Chapter 2 - The Man Wearing Harlan's Face
"Harlan Mercer."
The voice came through the bedroom door again.
Not loud.
Not frightened.
Harlan moved closer.
"Come out."
Silence.
"I won't ask twice."
The door opened.
An older man stood inside.
White hair.
Travel-stained black coat.
No weapon visible.
Harlan recognized him immediately.
Judge Amos Bell.
The retired circuit judge had lived outside Silver Creek for twenty years and was one of only three people Harlan trusted enough to witness the filing of his land claim.
"What are you doing in my cabin?"
Bell looked beyond him.
"Is the woman alive?"
Harlan raised the rifle slightly.
"Answer me."
Bell sighed.
"I came because I learned Rusk's men were searching your place."
"How?"
"Because one of them works for me."
"That's convenient."
"It kept you alive."
"So far."
Bell stepped into the main room.
His gaze found Clara through the doorway.
"God help us."
"You know her?"
"I know who she is."
Harlan's expression hardened.
"Everyone seems to know my bride except me."
Bell flinched.
That told Harlan more than any answer.
He lowered the rifle just enough to grab blankets and supplies.
Whatever conspiracy had reached his cabin could wait five minutes.
Clara could not.
He carried her inside and placed her near the stove.
Bell helped heat water.
Harlan removed Clara's frozen outer clothes while preserving her dignity beneath several blankets.
Her right ankle was badly swollen.
Two ribs were likely cracked.
There were bruises around one wrist.
Not from a fall.
From fingers.
Bell saw them.
"Rusk?"
"Maybe."
"He kept her?"
"She says so."
Bell stared into the fire.
Harlan noticed.
"You knew."
"I suspected."
"That isn't an answer."
"I knew Rusk was holding someone at the old Grant Hotel."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I didn't know it was her."
"Would it have mattered?"
Bell met his eyes.
"Yes."
Harlan nearly struck him.
Instead he turned back to Clara.
Anger could wait.
Life could not.
He warmed her gradually, remembering army instructions about frostbite and exposure.
Do not heat too fast.
Do not rub frozen skin.
Keep her awake.
Give warm liquid if she can swallow.
An hour passed.
Then another.
Outside, the storm swallowed the mountains.
The stranger wearing Harlan's coat had disappeared.
His tracks vanished into the snowfall.
Bell sat beside the window with Harlan's rifle across his knees.
Harlan did not trust him.
But he trusted the storm less.
Clara finally opened her eyes.
"Harlan?"
He leaned close.
"I'm here."
She focused on Bell.
Her body went rigid.
"No."
Harlan turned.
"You know him?"
Bell stood.
"Clara—"
"Stay away from me."
Harlan moved between them.
Bell raised both hands.
"I never hurt you."
"You signed it."
Harlan looked from one to the other.
"Signed what?"
Clara struggled upright.
"The death certificate."
The room went silent.
Harlan stared at Bell.
"My death certificate?"
Bell's face collapsed.
"Yes."
Harlan crossed the room and grabbed the judge by the collar.
"You signed a paper saying I was dead?"
"It was supposed to protect you."
"From what?"
"Rusk."
Harlan shoved him against the wall.
"Try again."
Bell looked toward Clara.
"Your bride arrived exactly when Rusk needed leverage."
"Leverage for what?"
"The railroad."
Harlan said nothing.
Bell continued.
"The Northern Continental Company is choosing its extension route. There are two possible corridors. One runs through Rusk's freight properties. The other crosses your claim."
"My land isn't large enough."
"Your land controls the pass."
Harlan knew that.
"What does Clara have to do with it?"
"Nothing."
Clara spoke.
"That was the problem."
Bell looked ashamed.
"Rusk's people intercepted her correspondence. They realized she was coming alone. They decided she could be used."
Harlan's voice turned dangerously quiet.
"Used how?"
"To convince you to sell."
"They never reached me."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because Rusk changed his plan."
Clara tightened the blanket.
"He decided it was easier if Harlan died."
Bell nodded.
"A legal widow can inherit a claim."
Harlan understood.
"Then she could sell it."
"Exactly."
"But we weren't married."
"They intended to forge the marriage certificate."
Clara closed her eyes.
Harlan looked at Bell.
"And you?"
"I was supposed to certify it."
His fist connected before he could stop himself.
Bell crashed into the table.
Clara gasped.
Harlan stood over him.
"You signed my death certificate."
"Yes."
"You were going to sign a fake marriage."
"No."
Harlan grabbed him again.
"No?"
"That's why I came here."
Bell wiped blood from his mouth.
"I agreed at first."
Harlan's face darkened.
Bell raised a hand.
"Listen to me."
"You'd better make the next sentence worth hearing."
"Rusk threatened my daughter."
Harlan paused.
Bell's daughter lived in Boise.
Widowed.
Two children.
"He had her debts purchased," Bell said. "He threatened to have her jailed for fraud she didn't commit."
"And that made forging my death acceptable?"
"No."
Bell looked directly at him.
"It made me a coward."
No one spoke.
"After I signed the death paper, Rusk told me about the marriage certificate. That's when I refused."
"What changed?"
"Clara."
Clara stared at him.
Bell continued.
"I saw her in the hotel. Locked upstairs. She'd been beaten because she refused to sign."
Harlan's knuckles tightened.
"They wanted me to sign away your claim," Clara said. "They said if I wrote my name, they'd let me leave."
"You refused."
She looked at him.
"I hadn't traveled across the country to steal a dead man's property."
A faint, bitter smile touched her lips.
"Even when I thought you were dead."
Harlan sat beside her.
"How did you escape?"
"Someone helped me."
"Who?"
"I never saw his face."
"The man outside?"
Clara shook her head.
"No."
"Then who?"
"He came after midnight. Opened the room. Gave me food and a map."
"What map?"
"Route to Red Hollow."
Harlan frowned.
"That route nearly killed you."
"I wasn't supposed to walk."
She looked at Bell.
"There was supposed to be a wagon."
Bell went pale.
"What?"
"Someone wrote that a wagon would meet me."
"Who wrote it?"
"No name."
Harlan removed the stage ticket.
"These numbers mean anything?"
Clara saw 14 — 7 — 3.
Her expression changed immediately.
"Where did you get that?"
"Your hand."
"I don't remember holding it."
Bell moved closer.
"Those aren't numbers."
Harlan looked at him.
"What are they?"
"Ledger references."
Clara whispered, "The ledger."
Bell nodded.
Rusk's freight company used numbered accounts.
Page fourteen.
Entry seven.
Column three.
"What would it show?"
Bell took a breath.
"Payments."
"To whom?"
"People Rusk bought."
Harlan looked at Clara.
"You said the ledger has names."
"Yes."
"Where is it now?"
"In my bag."
"At Red Hollow."
She nodded.
Bell swore quietly.
Harlan stood.
"I'm getting it."
Clara seized his sleeve.
"Not tonight."
"Tomorrow."
"Harlan, Rusk's men will be looking."
"Then I'd better reach it first."
Bell shook his head.
"The storm will bury the ravine."
"Which means it'll bury their tracks too."
Clara looked into Harlan's eyes.
He expected fear.
Instead he saw determination.
"I'm coming."
"No."
"It's my bag."
"You can barely stand."
"I know exactly where the coach went over."
"You escaped from a wrecked stagecoach?"
Clara hesitated.
"No."
Harlan stared at her.
"The stagecoach wasn't wrecked when I left it."
"What happened?"
"I cut the horses loose."
Bell stared.
Clara continued.
"I thought Rusk's men were following me. I sent the coach downhill empty."
Harlan almost smiled.
"You did that?"
"I was desperate."
"Good."
Her brow furrowed.
"Good?"
"It means you're harder to kill than they thought."
For the first time, Clara smiled faintly.
Then three gunshots cracked through the storm.
Harlan extinguished the lamp instantly.
Bell moved from the window.
Another shot.
Closer.
A voice shouted outside.
"Mercer!"
Harlan grabbed his rifle.
Clara whispered, "Is it him?"
"The man in your coat?"
She nodded.
Harlan listened.
A horse screamed.
Then silence.
He moved toward the rear door.
Bell grabbed his sleeve.
"Wait."
Harlan looked down.
Bell was staring at the floor.
A faint scraping sound came from beneath them.
Harlan's cabin had a root cellar.
The entrance was outside.
He had locked it that morning.
Scrape.
Pause.
Scrape.
Someone was underneath the floor.
Clara stared at Harlan.
He raised the rifle.
Then the trapdoor beside the stove lifted slowly.
A hand appeared.
May you like
And a familiar voice whispered from below.
"Don't shoot. Clara sent me."
