“Who?”
Crowe hesitated.
“Silas Mercer.”
Nathaniel knew that name too.
Everybody did.
Mercer owned the Silver Creek Mining Company, half the buildings in town, and enough debt from local ranchers to control the other half.
“He accused Whitmore of stealing the gold,” Crowe said.
“Did he?”
“No.”
“You sound certain.”
“I investigated.”
Nathaniel lowered the rifle slightly.
Crowe reached inside his coat.
Nathaniel raised it again.
“Slow.”
Crowe removed a folded letter.
“I received this twelve days ago.”
Nathaniel unfolded it.
The handwriting was hurried.
Elias—
If this reaches you, Miriam and I have failed.
Mercer knows I copied the books.
He knows about the homestead.
If anything happens to us, protect the children.
Do not trust Bell.
Do not trust anyone connected to the mine.
What matters is buried where winter can never touch it.
S.W.
Nathaniel read it twice.
“Bell?”
Crowe nodded.
“The county clerk keeps Mercer’s contracts, claims, and land transfers.”
“What books did Samuel copy?”
“That’s what we need to find.”
Behind them, the door opened.
Clara stood there.
Her face had gone pale.
“What did you say?”
Nathaniel folded the letter.
“Go inside.”
She did not move.
“What did Papa write?”
“Clara—”
“Where winter can never touch it?”
Crowe stared at her.
“You know what that means?”
Clara’s eyes filled with sudden terror.
Before answering, she whispered something Nathaniel could barely hear.
“Under the fire.”
The Whitmore homestead stood four miles beyond Silver Creek.
Or what remained of it.
The roof had collapsed.
One wall was blackened.
Someone had ransacked the place.
Drawers lay broken in the snow. Bedding had been slashed open. Floorboards had been pried loose.
Nathaniel knelt beside the ruined doorway.
“Someone came looking.”
Crowe nodded.
“And didn’t find it.”
Clara stood beside Nathaniel.
He had wanted to leave her behind.
She had refused.
“It was Papa’s riddle,” she explained.
“What was?”
“Where winter can never touch.”
She pointed toward the fireplace.
“Papa used to tell us even winter was afraid of Mama’s fire.”
Crowe and Nathaniel exchanged looks.
They removed the stones from the hearth.
Nothing.
Nathaniel dug through ash.
Nothing.
Clara frowned.
Then she crawled forward.
“Not there.”
She touched the iron plate behind the fireplace.
“Under Mama’s fire.”
Nathaniel wedged a crowbar beneath the plate.
It lifted.
Beneath it lay packed earth.
Crowe began digging.
Six inches down, his shovel struck metal.
Clang.
Nobody moved.
Nathaniel knelt.
Together, they pulled out a narrow iron box.
Clara whispered, “Papa.”
A gun clicked behind them.
“Open it.”
Nathaniel closed his eyes.
Silas Mercer stood inside the ruined doorway.
Three armed men flanked him.
Horace Bell stood behind them.
So did Sheriff Danner.
Mercer smiled.
