Banished from Montana for rejecting a powerful baron, she blew the whistle on his corrupt land empire, sacrificing everything for a justice that never fully arrived.
Elias rode hard, deliberately taking the more obvious, direct path towards Blackwood Gulch. He moved with a practiced confidence, creating a clear trail in the fresh snow, ensuring Marsh’s pursuing men would spot him. The decoy sat secured in his saddlebag, a convincing lure.
I, along with Jedediah and Croft, took a longer, more winding route, sticking to the less-traveled, more arduous mountain paths. Every creak of the saddle, every snap of a twig, sounded like Marsh’s men closing in. My heart hammered against my ribs, a constant drumbeat of fear and resolve.
Hours later, the sun was beginning to dip below the western peaks when a distant sound echoed through the valleys. The unmistakable crack of rifle fire. My blood ran cold.
“Elias,” I whispered, a desperate plea.
Croft gasped, his face paling further. “They found him.”
We couldn’t turn back. We had to trust Elias, trust the plan. He was drawing them off, taking the brunt of Marsh’s fury.
Meanwhile, Elias, riding through a narrow canyon, had seen them. Marsh’s foreman, a burly man named Jeb, and four armed ranch hands, blocked his path. Their rifles were already raised.
“Hold it right there, Thorne!” Jeb bellowed, his voice echoing off the canyon walls. “We know what you’re carrying. Hand it over!”
Elias reined in his horse, raising his hands slowly, a calm he didn’t feel settling over him. He met Jeb’s gaze, his own eyes unyielding.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elias replied, his voice steady.
“Don’t play coy, Thorne!” another ranch hand snarled, cocking his rifle. “Marsh knows you’ve got his ledger. The one that old fool Finch has been hoarding.”
Jeb stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Elias’s saddlebag where the decoy was hidden. “The baron wants his property back. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your choice.”
A tense standoff ensued, the wind whistling through the canyon. Elias knew he couldn’t simply hand over the decoy; he needed to make it look like a struggle, a desperate attempt to protect valuable evidence. He needed to sell the lie.
“You won’t get anything from me,” Elias declared, his voice ringing with defiance.
Jeb scoffed. “We’ll see about that.” He raised his rifle, aiming directly at Elias’s chest. The metallic click of the hammer being pulled back was chillingly clear.
“This is your last chance, Thorne!” Jeb shouted, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Drop the satchel!”
Elias looked at the canyon floor, then back at Jeb. He saw the cold determination in the foreman’s eyes. This wasn’t a bluff. He was ready to kill. The petty cruelty of Marsh’s men: they didn’t just want the evidence; they wanted to exert power, to humiliate.
With a sudden, desperate surge, Elias threw the decoy satchel with all his might. It sailed through the air, landing with a muffled thud in a nearby ravine, tumbling down out of sight.
“It’s gone!” Elias yelled, acting out a desperate attempt to destroy the “evidence.” “You’ll never get it!”
Jeb cursed, his focus instantly shifting from Elias to the ravine. The ranch hands scrambled, rushing to recover what they believed was Marsh’s damning ledger.
In that instant of distraction, Elias spurred his horse, kicking it hard. The animal, startled, bolted, galloping deeper into the canyon. A rifle cracked, and Elias felt a searing pain in his left shoulder as a bullet grazed him. He gritted his teeth, clinging to the saddle, determined to escape. He wouldn’t fail Abigail.
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