“Yours.”
“My money?”
“Your mill money.
Your savings.
Everything he moved.”
Lydia shook her head.
“But Pike—”
“Daniel made Pike think he’d lost it at cards.
Truth is, Daniel bought this ridge parcel by parcel through agents Pike didn’t know.”
“Why?”
“Because beneath this mountain was evidence of Pike’s crimes.”
Lydia stared.
“What evidence?”
“A ledger.”
“Where?”
Silas pointed downward.
“Old mine tunnel.
Sealed behind the hearth.”
Lydia nearly laughed from disbelief.
“All this time?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been sleeping above it?”
“Yes.”
“And Pike knows?”
“He suspected.”
“Daniel knew?”
“Yes.”
Lydia closed her eyes.
She was suddenly furious.
At Daniel.
At Pike.
At Silas.
At every man who had decided she was too fragile to hear the truth.
“I am finished,” she whispered.
Silas frowned.
“With what?”
“With men protecting me by lying.”
He opened his mouth.
“No.”
Her voice cracked like a whip.
“You will show me the ledger.”
“Not tonight.”
“You will show me.”
“Pike’s coming back.”
“Then we had better know exactly what he wants before he arrives.”
Silas stared at her.
Then something almost like respect softened his expression.
“All right.”
The entrance lay behind an iron plate beneath the hearthstones.
Silas removed it.
Cold air rose from darkness.
He lit a lantern.
“You stay behind me.”
Lydia gave him a look.
He sighed.
“Fine.
Beside me.”
They descended.
The passage was narrow and wet.
Silver glittered faintly in the rock.
After fifty feet Silas stopped before a wooden crate.
He broke the lock.
Inside were papers.
Hundreds.
Mortgages.
Loan agreements.
Deeds.
Names Lydia recognized.
Beside them lay a leather ledger.
Silas opened it.
Gideon Pike’s handwriting filled every page.
Payments to Sheriff Creed.
Bribes.
Property seizures.
And beside several names—
one word.
Removed.
Harper.
Willis.
Keene.
Daniel Marsh.
Lydia felt sick.
“Daniel didn’t die in an accident.”
“No.”
“You knew.”
Silas’s voice broke.
“I found him.”
She looked at him.
“He died here?”
“Two days after he brought the letter.”
Lydia’s eyes filled.
“He never left the mountain?”
“No.”
Silas’s face twisted.
“I buried him behind the north ridge.”
She couldn’t speak.
“There was another man in that coffin back in town,” Silas continued.
“Daniel said Pike staged it because he wanted people to stop looking.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Daniel begged me not to.
Said Pike had Creed and half the county government bought.”
Silas swallowed.
“He told me to wait for the right man.”
“What man?”
A voice echoed from the tunnel entrance.
“Me.”
Silas spun.
Lydia gasped.
An old man stepped into the lantern light.
Weathered face.
Gray beard.
Cracked leather skin.
Potter.
The wagon driver.
But he wasn’t dressed like a wagon driver now.
Under his coat gleamed a brass badge.
“Federal marshal,” Potter said.
Lydia stared.
Silas lowered his rifle.
“Took you long enough.”
Potter smiled grimly.
