Chapter 2 - The Room Behind the Bar
Ethan crossed the saloon in three strides.
Clara followed.
Behind them, the men who had spent the afternoon laughing suddenly discovered reasons to stare at their tables.
No one volunteered to help.
Ethan did not ask.
The passage behind the bar smelled of old whiskey and damp timber. A narrow stairway led to the second floor. Another door opened toward an alley.
The crying came again.
Clara rushed toward a storage room.
"Jamie?"
No answer.
She grabbed the latch.
Ethan caught her wrist.
"Wait."
She looked ready to fight him.
He pointed downward.
A thin wire ran from the latch to a stack of crates.
Clara stared.
"What is that?"
"Probably meant to make noise."
He cut it with his knife.
Then he opened the door.
The room was empty.
A phonograph sat on a crate.
Its cylinder turned slowly.
A child's recorded sob came from the horn.
Clara's face crumpled.
Ethan shut it off.
Silas had used a recording to buy himself time.
"Alley," Ethan said.
They ran.
Outside, hoofprints cut across wet mud.
Silas was gone.
But not cleanly.
One fresh print had a broken edge in the horseshoe.
Ethan crouched.
"His gray mare."
"You know that?"
"I saw the shoe when I tied my horse."
"Can you track him?"
Ethan stood.
"Yes."
Clara held Jamie's cap against her chest.
"Then let's go."
Ethan studied her.
She was exhausted.
Her shoes were thin.
One hem was torn.
"You need food."
"My son needs me."
"You won't help him by falling off a horse."
For a second her anger flashed.
Then she nodded.
That was something Ethan noticed about Clara.
She did not confuse stubbornness with strength.
When something made sense, she listened.
They left through the back to avoid questions and found Ethan's horse at the hitching rail.
His gelding, Samson, was enormous.
Clara stared.
"I can ride, but not that."
"You won't."
He walked her toward the livery stable.
The owner, Amos Pike, looked at Ethan, then at Clara, then toward the saloon.
"I heard shooting."
"Need a horse."
"For her?"
"Yes."
Amos hesitated.
Ethan put three dollars on the counter.
"Brown mare."
"You planning on bringing her back?"
"The horse?"
Amos cleared his throat.
"Yes."
"Probably."
Clara nearly smiled.
It was the first sign of amusement Ethan had seen from her.
He noticed.
She noticed him noticing.
The smile disappeared.
An hour later they rode north.
Red Creek fell behind them.
The country opened into pine ridges and dry grass.
Ethan rode ahead where the trail narrowed.
Clara kept pace.
For two hours she said almost nothing.
Finally she asked, "Why did you help me?"
"Silas was wrong."
"A lot of men are wrong."
"Doesn't mean they should be allowed to stay that way."
"That isn't an answer."
He looked back.
"It is the one I have."
She studied his profile.
"You knew the man who taught Jamie to carve."
"Thomas Reed."
"Yes."
"How?"
"He built my cabin."
Clara waited.
Ethan rarely continued a story when silence was available.
Eventually he did.
"Twelve years ago."
"Was he your friend?"
"As close as I had then."
"What happened to him?"
"Don't know."
"He disappeared?"
"Two weeks ago."
Clara pulled her mare closer.
"Silas knew him?"
"Looks that way."
"Why would a saloon owner care about an old carpenter?"
Ethan took out the notebook.
"That's what I intend to learn."
They stopped near sunset beside a creek.
Ethan built a small fire hidden between rocks.
Clara ate dried beef and biscuits.
She wanted to hate the food because sitting still felt unbearable.
Instead hunger won.
"You said Jamie was seven," Ethan said.
"Turned seven in March."
"His father?"
"Caleb."
"Good man?"
Clara looked into the fire.
"Sometimes."
Ethan understood that answer.
"Caleb loved Jamie," she continued. "He loved me too, in whatever way he knew how. But he gambled. He thought one big win could repair every small mistake."
"Usually doesn't."
"No."
"How much did he owe?"
"I thought twenty dollars."
Ethan looked at her.
"Thought?"
"Silas kept changing the number. Caleb died after a wagon accident. Then Silas claimed interest. Food. Lodging. Expenses."
"Legal papers?"
"I can't read well enough to know."
Ethan's expression hardened.
"Did you sign anything?"
"Once."
"What?"
"Something Silas said would let me work off the debt."
"Did you get a copy?"
"No."
Ethan stared into the flames.
Clara saw his jaw tighten.
"Was that foolish?"
"It was desperate."
She looked surprised.
Most people used the two words as though they meant the same thing.
They did not.
The fire cracked.
After a while Clara said, "Why did the horse upset you?"
Ethan looked up.
"I wasn't upset."
"You looked like someone had shot you."
"I've been shot. Didn't look like that."
Despite herself, she laughed once.
It escaped before she could stop it.
Ethan almost smiled.
Then she asked, "Who was Eli?"
His face closed.
Clara blinked.
"I didn't say—"
"You said the name while you were looking at the horse."
He had not realized it.
The mountains had taught Ethan to conceal tracks.
Grief was harder.
"My nephew."
"Was?"
"He died."
Clara lowered her eyes.
"I'm sorry."
Ethan nodded.
"Seven?"
He looked at her.
She knew immediately.
"Seven," he confirmed.
The silence that followed was gentler than before.
Clara stopped asking questions.
At dawn they resumed.
By midday they found Silas's trail.
It led away from the road.
Toward Black Pine.
The crossing itself was little more than an abandoned logging settlement: three cabins, a ruined mill, a stable, and a church that had not seen a preacher in years.
Ethan raised one hand.
They stopped beneath the trees.
Smoke rose from the mill.
"Horses," Clara whispered.
Six tied outside.
"Stay here."
"No."
"Clara."
"My son may be in there."
"And if someone starts shooting, he doesn't need two people dying for him."
Her eyes burned.
"I'm coming."
Ethan studied her.
Then handed her his spare revolver.
"Ever fired one?"
"Caleb taught me."
"Good."
They circled downhill.
Near the stable, Ethan found Silas's gray mare.
Broken left shoe.
Clara's breathing quickened.
"He is here."
Ethan nodded.
Then he saw something else.
A small footprint.
Barely visible.
Child-sized.
He followed it behind the mill.
The print ended near a stack of logs.
On one log was a fresh carving.
A horse.
Uneven left ear.
Three lines on the saddle.
Clara covered her mouth.
"Jamie."
Beneath the horse, the boy had carved an arrow.
It pointed toward the old church.
Ethan's eyes narrowed.
"Smart boy."
They moved through the trees.
The church door stood open.
Inside, sunlight fell through broken roof boards.
No one.
Clara whispered, "Jamie?"
Nothing.
Then Ethan spotted fresh scratches on the floor.
He moved the altar.
A trapdoor lay underneath.
Clara dropped to her knees.
"Jamie!"
A faint voice came from below.
"Ma?"
Clara sobbed.
"I'm here!"
Ethan lifted the trapdoor.
A boy looked up from the darkness.
Thin face.
Brown hair.
Terrified eyes.
Clara reached down.
"Jamie!"
Before Ethan could stop her, she climbed halfway inside.
Then Jamie screamed.
"Ma, don't!"
Ethan saw the boy's hands.
They were tied.
A rope ran from his wrists into the darkness behind him.
Someone was holding the other end.
Boots scraped below.
A man stepped into view.
Thomas Reed.
The missing carpenter.
Clara stared.
"Mr. Reed?"
Thomas looked older than Ethan remembered.
Bruised.
Bleeding.
Terrified.
"Ethan," he whispered.
Then a revolver barrel appeared against Thomas's neck.
A second man stepped from the darkness.
Ethan recognized him.
And suddenly understood why Thomas had disappeared.
"Jacob?" Ethan whispered.
May you like
The man smiled.
Ethan's dead brother raised the gun.
