.”
“What happened?”
“He wanted Samuel’s papers.”
Caleb’s expression hardened.
“What papers?”
Martha did not answer.
“Martha.”
“No.”
“If Silas is following you—”
“I don’t know that he is.”
“He’s following you.”
“You saw a silhouette.”
“I recognized the horse.”
She turned.
“You recognized his horse from three hundred yards?”
“Black gelding. White left foreleg. Scar on the shoulder.”
Martha remembered.
Silas rode exactly such an animal.
The world seemed to tilt.
“Why would he sabotage my wagon?”
“That depends on what’s in the case.”
She gripped it.
Caleb saw.
“I won’t take it.”
“Then stop asking.”
“All right.”
His willingness to stop surprised her.
They traveled until dusk.
Caleb chose a narrow canyon for camp where stone walls concealed their fire.
He cooked beans and salt pork.
Martha ate more than she expected.
Afterward, Caleb spread his bedroll near the wagon while insisting Martha sleep inside.
“You’re giving me your bed?”
“I’ve slept on worse ground.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
That was becoming Caleb’s answer to kindness.
Not obligation.
Choice.
Martha lay inside the wagon listening to the fire crackle.
Eventually she heard Caleb speak.
“Samuel wrote to me.”
She sat up.
“When?”
“Last winter.”
“Before he died?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Caleb reached into his coat.
Martha’s hand tightened around the rifle.
He withdrew a folded letter.
Even in the dim light, she recognized Samuel’s handwriting.
Her breath caught.
Caleb handed it to her.
She unfolded the paper.
Caleb—
If this reaches you, I need a favor I have no right to ask.
Martha stopped reading.
Tears blurred the ink.
“Keep going,” Caleb said softly.
She did.
My wife is carrying our child. I bought land outside Laramie. Silas knows about it, though he doesn’t know everything. If sickness takes me, Martha will travel west because she is stubborn enough to keep every promise she makes.
Martha laughed through tears.
That sounded exactly like Samuel.
The letter continued.
Silas believes the land is worth more than Martha understands. Maybe it is. I don’t care. It belongs to her and the child.
If I die, find her.
Get her safely to Laramie.
Do not tell her about our past unless you must.
She deserves better than the men we used to be.
Martha lowered the letter.
“You were looking for me.”
“Yes.”
“So your arrival wasn’t chance.”
“No.”
Anger flared.
“You lied.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You let me believe you were a stranger passing by.”
“I am a stranger to you.”
“You knew exactly who I was!”
“I suspected when I saw the wagon.”
“And when I gave my name?”
“I knew.”
Martha stood too quickly.
Pain tightened across her abdomen.
She gasped.
Caleb was beside her instantly.
“Sit.”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Martha—”
“Don’t.”
He backed away.
She breathed until the tightening eased.
“Samuel trusted you.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Samuel asked me not to unless necessary.”
“Someone shot at us!”
“That made it necessary.”
Martha stared at the letter.
The anger remained.
But beneath it was something more painful.
Samuel had planned for his own death.
He had known she might be in danger.
And he had not told her.
“Why does Silas want the land?”
Caleb sat opposite her.
“Years ago Samuel and Silas found something in those hills.”
“What?”
“Silver.”
Martha almost laughed.
“Samuel never mentioned silver.”
“Because he wanted nothing to do with it.”
“Why?”
“Men died over that claim.”
Caleb looked into the fire.
“Samuel walked away. Silas didn’t.”
“The deed is for ranch land.”
“On the surface.”
Martha felt suddenly cold.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying your 320 acres may sit over one of the richest undeveloped silver veins in Wyoming.”
Silence.
Martha touched the leather case.
“That’s why Silas wanted the deed.”
“Yes.”
“And if I die?”
“The property passes to Samuel’s nearest surviving male relative unless your child is born alive.”
Martha’s hand covered her belly.
The meaning landed slowly.
Then completely.
Silas did not merely need the deed.
He needed Martha and her unborn child gone.
Caleb watched her understand.
“I won’t let him reach you.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No.”
He looked toward the darkness.
“But I can make him work for it.”
A stone clicked somewhere beyond the firelight.
Caleb’s revolver appeared in his hand.
Martha raised Samuel’s rifle.
Neither moved.
Another sound came from the canyon entrance.
Then a voice.
“Martha?”
She stopped breathing.
The voice was familiar.
“Martha, it’s me.”
May you like
Silas Hale stepped into the edge of the firelight with both hands raised.
And behind him stood three armed men.
