Ryan took his gun.
Then they heard something else.
More horses.
Many more.
Ryan’s face tightened.
Natalie’s courage vanished.
“How many?”
He looked toward the ridge.
“Too many.”
Riders appeared against the morning sky.
Six.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Natalie held her children and closed her eyes.
Then a familiar voice shouted from the front of the group.
“Mrs.
Foster!”
Ryan lowered his rifle.
Natalie recognized the voice too.
Marshal Avery Quinn from Promontory.
Behind him rode a dozen men.
And beside the marshal rode a woman.
Natalie stared.
“Margaret?”
Her sister nearly fell from the saddle trying to dismount.
“Natalie!”
Minutes later Margaret was inside the shack, weeping over her sister and the babies.
Natalie clung to her.
“I thought you were in Kelton.”
“I was.”
“Then why are you here?”
Margaret pulled back.
“I came looking for you.”
“You knew I was coming.”
“No.”
Natalie stared at her.
“I have your letters.”
“What letters?”
Everything inside Natalie became cold.
Margaret’s face changed when she saw the papers.
“I didn’t send those.”
Ryan swore softly.
Natalie unfolded the most recent letter.
Her sister read it.
“This isn’t my handwriting.”
“But—”
“It’s close.
But look at the G in Margaret.
I never write it that way.”
Natalie felt sick.
“Then who told me to come to Kelton?”
From outside came Edgar Voss’s bitter laugh.
Everyone turned.
Voss sat against the trough while Marshal Quinn bound his wrists.
“You still haven’t worked it out?” he called.
Ryan started toward him.
Natalie stopped him.
“No.”
She stepped outside herself.
Barely able to walk, wrapped in a blanket, exhausted from childbirth and carrying one infant while Margaret held the other, Natalie crossed the mud.
She stood before Edgar Voss.
“Why did you send those letters?”
Voss smiled.
“We needed you in Kelton.”
“Why?”
“To sign.”
“Sign what?”
“Your mineral rights.”
Natalie stared.
“You stole everything from me just to make me leave.”
“Desperate women travel where they’re offered shelter.”
Ryan’s fists tightened.
Voss looked at him.
“You should have stayed in prison.”
Marshal Quinn hauled Voss upright.
“That’s enough.”
“No,” Natalie said.
Everyone looked at her.
“I want to hear the rest.”
Voss laughed.
“The rest?”
His eyes moved to Ryan.
“Ask him.”
Natalie’s stomach turned.
Ryan looked suddenly wary.
“Ask your savior why James Foster was inside Number Seven the night he died.”
Ryan’s face drained of color.
Natalie whispered, “What?”
Voss smiled.
“Go ahead, Patterson.”
Ryan said nothing.
Voss’s smile widened.
“Tell her why her husband entered a condemned tunnel alone.”
Natalie’s voice was barely audible.
“Ryan?”
He looked at her.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“What wasn’t?”
Voss answered for him.
“James went in looking for Patterson.”
Natalie turned toward Ryan.
No.
Ryan’s eyes filled with something worse than guilt.
Grief.
“He thought they’d taken me underground,” Ryan said.
“Had they?”
“No.”
“Then why did he think that?”
Ryan could hardly speak.
“Because I left him a message.”
Natalie felt as though the earth had opened beneath her.
“You sent him there.”
“Not intentionally.”
