"Then what was the point?"
Elias considered him.
"To give you a chance to answer for what you've done."
Crowe spat into the mud.
"You're a fool."
"Maybe."
Elias looked toward the people gathered around the street.
"But I'm not your fool anymore."
He turned away.
Anna reached him just as his knees began to buckle.
She caught his uninjured arm.
"Sit down," she ordered.
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding through your coat."
"It's a scratch."
"Then you won't mind if the doctor examines your scratch."
She helped him toward the church steps.
Ranger followed closely, pressing his muzzle against Elias's shoulder as if trying to understand why his rider smelled of blood.
Elias lowered himself onto a bench.
For several minutes, he watched the townspeople moving through the street.
They collected weapons, tended to the wounded, and carried lanterns to the houses where children were hiding. Someone brought blankets from the hotel. Someone else began preparing coffee.
It was not a victory that looked like the stories told in saloons.
There were no cheers at first.
No speeches.
Only tired people realizing that the world had not ended.
Then the church bell rang again.
This time, it rang seven times.
The townspeople stopped what they were doing.
Amos Hobbs stood near the barricade, holding the rope that controlled the bell.
"That's for Thomas Avery," he called.
He rang it once more.
"For Daniel Price."
Again.
"For every man and woman Crowe thought nobody would remember."
The bell continued until the sound rolled across the prairie and faded into the hills.
Elias closed his eyes.
He had spent ten years trying to forget the dead.
Now, for the first time, he was standing among people who had decided to remember them.
And the difference was greater than he could have imagined.
The Letter from Redstone
The territorial marshal arrived three days later.
His name was Samuel Pierce, a tall, silver-haired man who rode a gray gelding and carried a badge that had been polished so often the edges were worn thin.
He came with two deputies, a doctor, and a wagon full of legal documents.
By then, Mercy Crossing had begun to recover.
The burned buildings still stood in blackened ruins, but the townspeople had started clearing the debris. Amos Hobbs had repaired the stable roof. Benjamin Bell had reopened the general store. Ruth Dawson was able to sit on the porch for short periods, though her injured leg remained painful.
Elias spent most of those three days in bed.
The bullet had passed through his shoulder without striking bone, but the wound was deep enough to leave him feverish and weak. The doctor ordered him to remain still.
Elias obeyed for almost six hours.
Then he attempted to get up.
Anna found him trying to pull on his boots.
"Absolutely not."
"I need to check Ranger."
"Ranger is fine."
"He hasn't eaten enough."
"Amos fed him."
"He doesn't like the oats Amos buys."
Anna folded her arms.
"Then Ranger can complain to Amos."
Elias sat on the edge of the bed.
"I don't like being useless."
"Then you're going to hate recovery."
She took the boots from his hands and placed them beneath the chair.
"You can start by staying in bed."
He looked at her.
"You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
For a moment, the room felt almost peaceful.
Then Anna's expression changed.
"Marshal Pierce is here."
Elias straightened.
"Already?"
"He received the letter Bell sent to Redstone. He also brought a warrant for Crowe and the names of three men suspected in the Avery and Price disappearances."
"Good."
"He's asking questions about you."
Elias's stomach tightened.
"What kind of questions?"
"Where you came from. Where you've been. Why a man with no local connections decided to help a town he had never seen before."
Elias looked toward the window.
"Tell him I don't remember."
Anna's expression hardened.
"Elias."
He sighed.
"Tell him the truth. Some of it, anyway."
She sat in the chair opposite him.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"The marshal brought a letter from Kansas."
Elias stopped moving.
Anna reached into her apron pocket and removed a folded envelope.
It was addressed to Elias Ward.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
The postmark was nearly two weeks old.
Elias took the letter with his good hand and opened it carefully.
Inside was a single page.
Mr. Ward,
My name is Ruth Miller. I am the daughter of Samuel Dawson, the teamster who died on the road near Fort Harlan ten years ago.
I have spent many years trying to discover what happened to my father. Last month, a retired deputy named Henry Collins told me that you were present when the wagon was attacked. He said you might have information about the men responsible.
I do not know whether you are alive. I do not know whether you will answer this letter. But if you do, I ask only that you tell me the truth.
My father was not a perfect man, but he was a good one. He deserved better than to die without anyone knowing why.
Sincerely,
Ruth Miller
Elias read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
He looked up.
"Ruth Miller?"
Anna nodded.
"Ruth Dawson was adopted by a family in Kansas after her parents died. She married a man named Miller last year. She has a daughter."
Elias stared at the letter.
He had believed the girl was lost to him forever.