Ethan stopped.
“Why?”
The woman looked toward the mountains.
“Because men have been disappearing here.”
Then she turned and walked inside.
Ethan stood beneath the falling snow.
For the first time that day, the cold didn't bother him.
He was thinking about the woman's warning.
Men had been disappearing.
And somehow, she sounded as if she knew exactly why.
The Woman in the Red Scarf
Ethan spent the night in the barn.
Copper was given fresh hay, water, and a blanket.
The barn was cold, but it was warmer than the open valley.
Ethan built a small fire in a metal pan and sat beside it with his back against the wall.
He couldn't sleep.
Something about the cabin bothered him.
Not the people.
The silence.
The entire property felt as though it were waiting for something.
Around midnight, Ethan heard footsteps.
He reached for his revolver.
The barn door opened.
The woman in the red scarf entered.
She carried a lantern.
“You're awake.”
“So are you.”
She closed the door behind her.
“Your horse?”
“Sleeping.”
She walked toward Copper.
The gelding raised his head.
She smiled faintly.
“He's beautiful.”
“He's old.”
“So is my father.”
Ethan chuckled.
The woman looked at him.
For the first time, he saw the faintest trace of humor in her eyes.
“My name is Clara Whitmore.”
“Ethan Vale.”
“I know.”
He frowned.
“How?”
“My father recognized you.”
Ethan sat straighter.
“Your father knows me?”
“He knows your name.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
Clara placed the lantern on a wooden crate.
“My father used to work cattle near Fort Benton.”
“So did I.”
“He said he met a young rider named Ethan Vale who could rope a steer while riding downhill.”
Ethan smiled.
“That sounds exaggerated.”
“My father exaggerates everything.”
Clara smiled.
Then the expression disappeared.
“Especially when he doesn't want to talk about something.”
Ethan watched her carefully.
“What happened here?”
Clara looked toward the barn door.
“Three weeks ago, my brother disappeared.”
Ethan said nothing.
“His name was Samuel. He was twenty-four.”
“Where did he go?”
“To town.”
“And?”
“He never came back.”
“Did you search for him?”
“Everywhere.”
“Did you find anything?”
Clara nodded.
“A boot.”
Ethan's expression changed.
“Where?”
“Near the old mining road.”
“Blood?”
“No.”
“Tracks?”
“Several.”
She paused.
“Horse tracks.”
Ethan leaned forward.
“How many?”
“Four horses.”
“Could you identify them?”
“One.”
“Whose?”
Clara looked directly at him.
“Silas Crowe.”
Ethan knew the name.
Everyone who traveled northern Montana knew it.
Silas Crowe had once been a rancher.
Then he became something else.
He gathered men around him. They stole cattle, robbed freight wagons, and occasionally disappeared into the mountains for weeks.
No sheriff had ever been able to prove enough to arrest him.
Ethan had crossed paths with Crowe once.
Five years earlier.
He remembered the man's cold gray eyes.
“You think Crowe took your brother.”
“I know he did.”
“That's a serious accusation.”
“I found Samuel's horse three days later.”
“Where?”
“In Crowe's old pasture.”
Ethan frowned.
“Then why isn't he in jail?”
Clara laughed bitterly.
“Because the sheriff says there isn't enough evidence.”
“What about your father's shotgun?”
“He has one.”
“That isn't evidence.”
“I know.”
Ethan studied her.
“You're planning to go after Crowe.”
Clara's jaw tightened.
“I am planning to find my brother.”
“If Crowe has him—”
“He's alive.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know my brother.”
Her voice broke slightly.
Ethan looked away.
There were things a man couldn't say when another person was trying not to cry.
After a moment, Clara whispered:
“Samuel always said he'd come home.”
Ethan nodded.
“I hope he does.”
Clara picked up the lantern.
“You should leave tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because Crowe knows about this cabin.”
Ethan stood.
“Then you have a bigger problem than a missing brother.”
Clara stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
“If Crowe knows about your cabin and your family, you're not safe.”
“My father refuses to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because this land belonged to my mother.”
“Where is she?”
“Dead.”
Ethan lowered his voice.
“I'm sorry.”
Clara nodded.
“She died two winters ago.”
Silence settled between them.
Then they heard something.
A horse.
Outside.
Both froze.
Clara extinguished the lantern.
Ethan drew his revolver.
They stood in darkness.
Another sound came from the distance.
Then another.
Hooves.
Several horses.
Clara whispered:
“Crowe.”
Ethan moved toward the barn window.
Four riders were coming through the snow.
Maybe five.
He looked at Clara.
“How many men does your father have?”
She shook her head.
“Just him.”
Ethan checked his revolver.
Two cartridges in the rifle.
Six bullets in his revolver.
Not enough.
Then he noticed something behind Clara.
A wooden rack.
An old hunting bow.
Beside it were arrows.
Ethan smiled.
“You have a bow?”
Clara nodded.
“My brother taught me.”
“Can you shoot?”
Her eyes hardened.
“Better than you think.”