PART 2 — THE KILLER KNEW WHY SOMEONE WAS TRYING TO SILENCE HER

The second sH๏τ struck the fireplace.

Judson dragged Winifred behind the heavy oak table as another bullet tore through the cabin wall.

“Stay down!” he ordered.

Winifred clutched her knitting needles.

“I believe I have already established that I can look after myself.”

“Now is not the time to argue!”

“Then stop shouting and listen.”

Judson glanced at her.

Outside, horses moved through the snow. At least three men were approaching the cabin, but their footsteps were strangely cautious.

Then Gar Dempsey laughed.

Judson turned toward him.

“What are you laughing at?”

Gar spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

“You think they’re here for me?”

“Who else?”

The prisoner slowly raised his head.

“They don’t want me alive, McIntyre. They want the woman.”

Judson’s expression hardened.

“Why?”

Gar looked directly at Winifred.

“Ask your pretty little wife what her father did in Boston.”

Winifred went pale.

“My father is ᴅᴇᴀᴅ.”

“That’s what they told you?”

Judson looked between them.

“Explain yourself.”

Gar shifted against his ropes.

“Her father was Samuel Hayes. He kept accounts for the Western Consolidated Mining Company. Ten years ago, he disappeared with a ledger that could send half the men running this territory to prison.”

Winifred shook her head.

“No. My father was a bookkeeper. He died of fever when I was seventeen.”

Gar smiled bitterly.

“That’s the story they paid people to tell.”

Before Judson could question him further, the cabin door shuddered.

Someone outside shouted.

“McIntyre! Send out the woman, and we’ll leave you breathing!”

Judson reached for his rifle.

Winifred grabbed his sleeve.

“Don’t.”

He looked at her.

“Those men have already fired into our home.”

“Exactly. They want you angry. They want you to step outside.”

She glanced toward the back window.

“There’s another way out.”

Judson stared at her.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been living here for six days. I’ve already inspected every door, window, and loose floorboard.”

Despite the danger, Judson almost smiled.

“Of course you have.”

He handed her his spare coat.

“Go through the pantry. Take the trail behind the wood shed. There’s a hunting shelter half a mile north. Wait there.”

“And you?”

“I’m staying.”

Winifred shook her head.

“You didn’t marry a woman just to leave her alone in a snowstorm.”

The words struck him harder than she intended.

He looked at her for a moment.

Then he nodded.

“Together, then.”

But Gar interrupted.

“There’s something else.”

Neither answered.

“The man outside isn’t the one paying for this. His name is Silas Vane. He works for the company. But the man who hired him knows where the ledger is.”

Winifred’s face changed.

“Where?”

Gar’s eyes moved toward the fireplace.

“Inside the cabin.”

Judson frowned.

“That’s impossible. I’ve lived here eleven years.”

“Not in the walls,” Gar replied. “Under the floor.”

Winifred looked toward the old knitting chair beside the fireplace.

A loose board beneath its front leg had bothered her since the day she arrived.

She had tried to repair it, but Judson had told her the cabin settled with the seasons.

Now she understood.

“Move the chair,” she whispered.

Judson did.

Together they lifted the loose board.

Beneath it lay a narrow iron box.

Winifred stared at it.

Her hands began to shake.

“That’s my father’s handwriting.”

A name had been scratched into the lid.

SAMUEL HAYES.

Before Judson could open it, the front door burst inward.

Three men rushed into the cabin.

Judson raised his rifle.

“Drop your weapons!”

The first man hesitated.

The second aimed at Judson.

But Winifred moved before either could fire.

She threw the heavy iron box straight into the man’s chest.

He stumbled backward, crashing into the table.

Judson seized the moment, knocked the second man’s weapon aside, and forced him against the wall.

The third man grabbed Winifred’s arm.

“Where’s the ledger?”

She looked him directly in the eyes.

“I don’t know.”

He тιԍнтened his grip.

“Your father hid it.”

“Then perhaps you should have asked him.”

The man’s expression twisted.

“You’re going to regret that answer.”

A loud crash came from the doorway.

Gar Dempsey had managed to drag his chair across the floor and ram it into the man’s knees.

The attacker fell.

Judson quickly secured him.

For several seconds, the cabin was filled only with heavy breathing and the sound of wind pushing snow against the shutters.

Then Gar looked at Winifred.

“Now do you believe me?”

She stepped toward him.

“I believe my father left something behind. I don’t believe a word you say about why.”

Gar gave a tired smile.

“Fair enough.”

Judson opened the iron box.

Inside lay a leather ledger, a faded pH๏τograph, and a sealed envelope.

Winifred picked up the pH๏τograph.

It showed her father standing beside two men.

One was a younger Silas Vane.

The other was Judson McIntyre.

She slowly looked up.

“Judson?”

Her husband stared at the pH๏τograph.

He looked as though the floor had disappeared beneath him.

“I’ve never seen this before.”

But Gar Dempsey began laughing again.

“Tell her the truth, McIntyre.”

Judson turned sharply.

“Shut your mouth.”

Gar’s smile vanished.

“Tell her why you were working for the mining company the same year her father disappeared.”

Winifred took a step backward.

“Judson?”

He lowered his rifle.

“I was a surveyor. I worked for them for three months. I never knew your father.”

“Then why is your pH๏τograph in his box?”

Judson had no answer.

And for the first time since their wedding, Winifred wondered whether the man she had married was hiding something far more dangerous than his disappointment in her.

That night, the attackers were locked in the woodshed while Judson stood alone beside the fireplace.

Winifred sat at the table with her father’s letter.

She had read it three times.

The first paragraph was ordinary.

The second was a warning.

The third changed everything.

My dearest Winnie,

If this letter reaches you, then I have failed to return. There is one man you must find. His name is Judson McIntyre. He knows what happened at the mine, even if he has spent years trying to forget it.

Winifred lowered the letter.

Judson stood across the room.

“Did you know my father?”

He stared at the floor.

“I knew a man named Hayes. He was a surveyor’s ᴀssistant. I thought he had left the territory.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I never knew his daughter was the woman I was marrying.”

Winifred folded the letter.

“That’s not an answer.”

Judson finally met her eyes.

“No. It isn’t.”

Then he reached into his coat and placed something on the table.

A small brᴀss key.

“Your father gave me this ten years ago. He told me to keep it hidden until someone came looking for it.”

Winifred stared at the key.

“Why didn’t you give it to me?”

“Because I thought your father was ᴅᴇᴀᴅ, and I didn’t know what the key opened.”

She picked it up.

There was a number engraved on its side.

17.

Gar Dempsey’s voice came from the corner.

“That’s the key to the old mine office.”

Judson turned.

Gar’s face had lost its smile.

“And if that office is still standing, then you need to get there before Silas Vane does.”

Winifred looked at her husband.

“Then tomorrow we’re going.”

Judson shook his head.

“It’s too dangerous.”

She folded her father’s letter and slipped it into her pocket.

“Judson, I have spent years being told what I cannot do. I’m finished with that.”

He looked at her for a long moment.

Then he nodded.

“All right, Mrs. McIntyre.”

For the first time, he said the name with pride.

But neither of them noticed the small figure watching through the frost-covered window.

A child stood among the trees.

And in his hands was a folded message bearing Winifred’s name.