Chapter 2 - The Translation of Betrayal
The trail to town was choked with wind-drifted snow that tested every tendon in the horses’ legs. They rode single file through the timbered draw, Gideon leading the way through the grey twilight while Wya watched their back trail with the unblinking focus of a hawk.
By the time they reached the outskirts of Pine Creek, the settlement looked like a collection of charcoal teeth biting into the white drifts. The wind had died down, leaving behind a bitter, dry cold that froze the moisture inside their nostrils with every breath.
They tied their mounts behind the livery stable, away from the main street lamps where Voss’s men were known to congregate. The town was quiet, most citizens hunkered down against the freeze behind heavy oak doors and grease-paper windows. Only the saloon and the warm glow of the grain office showed signs of life.
Gideon pulled his hat low, his breath pluming white in the dark as they slipped down the narrow alley between the dry goods store and the blacksmith’s shop.
“Isaac stays in the back room of the grain office after six,” Gideon whispered, his mouth close to Wya’s ear. “He handles the ledger balancing for Voss’s timber shipments. There’s a back window that looks out onto the creek bed. It doesn't latch right.”
Wya didn’t answer with words. She simply nodded once, stepping into the deep shadows near the back stoop.
Gideon drew his Colt from its holster, keeping the hammer uncocked against his thigh, and stepped up to the door. He didn't knock. He turned the iron knob, threw his shoulder against the warped pine planks, and shoved the door inward with a sharp crack.
The small office smelled of stale tobacco, ink, and cheap kerosene.
Isaac Puit sat at a high wooden desk, a green eyeshade pushed up onto his forehead, holding a silver pocket watch in one hand. As the door banged open, he reached instinctively for a small derringer tucked beneath the ledger.
He didn't get his hand around the grip.
Wya moved past Gideon like a sliding shadow. Before Isaac could clear the desk, her hand clamped around his wrist with the force of a vise, pinning his arm against the splintered oak wood. The silver pocket watch slipped from his fingers, hitting the floorboards with a dull, heavy thud.
Isaac choked out a gasp, his eyes widening in terror as he looked up into the amber gaze of the woman he had sold out to Harlon Voss.
“Wya,” he whispered, his voice cracking like dry kindling. “I had no choice. Voss said if I didn't—”
“You had a choice when you took my father’s mark,” Wya said softly. Her grip on his wrist tightened until Isaac’s knuckles turned the color of lard. “And you had a choice when you told Voss which wagon road I would take through the pass.”
“I’m just a clerk!” Isaac whimpered, his gaze darting toward Gideon, who stood blocking the doorway with the Sharps rifle held level at waist height. “Gideon, tell her! I’m just doing what the land office requires!”
“You’re doing what keeps your pockets full of Voss’s silver,” Gideon said, his voice flat and devoid of pity. “Now, you’re going to tell us how many men are currently guarding the northern timber camp, and where Leah is being kept inside the compound.”
Isaac swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing violently. “I... I don't know the exact roster. Voss changed the guards on Monday. There’s a crew of four led by a man named Vance—he’s meaner than a cornered cat. And the girl... she’s not in the main bunkhouse.”
Wya’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”
“The root cellar beneath the foreman’s cabin,” Isaac breathed, trembling. “Voss keeps the ones who cause trouble down there until he can ship them south to the rail camps. She tried to burn the harness shed two weeks ago. Vance put irons on her wrists.”
The air in the small office seemed to drop another twenty degrees. Gideon saw the muscles in Wya’s jaw lock so hard the skin turned white.
“Get up,” Wya commanded, hauling Isaac to his feet by his collar with contemptuous ease.
“What are you going to do with me?” Isaac panicked, his feet barely touching the floor as she dragged him toward the back door.
“You are going to show us the way through the northern gate,” Wya said. “Because if we walk in there blind, Vance will kill my sister before we cross the threshold. And if you try to run, I won’t waste a bullet on you.”
Gideon stepped out into the alley first, scanning the snowy street for signs of Voss’s riders. The town was dead silent, save for the distant clatter of a beer mug inside the saloon down the block.
May you like
As they forced Isaac toward the horses, Gideon felt the cold realization settle into his bones: they had just crossed a line from which there was no legal or quiet return.
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