Chapter 6 - The Claim Against McIntyre
Winifred woke with rope around her wrists.
She was inside an abandoned mining office at Black Ridge.
Silas Creed sat opposite her.
The ledger rested on his desk.
“You've caused extraordinary trouble.”
Winifred looked at him.
“You seem fragile.”
Creed smiled.
“I understand McIntyre's attraction.”
“You understand nothing about Judson.”
“I understand men.”
“No. You understand leverage.”
Creed leaned forward.
“And you're his.”
Winifred calmly studied the room.
One door.
Two windows.
Three men outside.
A stove.
Desk.
Lamp.
Cast-iron coffee pot.
She almost smiled.
Creed noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He opened the ledger.
“Where is the deed?”
“I don't know.”
“Poor lie.”
“Poor question.”
Creed's patience thinned.
“Judson will come.”
“Yes.”
“And when he does, he'll bring the deed.”
“No.”
Creed laughed.
“You think he won't save you?”
“I think he finally respects me enough not to trade everything for me.”
For the first time, she truly believed it.
Judson loved her.
She knew that now.
And love did not mean believing she was helpless.
Outside, a horse sounded.
Creed smiled.
“Let's test your theory.”
Judson arrived alone.
At least that was what Creed saw.
Caleb circled behind the mine.
Sheriff Bell was riding toward Denver with copies of the evidence.
Judson carried a leather packet.
Creed brought Winifred outside.
Her hands were tied.
Judson's expression became deadly.
Winifred shook her head once.
Don't.
Judson understood.
Creed extended his hand.
“The deed.”
Judson held up the packet.
“My wife first.”
“Not how this works.”
“No?”
Judson dropped the packet into a metal bucket.
Then held a match above it.
Creed's face changed.
“You burn her inheritance too.”
Judson looked at Winifred.
“She didn't marry me for silver.”
Winifred almost laughed.
Creed's gunman stepped forward.
Judson lit the match.
“Wait!”
Creed shouted.
That was the distraction.
Caleb appeared behind the second man.
Winifred drove her shoulder into Creed.
Judson rushed forward.
The fight was short.
Messy.
Desperate.
But when it ended, Creed was on the ground.
His men fled.
Caleb aimed a rifle at them until they disappeared.
Judson cut Winifred's ropes.
“You all right?”
“Yes.”
He pulled her into his arms.
She held him tightly.
“You brought the deed?”
“No.”
“What was in the packet?”
“Old tax receipts.”
Winifred stared.
Then began laughing.
Judson kissed her.
Caleb groaned.
“Could we leave before his friends return?”
They recovered the ledger.
More importantly, they found Western Crown correspondence in Creed's office.
Letters.
Bribes.
Instructions to alter deeds.
One document explicitly referenced Nathaniel Mercer's cabin.
Winifred read it twice.
Her father's death finally had a paper trail.
They rode toward Silver Creek.
Halfway there, they saw riders approaching.
Territorial Marshal Thomas Hale led them.
Sheriff Bell rode beside him.
Creed's power collapsed quickly after that.
Federal warrants followed.
The land clerk confessed.
Bank officials surrendered records.
Western Crown executives denied everything until their own letters appeared.
But Creed had disappeared.
Somehow, during the confusion at Black Ridge, he escaped custody before reaching town.
Judson hated it.
Winifred reminded him they had won the larger battle.
“Not until Creed is found.”
Weeks passed.
Winter deepened.
For the first time, Judson and Winifred lived without immediate danger.
Caleb moved into a small cabin nearby.
The McIntyre property was legally recognized as parcel 47-B.
And the partnership agreement meant Winifred owned half.
One evening Judson placed the deed before her.
“You should decide what happens.”
“We decide.”
“It's your inheritance.”
“And yours.”
He looked at her.
“You really mean that.”
“Yes.”
“What if I want to sell?”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Then why are we arguing?”
“Habit.”
She smiled.
They decided not to open a large mine.
Instead they leased limited rights under strict conditions.
Enough money to repair the property.
Help Silver Creek families whose claims had been stolen.
And build something neither expected.
A school.
Winifred proposed it.
Judson agreed immediately.
“You didn't argue.”
“I can.”
“Don't ruin the moment.”
He pulled her close.
“Mrs. McIntyre?”
“Yes?”
“I owe you something.”
“Several things.”
“An apology.”
“That's one.”
“I judged you.”
“Yes.”
“I thought strength looked like me.”
Winifred looked at him.
Judson continued.
“I was wrong.”
She touched his face.
“Strength sometimes looks like making biscuits.”
“Your biscuits are still too soft.”
She narrowed her eyes.
Judson kissed her before she could answer.
Then someone knocked.
Judson stiffened.
The hour was late.
Caleb wouldn't knock.
He'd shout.
Judson took his revolver.
Winifred picked up the skillet.
He looked at it.
“Of course.”
She smiled.
Judson opened the door.
No one stood there.
Only footprints in fresh snow.
They led around the cabin.
Judson followed them.
Winifred stayed close.
The tracks ended beneath their bedroom window.
Something was pinned to the wall.
A newspaper clipping.
Silas Creed's wanted notice.
Across his face someone had written:
I'M COMING HOME.
Judson stared at it.
Then Winifred saw a second set of tracks.
They didn't lead away from the cabin.
May you like
They led toward the cellar door.
The cellar door was open.
