Ten minutes later, he was hog-tied with deer rope.

Winifred dragged him away from the bloodstain.

Then she washed her hands.

She made biscuits.

And she began knitting.

Judson came home after sunset.

The door flew open.

“Winnie!”

He had seen strange tracks outside.

His rifle was raised.

Then he froze.

The cabin was warm.

Biscuits cooled beside the stove.

Winifred sat knitting.

Gar Dempsey lay on the floor bound hand and foot, his face swollen beneath blood, flour, and bacon grease.

Winifred looked up.

“You have a guest.”

Judson’s rifle slowly lowered.

“What happened?”

“He tracked mud inside.”

Gar groaned.

Judson stared.

“You did this?”

“He was discourteous.”

Judson looked at Gar.

Then at Winifred.

Then back at Gar.

And suddenly he began laughing.

Not a chuckle.

Not a polite laugh.

He doubled over.

Winifred tried remaining stern.

She failed.

Soon she was laughing too.

Even Gar managed an insult from the floor.

Then Judson stopped.

He looked at his wife.

Really looked.

At the loose strands of hair.

The grease stain on her sleeve.

The bruising already forming on her wrist.

The woman he had called weak.

The woman he had humiliated before strangers.

The woman who had turned his miserable cabin into the first home he had known since childhood.

Shame rose through him.

“Winnie.”

Her smile faded.

“I owe you—”

The rifle shot shattered the window.

Judson threw himself at Winifred.

Glass exploded across the room.

The bullet struck the wall where her head had been.

“Down!”

Another shot punched through the door.

Gar began laughing.

Judson crawled toward the rifle.

“Who?”

Gar grinned through swollen lips.

“You think I came alone?”

Judson’s face changed.

“How many?”

“Enough.”

A voice called from outside.

“McIntyre!”

Judson went still.

He knew that voice.

Winifred saw it.

“Who is that?”

Judson whispered one name.

“Silas Vale.”

Gar’s smile widened.

And Winifred’s face went white.

Judson noticed.

“Winnie?”

Outside, Silas shouted again.

“Send out the woman and the claim papers!”

Judson stared at his wife.

“Why does he want you?”

Winifred said nothing.

“Winnie.”

Her eyes closed.

When she opened them again, the frightened baker from Boston was gone.

“Because he knows who I am.”

Judson stared at her.

“What does that mean?”

Another bullet tore through the roof.

Winifred crawled toward her trunk.

She opened it and ripped the lining from the bottom.

Judson had never noticed the false compartment.

From inside, she withdrew an oilskin packet.

Gar cursed.

“There it is.”

Judson looked from the packet to his wife.

“What is that?”

Winifred handed it to him.

Inside was a folded document.

A deed.

Judson read the first line.

Then stopped breathing.

MOUNTAIN CLAIM 47-B. OWNER: ELIAS HAYES.