THE WAGON AT EAGLE PASS

 The Woman on the Broken Trail

The wagon should never have made it that far.

One broken wheel dragged through loose mountain gravel. One exhausted mule stumbled with every step, its ribs rising and falling beneath a coat darkened by sweat. Beside the wagon walked a young widow who looked moments away from collapsing beneath the scorching afternoon sun.

High above the narrow trail, hidden between jagged rocks and twisted pine roots, rifle barrels glinted in the sunlight.

A band of highway robbers watched in silence.

They had been waiting since morning.

The mountain pass was perfect for an ambush. The trail narrowed between a cliff wall on one side and a steep drop on the other. Anyone traveling through it had nowhere to turn once the shooting began.

At the center of the trap was Abigail Mercer.

She was twenty-six years old, though the last three weeks had aged her far beyond that. Her pale blue dress had once been modest but respectable. Now it was faded, torn at the hem, and covered in dust. Auburn hair had escaped from beneath her worn bonnet, and her green eyes were swollen from exhaustion and too many nights spent crying.

One trembling hand rested against the wagon.

The other held a small leather satchel against her chest.

Inside were the only things she had managed to save.

Her husband's letters.

A family Bible.

And a deed to a small piece of land in the northern Rockies.

Abigail stopped and closed her eyes.

"I can't go any farther," she whispered.

The mule stopped as well.

For a moment, the mountain was completely silent.

Then a distant sound reached her.

Hooves.

Abigail looked over her shoulder.

Another wagon emerged from a stand of towering pine trees.

It was larger than hers, pulled by two powerful horses. A man rode beside it on a dark chestnut horse. He was broad-shouldered, tall, and weathered by years spent beneath mountain skies.

His name was Elias Boone.

At thirty-nine, Elias had already lived enough hardship for two lifetimes.

His face was marked by sun, wind, and old scars. His dark hair was streaked with gray near the temples. He wore a faded brown coat, worn boots, and a battered hat pulled low over his eyes.

His horse, Ranger, was nearly as famous as his rider.

Elias slowed when he saw the damaged wagon.

He studied Abigail.

Then he studied the mountains.

Something was wrong.

He knew it immediately.

The trail was too quiet.

No birds moved through the trees.

No squirrels chattered from the branches.

Even the wind seemed to have disappeared.

Elias's right hand moved slowly toward the rifle resting across his saddle.

"Ma'am," he called.

Abigail turned.

"Are you all right?"

She almost laughed.

"No."

There was such honesty in the answer that Elias nearly smiled.

Instead, he dismounted.

"How long have you been traveling?"

"Twenty-two days."

"Alone?"

"My husband was with me."

Elias noticed the way her expression changed.

"Was?"

Abigail lowered her eyes.

"He died three weeks ago."

Elias said nothing.

He had learned long ago that some grief could not be answered with words.

He walked toward the wagon.

"What happened to your wheel?"

"I don't know. It broke this morning."

"How long have you been trying to fix it?"

"Since sunrise."

Elias crouched beside the damaged wheel.

The axle had split.

It was beyond repair without proper tools.

"You won't reach the settlement before dark."

"I know."

"There's a ranch twelve miles east."

"I tried to reach it yesterday."

"Why didn't you?"

Abigail looked toward the trail behind her.

"They followed me."

Elias looked up.

"Who?"

"Men."

His expression hardened.

"How many?"

"I don't know."

"Did they speak to you?"

"No."

"Then how do you know they're following you?"

Abigail swallowed.

"Because they killed the man who was traveling with me."

Elias became very still.

The mountain suddenly felt colder.

"Who was he?"

"His name was Samuel Reed. He was a teamster. He agreed to escort me after my husband died."

"What happened?"

"We were attacked two nights ago."

"By the same men?"

"I think so."

Elias stood.

His eyes moved toward the ridge.

There.

A flash.

So brief that another man might have missed it.

But Elias Boone had spent too many years watching mountains.