Then another.
Elias ran toward the entrance.
Through the rain, he saw Ranger standing beneath the rocky overhang.
A rider sat on a chestnut horse twenty yards away, holding a rifle.
The man fired again.
The bullet struck the ground beside Ranger's front legs.
The stallion reared.
Elias raised his revolver.
The rider turned and galloped toward the ravine.
Elias fired once.
The shot missed.
The man disappeared into the rain.
Elias hurried to Ranger.
The stallion was trembling, but unhurt.
Elias pressed his forehead against the horse's neck.
"Easy, boy. Easy."
He had come within a breath of losing the one creature that had remained beside him through every mile of his wandering.
For the first time in years, the thought of losing something hurt more than the thought of dying.
He looked toward the trail.
Crowe knew they were alive.
And now Crowe knew that Elias Ward was no longer running.
The Sheriff Who Forgot His Name
They returned to Mercy Crossing shortly before sunset.
The rain had stopped, leaving the prairie dark and shining beneath the clouds. Water dripped from the cottonwoods. Mud clung to the horses' legs, and the road had become a series of deep ruts.
Elias rode ahead with the revolver he had taken from the mine. Anna followed with Whitaker, carrying the recovered maps beneath her coat.
The surveyor looked exhausted.
His left eye was swollen, and one sleeve had been torn from his shirt. But he held the leather case tightly against his chest, as if it contained something more valuable than paper.
Perhaps it did.
Sometimes a document was the only thing standing between a family and the loss of everything it had built.
When the town appeared, Elias noticed immediately that something had changed.
The main street was nearly empty.
The doors of the general store were closed. The livery stood open, but no one was working inside. A wagon had been overturned near the church, and the schoolhouse windows were boarded from the inside.
Smoke rose from a chimney at the southern end of town.
Not the black smoke of a fire.
Cooking smoke.
People were still there.
They were simply hiding.
Elias dismounted outside the sheriff's office.
The door stood open.
Inside, Walter Briggs sat behind his desk with his hat in his hands.
He looked up when Elias entered.
For several seconds, neither man spoke.
Then Briggs sighed.
"I wondered whether you'd come back."
Elias closed the door.
"You knew Crowe had taken them."
The sheriff stared at the hat in his hands.
"I knew he intended to question them."
"Question them?"
"Yes."
"With fists?"
Briggs flinched.
Elias stepped closer.
"How many men does Crowe have in town?"
"Eight. Maybe ten."
"Where are they?"
"Some at the Silver Spur. Others are watching the roads."
"Where's Crowe?"
"I don't know."
Elias placed the letter on the desk.
"Read it."
Briggs unfolded the paper.
His face changed as he reached the final lines.
For a long time, he stared at the words.
Then he closed his eyes.
"God help us."
"God has been giving you opportunities for months. What I need to know is whether you're going to use one."
The sheriff looked up.
"You don't understand."
"Then explain it."
Briggs stood and walked to the window.
"My wife has been ill for nearly a year. The doctor in Redstone says she needs an operation. I don't have the money. Crowe offered to pay the bill if I helped him settle the land dispute."
"So you sold the town."
"I told myself I was buying time."
"For whom?"
Briggs did not answer.
Elias felt anger rise in him, but beneath it was something else.
Recognition.
He understood the temptation of a bargain that promised to postpone suffering. He understood how easy it was to believe that one compromise could be justified if it prevented something worse.
He had accepted money from the men who had killed Samuel Dawson.
He had told himself he would use it to find the boy's sister.
He had called his silence temporary.
Ten years later, he was still paying for it.
"You think you're the first man to make a deal with someone like Crowe?" Elias asked.
Briggs turned.
"No."
"Then you know how it ends."
The sheriff lowered his head.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Tell the truth."
"To whom?"
"Everyone."
Briggs gave a bitter laugh.
"And then what? You think the town will forgive me? You think my wife will look at me the same way?"
"No."
The answer seemed to surprise him.
Elias continued.
"But at least you'll have stopped making the problem worse."
Briggs sat down again.
His hands were shaking.
"My wife is going to die."
"Maybe."
"You don't care?"
Elias's expression hardened.
"I care. That's why I'm telling you the truth. Your wife deserves a husband who can look her in the eye. Your daughters deserve a father who doesn't teach them that a man's word is worth less than his fear."
The sheriff looked away.
For several minutes, the room remained silent.
Then Briggs opened a drawer and removed a small leather notebook.
Inside were names, dates, and payments.