PART 3 — THE FIVE-HUNDRED-DOLLAR SECRET

I had spent seven years living alone in the Bitterroot Mountains.

I knew every trail, every creek, and every stretch of timber within twenty miles of my cabin. I knew when a storm was coming before the first cloud appeared. I knew how to recognize a wolf’s tracks from those of a mountain lion.

And I knew when someone was watching me.

That morning, I felt it.

I stood at the window with Josephine’s folded paper in my pocket, staring at the line of trees beyond the clearing.

Five hundred dollars.

That was what someone had offered for Cyrus Creed.

I had no idea who had written my name on that list. But I knew one thing.

It had something to do with Josephine.

“Mr. Creed?”

I turned.

She stood beside the table, holding two cups of coffee.

“You look worried.”

I took one cup.

“I’m thinking.”

“About the paper?”

I nodded.

She hesitated.

“Should I leave?”

The question struck me harder than I expected.

“No.”

“But if someone is looking for me—”

“Then they can come looking.”

She lowered her eyes.

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

I looked at the young woman who had arrived at my cabin wearing a burlap sack over her head.

“Josephine, I’ve spent most of my life alone. If someone has decided to make trouble for me, that’s their choice.”

She seemed unconvinced.

I understood.

People who had been hurt often believed they were responsible for the pain that followed them.

I had believed the same thing once.

“Tell me about Jeremiah Higgins,” I said.

Her expression changed.

She looked toward the fire.

“He was supposed to be my husband.”

“Did you know him?”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“We exchanged letters. He said he owned a small ranch outside Orofino. He said he wanted a wife who would help him build a home.”

I waited.

“When I arrived, he met me at the station. He was polite at first. Then he asked me to remove my bonnet.”

Her fingers тιԍнтened around the coffee cup.

“I did.”

She paused.

“He looked at my face. Then he stepped backward.”

I said nothing.

“He told me he couldn’t marry me. He said he had been promised a beautiful woman, not someone who looked like me.”

She swallowed.

“I asked him what was wrong with my face.”

Her voice became smaller.

“He said he didn’t want to explain it to his friends.”

I looked at the fire.

There were men who would rather humiliate a woman than admit their own cruelty.

Josephine continued.

“Thaddeus Cooper had arranged the marriage. He said Jeremiah owed him money. When Jeremiah refused to take me, Cooper said I had become a financial problem.”

“And then he put you on the wagon.”

She nodded.

“He told me I would be sold to someone who didn’t care what I looked like.”

I looked at her.

“Did he say anything else?”

Josephine hesitated.

Then she reached into her dress and removed a second piece of paper.

This one was smaller.

It had been folded several times.

“I didn’t show you this yesterday.”

I unfolded it.

The handwriting was different from the list.

The message was brief.

The girl must be delivered to Creed alive. Do not allow her to speak to anyone in Orofino.

I read it twice.

Then I looked at Josephine.

“Who gave this to Cooper?”

“I don’t know.”

She paused.

“But I think it was the man who came to the depot before I arrived.”

“What man?”

She looked toward the window.

“A man with a silver watch. He asked Cooper whether the mountain cabin was still occupied.”

My blood ran cold.

I knew that watch.

I had seen it in Orofino.

The man who wore it was a former deputy named Silas Vane.

A man I had not seen in six years.

A man who had once accused me of murder.

And a man who had disappeared shortly after the accusation was proven false.

I folded the paper.

“Josephine, I need you to tell me everything you remember about him.”

She nodded.

But before she could speak, Rascal began barking outside.

I turned toward the door.

The old hound was not barking at a deer.

He was barking at a person.

I reached for my rifle and stepped onto the porch.

A rider stood at the edge of the clearing.

He wore a dark coat and a wide-brimmed hat. His horse was covered in snow, and a leather satchel hung from the saddle.

He raised one hand.

“Creed!”

I recognized the voice.

Silas Vane.

I stepped down from the porch.

“What are you doing here?”

He dismounted slowly.

“Looking for a woman.”

I said nothing.

Vane glanced toward the cabin.

“Josephine.”

I felt my grip тιԍнтen around the rifle.

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Vane sighed.

“You’re making this difficult.”

I looked at him.

“You’ve been making it difficult for six years.”

His expression changed.

Then he reached into his coat and removed a folded document.

“There’s a warrant for your arrest.”

I stared at the paper.

“What charge?”

“Murder.”

I almost laughed.

“That accusation was dismissed.”

“Not this one.”

He unfolded the document.

The name at the top was mine.

The date was yesterday.

I looked at him.

“Who signed it?”

Vane hesitated.

Then he said:

“Jeremiah Higgins.”

I felt the world shift beneath my feet.

Higgins was supposed to be a rancher.

A man who had refused to marry Josephine.

A man who had sent her away.

But now he had signed a warrant for my arrest.

Vane continued.

“He’s alive, Creed. And he wants you brought in.”

I looked toward the cabin.

Josephine stood in the doorway.

Her face had gone pale.

Vane noticed.

He smiled faintly.

“Ah. There she is.”

I raised the rifle.

“Get off my property.”

Vane didn’t move.

“You’re making a mistake.”

I stared at him.

“Leave.”

He mounted his horse.

But before he rode away, he looked at Josephine.

“Tell him what happened in Denver.”

Josephine froze.

Vane’s smile widened.

“Tell him why Jeremiah Higgins refused to marry you.”

Then he turned his horse and disappeared into the trees.

I stood in the snow, watching the trail.

Behind me, Josephine began to cry.

I turned.

“Josephine?”

She shook her head.

“I didn’t tell you everything.”

I stepped toward her.

“What happened in Denver?”

She looked at me through tears.

Then she whispered:

“Jeremiah Higgins didn’t reject me because of my face.”

I waited.

“He rejected me because he recognized my father’s name.”

She took a breath.

“My father was a sheriff in Colorado. He was killed six years ago while investigating a robbery.”

I felt a cold certainty settle over me.

Josephine continued.

“Before he died, he sent me a letter. He told me that if anything happened to him, I should find a man named Cyrus Creed.”

I stared at her.

She reached into the lining of her dress and pulled out a small, yellowed envelope.

My name was written across the front.

In handwriting I recognized immediately.

My brother’s handwriting.

My brother, who had disappeared six years ago.

My brother, who had supposedly died in a robbery.

Josephine held the envelope toward me.

“I was told to give this to you.”

I took it.

My hands were shaking.

I opened the letter.

There were only three lines.

If Josephine has reached you, then I have failed.

The men who killed me are coming for you next.

Trust no one in Orofino.

I looked up.

Josephine stood silently in the doorway.

And for the first time in seven years, I realized that the past I had buried in the mountains had never stopped looking for me.

TO BE CONTINUED — PART 4: THE BROTHER WHO NEVER CAME HOME.