Sheriff.
Judge.
Clerk.
Deputy.
And one final name.
Samuel Mercer.
Cole stared at it.
"My father was paid."
Clara said nothing.
Cole's face went pale.
For a moment, he could not breathe.
Then he noticed the handwriting.
The entry beside Samuel's name was different.
It had been crossed out.
Underneath, his father's handwriting said:
Refused.
Cole understood.
His father had been offered money.
He had refused.
That was when Harlan had turned against him.
Cole closed his eyes.
"Now I know why."
Clara placed a hand on his arm.
"He tried to stop them."
"I should have known."
"You were a child."
"He was my father."
"You loved him."
Cole looked at her.
"Do you still hate him?"
Clara's eyes filled with tears.
"I never hated him."
"Why not?"
"Because my mother didn't."
That answer broke something inside him.
For years, Cole had believed his father's silence meant guilt.
Now he understood it had meant protection.
Samuel had known the truth.
And he had died without telling his son because he had been afraid the danger would follow him.
A sound came from outside.
Horse hooves.
Several horses.
Cole reached for his gun.
Clara whispered:
"They found us."
They escaped through the rear of the mill.
Three riders were already surrounding the building.
Cole and Clara ran toward the river.
Shots cracked behind them.
They dropped behind a stone wall.
Cole looked at Clara.
"Can you ride?"
"Yes."
"Then when I say go, don't stop."
"What about you?"
"I'm right behind you."
She shook her head.
"We go together."
Cole almost smiled.
"You're stubborn."
"So are you."
They waited.
The riders searched the mill.
Then one shouted.
"They're by the river!"
Cole fired once.
The men ducked.
He and Clara ran.
They reached the horses.
Clara mounted first.
Cole swung into the saddle.
They raced upstream.
The attackers followed.
Snow began falling.
Heavy flakes struck their faces.
Visibility disappeared.
Cole led them toward the narrow mountain trail.
The trail was dangerous.
But the men behind them would have difficulty following.
They reached the old bridge.
Cole stopped.
The bridge was damaged.
Only half the wooden boards remained.
Clara stared.
"That's not a bridge."
"It used to be."
"That's worse."
Behind them came gunfire.
Cole looked at her.
"We cross."
She swallowed.
Then nodded.
They crossed one horse at a time.
The river roared beneath them.
Halfway across, one board broke.
Clara's horse stumbled.
Cole grabbed her arm.
"Don't look down."
"I'm not!"
"Good."
They reached the other side.
Cole cut the bridge rope.
The remaining structure collapsed into the river.
Their pursuers stopped.
Cole and Clara rode into the mountains.
They did not stop until nightfall.
When they finally reached an abandoned shepherd's hut, Clara slid from the saddle.
Cole built a fire.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Clara said:
"You saved me."
Cole shook his head.
"We saved each other."
She looked at him.
There was something different in her expression now.
Something warmer.
Something neither of them was ready to name.
"I was supposed to find the truth," she whispered.
"You did."
"No."
She looked at him.
"I found you."
Cole stared at her.
Outside, snow covered the mountains.
Inside, the fire burned quietly.
And for the first time since his father's death, Cole felt that the future might contain something besides old ghosts.
They returned to town two days later.
The evidence was delivered to the territorial marshal rather than the local sheriff.
Cole trusted no one connected to Harlan.
Neither did Clara.
The investigation began quietly.
Then loudly.
Within weeks, the forged deeds were exposed.