Chapter 3 - Samuel’s Last Secret
“Martha, put the rifle down.”
Silas smiled as though they had met at church.
Caleb rose slowly.
“Bad advice.”
Silas’s eyes moved to him.
Recognition erased the smile.
“Mercer.”
“Hale.”
Martha looked between them.
“You know each other.”
Silas laughed quietly.
“Oh, Martha. You have no idea.”
The three men behind Silas spread out.
Caleb’s revolver remained low.
Nobody fired.
Not yet.
Silas wore trail clothes now instead of the fine coat Martha remembered. Dust covered his boots, but his beard was neatly trimmed.
He looked civilized.
That had always been his greatest weapon.
“I’ve been trying to find you,” Silas said.
“You found me well enough to cut my axle.”
His expression became wounded.
“You think I did that?”
“I think someone did.”
“And Mercer told you it was me?”
“He recognized your horse.”
Silas glanced at Caleb.
“Convenient.”
Caleb said nothing.
Silas stepped closer.
Caleb raised the revolver.
“That’s far enough.”
Silas stopped.
“Martha, this man is dangerous.”
“So are the three men carrying rifles behind you.”
“They’re protection.”
“From what?”
“Him.”
Silas pointed toward Caleb.
“Did he tell you what he and Samuel used to do?”
“Some.”
“Did he tell you they robbed payroll shipments?”
Martha looked at Caleb.
His face did not change.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
The admission hurt.
Silas continued.
“Did he tell you a guard died?”
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
Martha stared.
“You killed someone?”
“No.”
“But someone died.”
“Yes.”
Silas smiled.
“Samuel fired the shot.”
“No,” Caleb said.
The single word carried such force that even Silas paused.
Caleb looked at Martha.
“Samuel didn’t kill him.”
“Then who did?”
“Silas.”
The canyon became silent.
Silas’s smile disappeared.
“That’s a lie.”
“You shot Everett Cole because he recognized you.”
“You always were loyal to Samuel.”
“He earned it.”
Silas took another step.
Caleb cocked his revolver.
The armed men raised their rifles.
Martha suddenly understood something.
Everyone was watching Caleb.
Nobody was watching her.
She raised Samuel’s Winchester.
The lever clicked.
“Lower them.”
Silas stared at her.
“Martha.”
“I said lower them.”
“You won’t shoot.”
“My husband taught me.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
Martha aimed directly at his chest.
“You want to discover what grief did to my hesitation?”
Silas’s expression changed.
He motioned.
His men lowered their weapons slightly.
Caleb almost smiled.
“Samuel definitely married above himself.”
“Not helping,” Martha said.
“No, ma’am.”
Silas sighed.
“I came because I was worried.”
“You followed me.”
“I followed Mercer.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew Samuel had contacted him.”
That contradicted everything.
“How?”
Silas hesitated.
Caleb answered.
“You opened Samuel’s mail.”
Silas looked at him.
Caleb nodded slowly.
“That’s how you knew.”
Martha remembered Samuel complaining that two letters had disappeared shortly before his death.
At the time they blamed an unreliable postmaster.
Silas had been staying nearby.
“You read Samuel’s letter to Caleb.”
“Part of it,” Silas said.
“And followed me.”
“To protect you.”
“Stop saying that.”
Martha’s voice cracked.
“You asked me to marry you three weeks after I buried your brother.”
Silas’s face hardened.
“That was practical.”
“No. It was disgusting.”
One of his men shifted uncomfortably.
Silas noticed.
His polite mask slipped.
“The land should never have gone to Samuel.”
“There it is.”
“You don’t understand what you own.”
“I understand enough.”
“You’ll lose it.”
“To whom?”
“Railroad interests. Mining companies. Lawyers. Men who know how the territory works.”
“And you?”
“I could protect it.”
“For yourself.”
“For the family.”
Martha laughed.
“My child is the family.”
Silas’s eyes dropped to her belly.
For one terrible instant, she saw something there.
Calculation.
Caleb saw it too.
He moved between them.
“You should leave.”
Silas looked at him.
“You can’t escort her forever.”
“Long enough.”
“You think Samuel’s letter makes you some kind of guardian?”
“No.”
Caleb’s voice lowered.
“It makes me a man paying a debt.”
Silas’s expression became strange.
“Did you tell her what Samuel did for you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her why?”
Caleb became still.
Martha noticed.
“What does he mean?”
Silas smiled.
“Ask your mountain man why Samuel had to save his life.”
“Enough,” Caleb said.
“Ask him what they were running from.”
“Silas.”
“Ask him who originally owned the silver claim.”
Caleb fired.
The bullet struck the dirt beside Silas’s boot.
The canyon erupted.
Martha dropped behind the wagon.
Gunfire exploded from both sides.
Caleb overturned a supply crate for cover.
“Stay down!”
A bullet tore through canvas.
Horses screamed.
Martha crawled toward the rear wheel.
Silas’s men fired from the rocks.
Caleb returned two measured shots.
One rifle went silent.
Then Martha saw movement above him.
A man on the ridge.
Aiming down.
“Caleb!”
She raised Samuel’s Winchester.
Fired.
The shot struck stone beside the man.
He flinched backward.
Caleb turned and fired.
The man disappeared.
“You hit?”
“No!”
Caleb ran to Martha.
Silas shouted from darkness.
“This isn’t finished!”
Hooves thundered.
Then silence returned.
Caleb waited.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Finally he lowered his weapon.
“They’re gone.”
Martha’s hands shook.
“You almost shot Silas.”
“I deliberately didn’t.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
They left before dawn.
For the next day, they traveled through rough country.
Martha’s trust in Caleb remained fractured.
But something else had changed.
She had watched him place himself between her and bullets.
Twice.
People could lie with words.
It was harder to lie with where they put their bodies when rifles fired.
Late that afternoon, they stopped beside a creek.
Martha washed dust from her face.
Caleb checked the horses.
“What did Silas mean?” she asked.
Caleb did not pretend ignorance.
“The original silver claim belonged to a prospector named Elias Ward.”
“And?”
“He disappeared.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Samuel?”
“No.”
“Silas?”
Caleb looked toward her.
“We never proved it.”
Martha’s stomach tightened.
“Then why did Samuel own the land?”
“Because Ward gave him something before he vanished.”
“What?”
“A survey map.”
Martha thought of the leather case.
Caleb continued.
“Samuel hid it.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
She studied him.
He seemed sincere.
Martha retrieved the leather case.
Inside were the deed, tax papers, Samuel’s will, and several letters.
No map.
She spread everything across a blanket.
Caleb crouched beside her.
One document had always seemed strange.
A page from Samuel’s Bible.
Psalm 23.
Martha had assumed he kept it because it comforted him.
Caleb stared.
“What?”
“Samuel hated cutting books.”
Martha turned the page.
Nothing.
Then she held it toward the sun.
Faint marks appeared between the printed lines.
Pencil.
Numbers.
Coordinates.
Caleb inhaled.
“That’s it.”
“The map?”
“Part of one.”
At the bottom, Samuel had written three words.
UNDER THE COTTONWOOD.
Martha remembered something.
“There’s a cottonwood on the property.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Once. Samuel took me before we married.”
“Where?”
“Near an old spring.”
Caleb folded the page.
“We reach the ranch before Silas.”
“Why?”
“Because whatever Samuel hid there is what Silas is willing to kill for.”
They traveled until night.
Near midnight they saw a distant light.
A cabin.
Martha’s ranch.
Relief rose in her chest.
Then Caleb stopped the horses.
“What?”
He pointed.
The cabin door stood open.
A lantern burned inside.
Martha had left the property locked months ago.
Caleb drew his revolver.
From inside the cabin came the slow scrape of a chair across the floor.
May you like
Then someone said Martha’s name.
It was Samuel’s voice.
