"Your husband was a foolish man."
"He was a better man than you."
Crowe turned back to Elias.
"This is your doing."
"No. It's yours."
The rancher drew a folded paper from his coat.
It was a contract, bearing the names of several landowners who had agreed to sell their property to the Silver Spur company.
"These people have signed legal agreements. Their land belongs to me."
Benjamin Bell stepped forward.
"They signed under threat."
"They signed voluntarily."
"You threatened to burn their homes."
"Prove it."
Elias reached into his coat and removed Crowe's letter from the mine.
"I believe this will help."
Crowe's expression changed.
He had not expected Elias to recover the letter.
Elias handed it to Sheriff Briggs.
"Read it."
Briggs unfolded the paper.
His voice carried across the street.
"'The deed must be destroyed before the marshal arrives. If Whitaker refuses to cooperate, make an example of him. Ward is to be killed if he appears. The town must understand that resistance has consequences.'"
The riders shifted uneasily.
Crowe's face had become rigid.
"That letter is a forgery."
"No," Whitaker said.
The surveyor stepped out from behind the barricade, holding a leather case.
"The handwriting matches three documents signed by Mr. Crowe in the territorial land office. The ink and paper are consistent with his business correspondence. I have already made copies of the original."
Crowe looked at him with naked hatred.
"You should have stayed in the mine."
Whitaker lifted his chin.
"I've spent twenty years studying land records, Mr. Crowe. I have no intention of letting a man with a forged survey decide who owns this territory."
Crowe reached for his revolver.
Elias saw the movement.
"Don't."
For a moment, the street seemed to stop breathing.
Crowe's hand hovered above the holster.
Behind him, his men waited.
Some looked frightened. Others looked angry. A few seemed uncertain about why they were there at all.
Crowe had built his power on the assumption that men would follow him because they feared what would happen if they did not.
Now, for the first time, they could see what would happen if they continued.
"You have no authority here," Crowe said.
Briggs stepped forward.
"As sheriff of Mercy Crossing, I am placing you under arrest for conspiracy, intimidation, assault, and attempted murder."
Crowe laughed.
"You're arresting me?"
"Yes."
"You?"
Briggs's face flushed, but he did not retreat.
"Yes."
Crowe drew his revolver.
Everything happened at once.
Elias reached for his weapon.
Briggs shouted.
A rider to Crowe's left fired into the air.
The crowd scattered behind the barricades.
Crowe's horse reared as the first bullet struck the ground near its hooves. The animal threw its head and twisted sideways, knocking Crowe off balance.
Elias drew his revolver.
He could have shot Crowe.
The distance was short. The target was clear.
For one brief second, the old instinct returned.
End it.
One shot.
One dead man.
No trial. No waiting. No chance for Crowe to escape.
Elias's finger tightened on the trigger.
Then he remembered the dying teamster in Kansas.
He remembered the money he had accepted.
He remembered the years spent running from a choice that had seemed easy at the time.
He lowered the revolver slightly.
"Drop it, Crowe!"
Crowe fired.
The bullet struck Elias in the shoulder.
Pain tore through him.
He stumbled backward, nearly falling.
Anna screamed his name from behind the barricade.
Elias raised his revolver again.
This time, he fired at Crowe's hand.
The bullet struck the weapon, knocking it from his grip.
Crowe stared at his empty hand in disbelief.
Then Ranger came charging down the street.
The stallion had broken free from the livery, drawn by the gunfire and the sound of Elias's voice. He galloped toward the barricade, mane flying, hooves striking sparks from the stones.
Elias recognized him instantly.
"Ranger!"
The stallion veered around a wagon and stopped beside him.
Elias grabbed the reins with his uninjured hand.
Crowe tried to run.
He made it three steps before Amos Hobbs struck him behind the knees with a wooden pole.
The rancher fell face-first into the mud.
Two townsmen seized his arms and dragged him toward the sheriff.
Crowe struggled.
"Get your hands off me!"
Nobody listened.
One of his riders raised a rifle.
Martha Avery aimed her own weapon at him.
"Don't," she said.
The rider hesitated.
Then he lowered the rifle.
One by one, Crowe's men began surrendering.
Some dropped their weapons immediately. Others waited until they saw that nobody was coming to rescue them. A few tried to escape, but the northern road was blocked by ranchers on horseback.
Within ten minutes, the street had fallen quiet.
Crowe knelt in the mud with his hands bound behind his back.
His expensive coat was ruined. His face was bleeding. His silver-banded hat lay beneath a wagon wheel.
He looked up at Elias.
"You should have killed me."
Elias pressed his hand against his wounded shoulder.
"Perhaps."
"You think they'll keep me in prison? You think a man like me stays behind bars?"
"I don't know."