Chapter 2 - THE STORM SHELTER
Elias drove into the storm instead of away from it because the dry creek bed cut south through a line of limestone shelves that offered the only shelter for miles, and by the time the first hard drops began striking the wagon canvas, Martha understood he knew the country with the confidence of a man who had survived it many times.
Lightning flashed behind the ridge.
The horses pulled harder.
Wind flattened the grass.
Martha held the side rail and tried not to think about the riders behind them.
“How many?”
Elias asked.
“Three sets of tracks.”
“Mounted?”
“Yes.”
“Shoes?”
“What?”
“Horses shod?”
Martha tried to remember.
“I think so.”
“Then not Indians.”
The answer came without drama.
He was eliminating possibilities.
“Who are they?”
“Maybe nobody.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No.”
Thunder cracked close.
The wagon descended into the creek bed.
Walls of earth rose.
Elias followed the wash for nearly a mile before turning into a narrow cut hidden by sagebrush.
Inside was a shallow rock overhang.
Not a cabin.
But shelter.
He unhitched quickly.
Moved horses beneath stone.
Covered supplies.
Martha climbed down carefully.
Her abdomen tightened.
Not labor.
Probably stress.
Still frightening.
Elias noticed.
“You having pains?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not an answer either.”
She glared.
“Don’t start.”
He lifted both hands.
“Your choice.”
Better.
Martha sat on a blanket beneath the rock shelf.
Rain poured beyond them.
Within minutes the creek bed began carrying brown water.
If they had stayed on open trail, they might have been trapped.
Elias built a small fire from dry wood stored in his wagon.
Prepared coffee for himself.
Warm water with a little honey for Martha.
She drank.
The baby moved.
She breathed easier.
Then she asked again.
“Who is following me?”
Elias stared into the fire.
“Why were you headed to Green River?”
Martha stiffened.
“How do you know?”
“Your map case.”
He nodded toward it.
“Green River marked.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“Neither did you.”
She hated his method.
“Land.”
“What land?”
“My husband said he owned ten acres and a cabin.”
Elias looked up.
“Robert Ellis?”
Martha froze.
“You knew him.”
Not question.
Elias said nothing.
The fire cracked.
Martha stood too quickly.
Pain pulled across her side.
She sat again.
“You knew my husband.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We freighted together.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“Why didn’t you say that?”
“Because I didn’t know you were Martha until I saw the name inside the map case.”
She stared.
“You opened my things?”
“It fell open.”
Maybe.
“What did Robert tell you about me?”
Elias’s face softened slightly.
“That you hated Wyoming.”
“I do.”
“He said you’d say that.”
Despite herself, Martha almost smiled.
It vanished.
“Did you know he was dead?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Elias looked toward the rain.
“I found him.”
The world narrowed.
Martha stopped breathing.
“You found his body?”
“Yes.”
“The deputy said a rancher found him.”
“I was the one who sent word.”
“Why wasn’t your name mentioned?”
“Because I asked them not to.”
“Why?”
Elias looked at her directly.
“Because Robert wasn’t robbed by strangers.”
Martha felt cold despite the fire.
“What does that mean?”
“He was carrying papers.”
“What papers?”
“A deed. Account records. A letter.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
“Where are they?”
“Gone.”
“Who took them?”
Elias did not answer immediately.
Outside, rain hammered stone.
Martha’s voice lowered.
“Who killed my husband?”
Elias’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t know who fired the shot.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No.”
He stood.
Walked to his wagon.
Returned with a wrapped oilskin bundle.
He placed it between them.
Martha stared.
“What is that?”
“Something Robert left with me three days before he died.”
She untied it.
Inside was a brass key.
A folded map.
And a letter in Robert’s handwriting.
Her hands trembled.
Martha.
If I don’t reach Cheyenne, go to the Green River place only if Elias Rourke is with you.
She stopped.
Looked at Elias.
Then back.
Do not trust anyone from Blackstone Freight, not even if they say they worked with me. The cabin is not what I told you. The deed is not only land. There is proof there.
Martha’s heartbeat became painful.
Proof of what?
The letter continued.
Men have been stealing Army freight and blaming raiders. I found manifests showing weapons, medicine, and payroll diverted through Blackstone routes. Jonas Vane is involved.
Martha knew the name.
Everyone in Wyoming freight circles did.
Jonas Vane.
Owner of Blackstone Freight Company.
Wealthy.
Connected.
Robert’s former employer.
The man who sent flowers to Robert’s funeral.
Martha’s hands shook.
Robert wrote:
I copied enough to destroy them. Elias knows part of it, not all. I hid the originals where only you can claim them because the property is in your name, not mine.
Martha stopped.
“My name?”
Elias nodded.
“Robert bought the Green River parcel under Martha Ellis six months ago.”
“Why?”
“He thought anything in his name could be seized if Vane moved against him.”
The letter ended:
If our child is born before this is finished, tell them I tried to leave something better than money. Tell them I tried to make one thing right.
Martha pressed the paper to her chest.
Grief returned so violently she could not speak.
Elias sat several feet away.
Waited.
No touch.
No comforting lie.
After several minutes Martha whispered:
“You knew he was investigating Vane.”
“Some.”
“You knew he might be killed.”
“I told him to leave.”
“And?”
“He said men already died because nobody spoke.”
Martha closed her eyes.
Robert.
Stubborn.
Moral when inconvenient.
Exactly.
Then horse bells sounded faintly beyond the rain.
Elias stood instantly.
Fire kicked out.
“Stay down.”
Martha grabbed his sleeve.
“Three riders?”
“Maybe.”
He took rifle.
Moved toward edge of shelter.
A voice called from the creek bed.
“Rourke!”
Martha’s blood went cold.
They knew his name.
Another voice:
“We only want the widow!”
Elias did not move.
Martha stared at him.
The riders were not searching randomly.
They knew who she was.
May you like
They knew Elias had her.
And whatever Robert had hidden near Green River had already made her a target.
