Smoke thickened.
Judson cut Gar’s ankle rope but left his wrists bound.
“Move.”
They descended.
Seconds later, the cabin above them erupted in flame.
The tunnel emerged fifty yards behind a ridge.
They crawled into waist-deep snow.
Silas’s men were watching the cabin burn.
Judson raised his rifle.
Then Winifred stopped him.
“No.”
“He’s trying to kill us.”
“Listen.”
Silas was shouting at his men.
“Find the deed! Vale Mining owns everything beneath that ridge!”
Winifred’s eyes sharpened.
“He said Vale Mining.”
“So?”
“My father’s papers never mentioned a company.”
Gar became strangely quiet.
Winifred turned toward him.
“Gar.”
He avoided her gaze.
“What aren’t you telling us?”
Nothing.
Winifred raised the skillet.
Judson stared.
“You brought that through the tunnel?”
“It has proven useful.”
Gar sighed.
“All right.”
He looked toward Silas.
“Vale doesn’t want the old deed because of the silver.”
Judson frowned.
“Then why?”
Gar swallowed.
“Because there isn’t any silver.”
Silence.
“What?”
“Not enough to matter.”
Gar nodded toward the mountain.
“It’s molybdenum.”
Judson had heard the word only once.
A rare mineral.
Increasingly valuable for hardening steel.
Gar continued.
“Government buyers have been sniffing around Colorado. Silas had samples tested in Denver. That ridge is worth more than every silver mine in Silver Creek put together.”
Judson looked at the burning cabin.
“How much?”
Gar laughed bitterly.
“Millions.”
Winifred stared at him.
“Then why help us?”
Gar’s expression changed.
“Because Silas plans to kill me too.”
For once, Judson believed him.
They waited until Silas approached the burning cabin.
Then Judson fired into the snow at his feet.
“Drop it!”
Silas spun.
Winifred stepped from behind the ridge with the shotgun.
Gar followed.
Silas stared.
His face drained.
“You.”
Winifred walked closer.
“You killed my father.”
Silas laughed.
“I was twelve when your father died.”
“Your father, then.”
Silas said nothing.
That was answer enough.
Judson raised his rifle.
Silas slowly dropped his weapon.
His surviving men did the same.
By dawn, all of them were tied.
Judson stood beside the ruins of his cabin.
Eleven years.
Gone.
Winifred came beside him.
“I’m sorry.”
He watched smoke rise into the pale morning.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
That hurt more than anger would have.
Winifred’s voice trembled.
“I came looking for my father’s grave.”
Judson didn’t turn.
“And then?”
“Then I found you.”
He finally looked at her.
Tears stood in her eyes.
“I hated you at the depot,” she whispered.
“Fair.”
“I nearly left.”
“You should have.”
“But every day afterward, I saw something different.”
She swallowed.
“The man who put extra wood beside my bed when the temperature dropped. The man who walked two miles through a storm because I mentioned missing cinnamon. The man who pretended he hated my singing but always came inside when I started.”
