Chapter 4 - The Voice Inside the Cabin
Martha stopped breathing.
“Martha.”
Again.
Samuel.
Impossible.
She climbed from the wagon.
Caleb caught her arm.
“No.”
“That’s my husband.”
“Your husband is dead.”
“I know what I heard.”
“So does whoever is inside.”
The voice came again.
“Martha, sweetheart.”
Her knees weakened.
Samuel had called her sweetheart exactly that way.
Softly.
Almost teasing.
She moved toward the cabin.
Caleb stepped in front of her.
“Think.”
“I am thinking.”
“No. You’re grieving.”
She slapped him.
The sound shocked them both.
Caleb did not move.
Martha’s eyes filled.
“I buried him.”
“I know.”
“I put dirt on his coffin.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t tell me what his voice sounded like.”
Caleb’s expression softened.
“I’m telling you someone else knows too.”
That stopped her.
The cabin became silent.
Caleb approached from the side.
Martha followed with the Winchester.
Inside, a phonograph sat on the table.
A wax cylinder turned slowly.
Samuel’s recorded voice emerged from its horn.
“Martha…”
She covered her mouth.
Caleb stopped the machine.
Beside it lay a note.
WELCOME HOME.
No signature.
Martha’s grief became fury.
“Silas.”
“Probably.”
“Why?”
“To make you emotional.”
“He succeeded.”
“To make you careless.”
Caleb checked the cabin.
Empty.
Nothing appeared stolen.
That worried him.
“He got here first but didn’t take anything,” Martha said.
“Because he couldn’t find what he wanted.”
“The cottonwood.”
They waited until sunrise.
The tree stood half a mile north beside a spring.
Martha remembered picnicking there with Samuel.
Caleb dug where the coordinates indicated.
Two feet down, his shovel struck metal.
They uncovered a small iron box.
Martha’s hands trembled as she opened it.
Inside were mining surveys.
A leather journal.
And a sealed envelope.
For Martha.
She recognized Samuel’s handwriting.
She opened it.
My darling—
If you are reading this, then I failed to live long enough to explain what I should have told you from the beginning.
The land contains silver, but that is not the reason Silas wants these papers.
Martha looked at Caleb.
He read beside her.
The original claim belonged to Elias Ward. Silas murdered him.
Martha gasped.
Samuel continued.
Caleb witnessed enough to know the truth, but I convinced him to leave with me instead of confronting Silas. I believed I could gather proof later.
I was wrong.
Elias kept records showing Silas had been stealing from investors and forging territorial claims. Those records are in this box.
Martha opened the journal.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
Signatures.
Silas could hang.
Caleb turned pages rapidly.
“This is enough.”
“For what?”
“To destroy him.”
A gun cocked behind them.
“Put it down.”
Silas.
Martha closed her eyes.
Of course.
Caleb slowly raised his hands.
Silas stood twenty feet away with four men.
“You led me straight to it,” Silas said.
Caleb looked furious with himself.
Silas smiled at Martha.
“Thank you.”
“You murdered Elias Ward.”
“Allegedly.”
“Samuel knew.”
“Samuel knew many things.”
“Did you poison him?”
Silas’s smile vanished.
Caleb turned.
“What?”
Martha stared at Silas.
Samuel’s sickness had come suddenly.
The doctor had called it consumption.
But Samuel had improved for weeks.
Then Silas visited.
Two days later Samuel worsened.
Silas said quietly, “Be careful with accusations.”
“Answer me.”
“No.”
That was answer enough.
Martha lunged.
Caleb caught her.
Silas’s men aimed.
“Give me the box.”
Martha held it against her belly.
“No.”
Silas raised his revolver.
Caleb stepped forward.
“Take me instead.”
Silas laughed.
“You?”
“You’ve wanted me dead twelve years.”
“True.”
“Let her go.”
“Caleb,” Martha whispered.
He did not look back.
Silas considered.
Then nodded.
“Fine.”
Martha stared.
“What?”
Silas pointed toward the wagon.
“You leave. Mercer stays.”
“No.”
“Martha.”
Caleb finally looked at her.
“Your child.”
She shook her head.
“Go.”
“I won’t.”
“You have to.”
Silas became impatient.
“The box.”
Martha looked down.
Samuel’s proof.
Her future.
Justice.
Then at Caleb.
A man she had known for two days.
A man who had crossed Wyoming because her dying husband asked.
Martha handed Silas the box.
Caleb’s face changed.
“No.”
Silas smiled.
“Wise.”
He took it.
“Now leave.”
Martha grabbed Caleb’s arm.
Silas laughed.
“I said she leaves.”
“You made a bargain,” Martha said.
“I lied.”
One of his men struck Caleb from behind.
He fell.
Martha screamed.
Caleb tried to rise.
Two men pinned him.
Silas pointed his revolver at Caleb’s head.
Then Martha heard something.
A horse.
Many horses.
Silas heard them too.
His men turned.
Riders appeared along the ridge.
Six.
Eight.
Ten.
At their center rode a gray-haired man wearing the badge of a United States marshal.
Silas went pale.
The marshal looked down toward them.
Then toward Martha.
“Martha Hale?”
“Yes.”
He removed his hat.
“My name is Nathaniel Briggs.”
He reached into his coat and held up an unopened letter.
“Samuel Hale told me that if he died, I was to arrest the man standing beside you.”
He pointed.
May you like
Not at Silas.
At Caleb.
