Silas had spent nine years believing grief had stripped him of fear.
He learned he was wrong the moment twelve children asked him to help save their parents.
Fear returned quickly when there was something worth losing.
Before dawn, Silas saddled his bay gelding, Winchester.
Daniel found him tightening the cinch.
“You’re going.”
Silas glanced over.
“You’re staying.”
“I know where the quarry is.”
“So do I.”
“There’s another way in.”
Silas stopped.
“How?”
Daniel picked up a stick and drew in the dirt.
“The main road comes from the south. But there’s an old creek bed behind it. We used to hunt rabbits there.”
Silas crouched.
Daniel traced a line.
“It reaches the north wall.”
“Anybody guard it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Which means you’re staying.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“My father is there.”
“Maybe.”
“If he is—”
“And if I bring you, your father will ask why I was fool enough to drag his son toward armed men.”
Daniel looked furious.
Good.
Angry was better than terrified.
Silas softened.
“I need you here.”
“For what?”
“You’re the oldest.”
Daniel knew what that meant.
“If I don’t come back by tomorrow night, take everybody to Widow Parker’s place. Ten miles south. Tell her my name. She’ll help.”
Daniel’s face lost its color.
Silas put a hand on his shoulder.
“I intend to come back.”
“You can’t promise.”
“No.”
Daniel met his eyes.
Silas appreciated that the boy did not want comforting lies.
So Silas gave him truth.
“I can promise I’ll be careful.”
Daniel nodded.
By sunrise, Silas was riding north.
He avoided roads.
Crow Creek Quarry had been abandoned after a blast killed two workers several years earlier. Tobias Crowe bought the property cheaply and supposedly used it for storage.
Silas reached the creek bed before noon.
He tied Winchester in cottonwoods and continued on foot.
Daniel’s map proved accurate.
The dry channel wound between limestone bluffs until voices drifted over the ridge.
Silas crawled upward.
Below him stood three wooden sheds and an old blasting cabin.
Two armed men sat near a cook fire.
A third guarded the quarry entrance.
Then Silas saw people.
Men and women.
Nearly thirty.
They emerged from one of the sheds carrying buckets.
Prisoners.
Silas recognized Joseph immediately.
He was thinner.
Bruised.
But alive.
Silas closed his eyes for half a second.
Thank God.
Joseph carried a water bucket toward the prisoners.
A guard shoved him.
Joseph turned.
Silas almost laughed.
Even exhausted and imprisoned, Joseph had exactly the same expression he used when Silas once suggested a mule could outrun his mare.
The guard shoved him again.
Joseph lowered his head.
Smart.
Silas counted.
Four guards visible.
Possibly more.
Too many for one man.
He needed evidence.
And help.
Then a wagon arrived.
Deputy Pike sat beside the driver.
Silas pressed flat.
Pike jumped down.
Tobias Crowe emerged from the blasting cabin.
Silas had seen Crowe twice before.
He was a heavyset cattleman in his fifties with silver hair and expensive boots. Town businessmen shook his hand. Churches accepted his donations. Politicians attended his dinners.
Crowe walked toward Pike.
“Children?”
“Mercer has them.”
Crowe’s expression darkened.
“All twelve?”
“Yes.”
“And the box?”
“Unknown.”
Crowe grabbed Pike’s coat.
“You told me the tree was searched.”
“It was.”
“Then search it again.”
Pike pushed him away.
“Careful.”
Crowe smiled without humor.
“You’re a deputy because I arranged it.”
“And you’re still breathing because I clean your messes.”
Silas memorized every word.
Pike continued.
“The judge reaches Junction City on Friday. If Mercer has the ledger—”
“He won’t reach the judge.”
Silas went cold.
Crowe turned toward the prisoners.
“What about these?”
Pike lowered his voice, but the quarry carried sound.
“Move them tonight.”
“Where?”
“Rail camp west.”
“Too many witnesses.”
Pike stared at Crowe.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
Crowe smiled.
Silas understood that smile.
Pike did too.
“You burn another place,” the deputy said, “and I walk.”
Crowe chuckled.
“You already walked too far.”
Silas backed from the ridge.
A twig snapped.
One guard turned.
“Who’s there?”
Silas froze.
Footsteps approached.
He waited until the guard climbed within ten feet.
Then Silas rose from behind a boulder and struck him once.
The man collapsed.
Unfortunately, his rifle fired.
The quarry erupted.
Silas ran.
Bullets chipped limestone behind him.
He slid down the creek bank, reached Winchester, and swung into the saddle.
“GO!”
The bay surged forward.
Two riders pursued.
Silas knew open prairie would favor them if their horses were fresh.
He cut through narrow washes.
One rider gained.
Silas waited until they crossed soft sand, then wheeled Winchester suddenly behind a cedar.
The pursuer rushed past.
Silas leveled his rifle.
“Drop it.”
The man stopped.
His eyes widened.
“Mercer.”
“Gun.”
The weapon fell.
“Get off.”
The man dismounted.
Silas recognized him as Vernon Clay, one of Crowe’s foremen.
“Hands behind your head.”
Clay obeyed.
Silas took his ammunition and horse.
“You can walk home.”
“You think this changes anything?”
“No.”
“Crowe will burn your ranch with those brats inside.”
Silas’s expression hardened.
“Say one more thing about those children.”
Clay wisely closed his mouth.
Silas mounted the second horse and rode south faster.
He reached Cottonwood Ranch after dark.
Something was wrong.
No lanterns.
No children.
Silas drew his revolver before reaching the porch.
“Daniel?”
Silence.
The front door stood open.
His stomach dropped.
Then a voice came from the darkness.
“Put that gun away before you shoot an old woman.”
Silas turned.
Widow Martha Parker stepped from the barn carrying a shotgun.
Behind her appeared Daniel.
Silas nearly sagged with relief.
“What happened?”
“Three men came,” Daniel said.
“When?”
“Afternoon.”
Martha snorted.
“Found the children hidden in the root cellar and me upstairs with my twelve-gauge.”
Silas looked at her.
Martha Parker was sixty-seven, five feet tall, and feared by every shopkeeper who had ever tried to overcharge her.
Silas had never been happier to see anyone.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I fired through your kitchen window.”
Silas sighed.
“I liked that window.”
“You like your children alive more.”
Silas looked at her.
“My children?”
Martha shrugged.
“That’s what they look like.”
The words struck deeper than expected.
Daniel stepped closer.
“Did you find them?”
Silas nodded.
Everyone gathered in the kitchen.
Silas told them.
Parents alive.
Quarry.
Guards.
Crowe planning to move them.
When he finished, Mary covered her mouth.
Lucy began crying with relief.
“Momma’s alive?”
Silas crouched.
“I saw a lot of people. I couldn’t recognize everyone. But Daniel’s father is alive.”
Daniel turned away.
His shoulders shook once.
Then he regained control.
Martha slammed her shotgun onto the table.
“Well, we aren’t leaving them there.”
Silas looked at her.
“We?”
She stared.
“You think because I’m old I stopped being useful?”
“I think there are armed men.”
“I married three husbands, survived all three, delivered fourteen babies, and once chased a black bear out of my pantry with a broom. Armed men don’t impress me.”
For the first time in days, the children laughed.
Silas rubbed his face.
They needed more people.
Trustworthy people.
By morning Martha had supplied names.
Reverend Amos Bell.
Blacksmith Elijah Turner.
Schoolteacher Helen Reed.
Rancher Mateo Alvarez.
Dr. Henry Cole.
People Crowe had never managed to buy.
Silas rode to each privately.
He told them only what they needed to know.
By evening, seven adults gathered in his barn.
Silas placed copies of several ledger pages on a barrel.
Reverend Bell read them slowly.
“My Lord.”
Mateo looked up.
“This proves fraud.”
“It proves more if Joseph testifies.”
Blacksmith Turner crossed his arms.
“Then we get Joseph.”
Dr. Cole frowned.
“You’re proposing we attack a quarry?”
“No.”
Silas pointed to Daniel’s map.
“We create confusion. Free prisoners. Avoid shooting unless necessary.”
Martha scoffed.
“And if necessary?”
Silas looked at her shotgun.
“I assume you’ve considered that.”
She smiled.
The rescue began before midnight.
Mateo drove forty head of cattle toward Crowe’s southern road.
At one o’clock, Turner cut the quarry fence.
Cattle poured through.
Guards began shouting.
Reverend Bell set off three sticks of harmless blasting powder in the dry wash—not enough to injure anyone, but loud enough to send horses racing.
Silas and Turner entered through the northern creek.
They cut the lock on the first shed.
Joseph stepped out.
For a heartbeat, neither man spoke.
Then Joseph smiled weakly.
“Took you long enough.”
Silas almost laughed.
“You could’ve sent clearer instructions.”
Joseph looked past him.
“The children?”
“Safe.”
Joseph closed his eyes.
“Every one?”
“All twelve.”
A sound escaped Joseph that Silas would remember forever.
Half laugh.
Half sob.
He grabbed Silas and hugged him.
Then the quarry erupted in gunfire.
“Move!” Silas shouted.
Prisoners ran toward the creek.
Turner led them.
Silas stayed behind.
A figure emerged near the blasting cabin.
Pike.
His gun was pointed directly at Silas.
“Stop.”
Silas stopped.
Pike approached.
“You should’ve minded your ranch.”
“You should’ve minded the law.”
Pike’s face hardened.
“Where’s the ledger?”
“Safe.”
“You won’t live to deliver it.”
A rifle cocked behind Pike.
Joseph stood there.
“You sure about that?”
Pike turned slightly.
Silas lunged.
The two men hit the ground.
The revolver fired harmlessly into the air.
Silas struck Pike once and rolled away.
Joseph kicked the weapon aside.
For a moment it seemed finished.
Then Crowe appeared on the ridge.
He held a torch.
Behind him sat several barrels.
Oil.
Silas realized what he intended.
Crowe shouted, “Nobody leaves!”
He threw the torch.
Joseph yelled.
Fire raced across spilled oil toward the prisoners’ shed.
And suddenly Lucy’s nightmare made horrifying sense.
The fire.
The locked door.
This was not Crowe’s first attempt.
Silas ran straight toward the flames.