Chapter 5 - The Gathering Storm at Vance Ridge
The sound of horses on the frozen shale outside broke the silence of the cabin before the storm could fully hit. It wasn't the steady rhythm of travelers, but the coordinated, disciplined movement of a larger party spreading out to surround the homestead.
Arthur Vance moved with surprising speed for his age, blowing out the oil lamp on the table and gesturing toward the heavy oak shutters. “They’re early,” he whispered harshly. “Cooper doesn't waste time.”
Reed stood up, his hand dropping naturally to the grip of his revolver. He looked toward the small, multi-paned windows where the fading twilight of the Wyoming evening cast long, grey shadows across the snow.
“How many exits does this cabin have, Arthur?” Reed asked, his voice low, steady, and entirely devoid of panic.
“Front door and a root cellar exit out the back that leads into the gulch,” Vance replied, grabbing his shotgun and stuffing several boxes of shells into his coat pocket. “But they’ll have the gulch covered within two minutes.”
Nora didn't hesitate. She reached down, picked up the iron cylinder containing the original land patents, and slid it securely into the deep interior pocket of her wool coat. Then she picked up Vance’s spare hunting rifle from the corner, checking the breech with practiced efficiency.
“We aren't running,” Nora said, her voice carrying a quiet, unyielding resolve that made both men look at her with fresh respect. “If we run, Cooper tracks us across the open ridge before we make the timberline. We make them come to us, and we use the terrain.”
Reed looked at her—really looked at her—seeing not just the half-frozen, terrified woman he had pulled from the blizzard three weeks ago, but a partner who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him in the worst kind of crisis. A strange, fierce warmth surged through his chest, cutting through the chill of the darkening cabin.
“She’s right,” Reed said, pulling the heavy wooden shutters closed and latching them tight. “Arthur, you take the north window. Nora, cover the approach from the ridge path. I’ll hold the front.”
Outside, a heavy voice called out through the gathering wind, amplified by the natural acoustics of the stone cliff.
“Mr. Vance! We know you’re in there! Hand over the ledger and the Sweetwater schoolteacher, and nobody gets hurt!”
May you like
Reed didn't answer. He cocked his revolver, the metallic click echoing sharply in the confined space of the darkened room.
Nora settled her shoulder against the rough stone beside the narrow southern aperture, her breath misting slightly in the cold air, her finger resting steady on the trigger. The first chapter of their fight was over; the second was about to begin in the freezing dark of Vance Ridge.
