## Part 2 FULL-The Man Beneath the Lantern.

“Who’s there?”

The voice was deep, wary, and close enough to be real.

Nora tried to answer.

Only air came out.

The lantern stopped moving.

For one terrible instant, the prairie became silent again. Nora imagined the wagon turning away, its driver deciding that whatever waited in the grass was none of his affair.

Elsie made a small, broken sound against her chest.

Nora dragged breath into her lungs.

“Please.”

The word barely crossed the darkness.

The lantern swung sharply.

A horse snorted. Harness chains rattled. Wheels creaked as the wagon halted in the ruts.

“Merciful God.”

Boots struck the ground.

The man came toward her fast, carrying the lantern low. Its light spread over the grass, over Nora’s blood-soaked dress, over the baby wrapped tight against her.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a black hat and a weather-darkened coat. A revolver hung at his hip. His beard was short, touched with gray around the chin, and his face had the lean, hard look of a man the Wyoming wind had been carving for years.

He stopped cold when he saw her.

Nora tightened her arm around Elsie.

“No,” she whispered.

The stranger crouched slowly, setting the lantern beside his boot.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s what he said.”

The man’s eyes moved to the wound under her ribs. Whatever he thought, he did not say it.

“Who shot you?”

“My husband.”

The answer changed something in his expression. Not surprise. Something quieter.

“Is he near?”

“Gone.”

“Which direction?”

“West.” Nora swallowed. “Toward Laramie.”

The stranger looked along the dark trail, then back at her.

“What’s your name?”

“Nora Mallory.”

“And the baby?”

“Elsie.”

“I’m Silas Creed.”

Nora stared at him through the swimming light.

The name meant nothing to her. The steadiness of his hands did.

He eased one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her shoulders.

Pain tore through her body before he even lifted.

Nora screamed.

Elsie screamed with her.

Silas froze.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t drop her.”

“I won’t.”

“Not me. Her.”

His jaw tightened.

“I won’t drop either of you.”

He lifted them from the grass.

Nora had always feared being carried. As a girl, she had watched slimmer women swept laughing into men’s arms at weddings and dances. She had learned early not to ask whether anyone could lift her. Not to put a man in the position of refusing.

Silas Creed did not grunt.

He did not joke.

He did not look embarrassed by the weight of her.

He simply carried her toward the wagon as though she were wounded and that was the only fact that mattered.

The wagon bed held sacks of oats, a coil of rope, two wooden crates, and a folded buffalo robe. Silas pushed the supplies aside with one arm and laid Nora down on the robe.

Elsie was still pressed between them.

“I need to see the wound.”

“No.”

“Mrs. Mallory—”

“No one takes my baby.”

“I’m not taking her.”

Nora’s fingers had gone numb around the blanket. “He tried.”

Silas glanced once toward the black horizon.

Then he removed his coat and folded it beside Nora.

“You lay her there. Close enough to touch. I’ll keep my hands where you can see them.”

Nora did not trust him.

But blood was pooling beneath her, and each breath came thinner than the last.

She laid Elsie on the coat.

The baby’s face looked gray in the lantern light.

Silas pulled a knife from his belt.

Nora jerked.

He immediately laid it on the wagon boards.

“For the dress,” he said.

After a moment, Nora nodded.

He cut through the fabric under her ribs, then through the corset beneath it. His face hardened at what he found.

“Bullet went through.”

“Is that good?”

“It’s better than having it lodged inside.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

His eyes met hers.

“No,” he said. “It isn’t good.”

He fetched a water jug from beneath the wagon seat, soaked a cloth, and pressed it to the wound.

White pain swallowed the world.

Nora clawed at the boards.

“Hold still.”

“I am holding still.”

“You’re trying to kick me.”

“I may try harder.”

Something almost like approval flickered in his eyes.

“Good,” he said. “You’ve got fight left.”

He washed the wound, packed it with clean cloth, and bound her middle as tightly as he dared. Then he brought Elsie back into Nora’s arms.

The baby rooted weakly against her.

Nora tried to loosen her dress to nurse, but her hands would not obey.

Silas looked away while he helped pull the torn fabric aside. Nora expected shame to rise in her.

It did not.

A woman bleeding into a stranger’s wagon had no strength left for modesty.

Elsie latched and drank.

Nora began to cry.

Not loudly.

The tears slipped silently into her hair.

Silas climbed onto the wagon seat and gathered the reins.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“My ranch.”

“How far?”

“Eight miles.”

“I won’t make eight miles.”

He looked back at her.

“Yes, you will.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No.”

“Then don’t lie to me.”

He turned forward again.

“All right,” he said. “You might die before we get there. But you’ll die moving toward help instead of lying where he left you.”

The wagon lurched into motion.

Nora closed her eyes.

The wheels found every stone in Wyoming.

Each jolt drove pain through her ribs. Silas tried to steer around the worst ruts, but darkness and prairie gave little mercy.

He spoke to her every few minutes.

“What town were you born in?”

“Independence.”

“What did your father do?”

“Kept a store.”

“What color is your baby’s hair?”

“You can see her hair.”

“I want you to tell me.”

“Pale.”

“What does she like?”

“Milk.”

“What else?”

“She laughs at spoons.”

“Spoons?”

“Silver ones. When they catch the light.”

“Keep talking.”

Nora understood then.

Silas was not making conversation.

He was measuring whether she had slipped away.

So she talked.

She told him Elsie kicked whenever church bells rang. She told him her father had died of fever two winters before. She told him Wade had promised California, orange groves, and a house with windows facing west.

She did not tell him about the bank money.

Not yet.

The prairie rolled beneath them, endless and unseen. Once, coyotes cried far to the south. The horses quickened.

Nora held Elsie tighter.

“What kind of ranch?” she asked.

“Cattle.”

“Your wife there?”

Silas was quiet too long.

“No.”

“Sister?”

“No.”

“Any woman?”

“No.”

Nora opened her eyes.

“Then who is going to help me?”

“My housekeeper.”

“You said no woman.”

“You asked if I had a woman.”

Despite the blood, the pain, and the certainty of death leaning over her shoulder, Nora almost smiled.

Silas heard it in her breathing.

“You laughing at me, Mrs. Mallory?”

“No.”

“You are.”

“It hurts too much.”

“Then save it.”

The lantern swung from the side of the wagon, painting the wheels gold as they turned.

At last, a cluster of dark shapes appeared ahead.

Fence posts.

A barn.

A low ranch house with lamplight in one window.

Silas shouted before they reached the yard.

“Mara!”

The front door flew open.

A small woman in a white nightdress and heavy shawl stepped onto the porch, raising a rifle.

“Who’s after you?” she called.

“No one yet.”

“Then why are you bellowing like Judgment Day?”

“I’ve got a woman shot through the side. Baby with her.”

The rifle lowered.

Mara moved faster than Nora would have believed possible for someone with silver hair and a bent back. She hurried to the wagon, took one look, and began issuing orders.

“Kitchen table. Boil water. Bring whiskey. Wake Abel.”

“Abel’s at the north camp.”

“Then wake him louder.”

Silas climbed down and carried Nora inside.

The ranch house smelled of coffee, smoke, tallow, and cedar. A fire burned low in the kitchen stove. Dried herbs hung from beams overhead.

Mara cleared the table with one sweep of her arm, sending a bowl and two tin cups crashing to the floor.

“Put her down.”

Silas obeyed.

“Baby?”

“Still breathing.”

“Thank the Lord for small favors and curse Him for the rest.”

Mara’s hands moved over Nora’s wound.

“What shot you?”

“Pistol.”

“How long ago?”

Nora tried to answer.

“Six hours,” Silas said.

“Maybe more.”

Mara looked at him. “You find her on the south trail?”

“Yes.”

Mara’s mouth went flat.

“What?” Nora whispered.

“Nothing.”

“That was not a nothing face.”

Mara cut away more of the dress.

“You can interrogate me after you decide to live.”

“I decided already.”

“Then stop bleeding on my table.”

Silas brought water and whiskey. Mara poured the whiskey over her hands, then over the wound.

Nora screamed so hard Elsie began wailing from the basket where Silas had placed her.

“Hold her,” Mara ordered.

Silas braced Nora’s shoulders.

“Don’t touch me!”

“You’ll tear the wound wider.”

“Let go.”

“Not until she’s done.”

Mara peered closely at the bullet’s path.

“Missed the liver,” she said. “May have grazed the rib. Exit wound’s larger, but clean enough.”

“Will she live?” Silas asked.

“I didn’t say that.”

Nora stared into Silas’s face as Mara pushed a needle through her skin.

He let Nora crush his hand.

He did not pull away.

When the stitching ended, darkness washed over her.

She awoke to milk.

Not the smell.

The pain.

Her breasts were hard and aching, her dress damp. She was lying in a bed beneath a patchwork quilt. Dawn glowed pale around the edges of a shuttered window.

Elsie slept in a wooden cradle beside her.

Nora tried to sit.

Pain threw her back.

The bedroom door opened.

Mara entered carrying a bowl.

“You’ve been asleep two days.”

Nora’s heart stopped.

“Elsie?”

“Fed.”

“How?”

“Goat milk, boiled water, clean cloth. She hated all of us but swallowed enough.”

Nora reached for the cradle.

Mara lifted Elsie and placed her beside Nora.

The baby woke at once, rooting and fussing.

Nora gathered her close.

“Easy,” Mara said. “You’ve got fever.”

“I have milk.”

“You also have a hole through you.”

Elsie latched greedily.

Nora closed her eyes.

Alive.

Both of them.

For the moment, that was enough.

Mara sat in a chair beside the bed and watched them.

After a while she said, “Your husband did this.”

“Yes.”

“Men usually use fists when they still mean to keep a wife.”

Nora looked at her.

Mara’s face held no humor.

“He meant to kill you,” the older woman continued. “That makes him either frightened or greedy.”

“Both.”

“What frightened him?”

Nora stroked Elsie’s hair.

“I found money.”

“How much?”

“Eighteen thousand dollars.”

Mara went still.

“Banknotes?”

“Yes.”

“From Cheyenne?”

Nora’s gaze snapped up.

“How did you know?”

Before Mara could answer, hoofbeats thundered in the yard.

Men.

Several.

Mara rose, crossed to the window, and opened one shutter a finger’s width.

Her face changed.

“Who is it?” Nora asked.

Mara closed the shutter.

“Trouble wearing badges.”

Voices carried from outside.

A man shouted, “Silas Creed! Open up under territorial authority!”

Nora’s blood turned cold.

Mara lifted Elsie from her.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping her quiet.”

“No.”

“Listen to me.”

“I said no.”

“And I heard you. But if the men outside learn you’re here, neither of us gets a vote.”

Nora forced herself upright.

The room tipped.

Mara caught her before she fell.

“Wade,” Nora whispered. “He told them something.”

“Likely.”

“What?”

“That depends on how clever he is.”

A crash sounded from the front of the house.

The door opening.

Boots entered.

Silas’s voice came low and even.

“You’ve got no cause to search my property.”

Another man answered.

“I’ve got a federal warrant and three armed deputies. That’s all the cause I need.”

Mara pulled back the rug beside the bed.

Beneath it was a square trapdoor.

Nora stared.

“What is that?”

“Proof Mr. Creed dislikes visitors.”

Mara opened it.

A narrow stair descended into darkness.

“I can’t climb.”

“You can if the alternative is hanging.”

“Hanging?”

The word struck harder than the bullet.

Mara took Nora’s face between both hands.

“Men robbed the First Territorial Bank five days ago. A guard was killed. They’re hunting Wade Mallory and his wife.”

Nora stopped breathing.

“No.”

“The posters came yesterday.”

“I didn’t know.”

“That may not matter to the law.”

“I didn’t rob anyone.”

“Did you travel with the man who did?”

“Yes, but—”

“Were you seen with him?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know he had the money?”

“Not until—”

“Then pray the marshal is patient enough to hear the ending.”

Heavy footsteps crossed the hallway.

Mara pushed Elsie into Nora’s arms.

“Down.”

Nora lowered one foot onto the stair.

Pain ripped through her.

She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

Mara eased her down, step by step, then pulled the trapdoor closed overhead.

Darkness swallowed them.

The cellar smelled of earth, apples, and old smoke. Mara lit a stub of candle.

Shelves lined the walls. Jars of beans and preserves glowed in the weak light.

Nora leaned against a support beam, shaking.

Above them, boots entered the bedroom.

A man said, “Bed’s warm.”

Silas answered, “I was sleeping.”

“In a woman’s bed?”

“It was my mother’s.”

Nora looked at Mara.

Mara’s expression did not change.

The marshal moved across the floor.

“Your cook claims no one’s here.”

“She’s my housekeeper.”

“She’s a liar.”

“She’s many things.”

Silence.

Then came the sound of furniture being dragged.

Nora clutched Elsie against her chest.

The baby stirred.

Mara pressed one finger to her own lips.

Above them, the marshal said, “You rode south two nights ago.”

“I ride south often.”

“A freighter saw your wagon.”

“Then you don’t need me to confirm it.”

“You pick up anything on the trail?”

“No.”

Nora stared upward.

Silas had lied without hesitation.

The marshal’s boots stopped directly over the trapdoor.

“Funny thing,” he said. “We found blood in the grass four miles from here.”

Nora’s pulse pounded against her wound.

“Coyote blood,” Silas said.

“Coyote wearing brown wool?”

Mara reached beneath one shelf and drew out a pistol.

Nora’s eyes widened.

The older woman cocked the hammer slowly, muffling the sound beneath her shawl.

Above them, the marshal said, “I know Nora Mallory came this way.”

Elsie whimpered.

Nora held her breath.

Mara placed a hand over the baby’s back.

Silas moved across the room.

“You’re frightening the cattle with all this shouting.”

“I’ll frighten more than cattle if you hide a murderer.”

Nora squeezed her eyes shut.

Murderer.

That was the story Wade had given them.

A floorboard creaked.

Then a deputy called from outside.

“Marshal!”

The boots moved away.

“What is it?”

“We found tracks behind the barn. Fresh.”

The marshal cursed.

The bedroom emptied.

A moment later, the front door slammed.

Mara waited.

So did Nora.

Hoofbeats circled the house, then faded east.

The trapdoor opened.

Silas looked down.

His face was hard.

“Come up.”

Mara climbed first, then helped lift Nora into the room. Silas took Elsie and set her gently in the cradle.

Nora swayed beside the bed.

“You lied for me.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know someone shot you and left you with an infant.”

“They say I killed a guard.”

“They say many things.”

“What did Wade tell them?”

Silas glanced at Mara.

The older woman sighed and reached into her apron pocket.

She handed Nora a folded paper.

It was a wanted notice.

The crude printed image barely resembled her, but the name beneath it was clear.

NORA MALLORY.

WANTED FOR ARMED ROBBERY AND MURDER.

REWARD: ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS.

Nora read it twice.

The letters did not change.

Below her name was Wade’s.

His reward was five hundred.

“They think I led it,” she whispered.

Silas said nothing.

Nora looked closer.

The notice described the robbers escaping in a wagon. Witnesses claimed the woman carried the pistol that killed bank guard Thomas Bell.

“I never went inside that bank.”

“The clerk identified you,” Mara said.

“I have never seen him.”

“Perhaps he saw a woman in a brown dress and fear filled in the rest.”

Nora’s knees weakened.

Silas caught her elbow.

She pulled away.

“Wade planned this.”

“He planned something,” Silas said.

“The brown dress.” Nora looked down at its ruined remains. “He bought it for me in Cheyenne. Said he wanted me to look respectable.”

Mara’s eyes narrowed.

“You were seen in town wearing it?”

“Yes.”

“And he left you dead in it.”

Nora understood.

Wade had not merely tried to silence her.

He had built a corpse that could carry his crimes.

If Nora’s body were found, the law would believe one robber had murdered the other and fled. Wade would become the surviving accomplice, perhaps even the frightened husband manipulated by a murderous wife.

But the reward amounts bothered her.

“Why is mine higher?”

Silas took the notice.

“Because the dead guard’s wife told the marshal she heard a woman giving orders.”

“Wade was alone when he left our room that night.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“You never saw anyone with him?”

“No.”

Silas unfolded another paper from his shirt pocket.

This one was smaller, handwritten.

“I found this beside the blood on the trail.”

Nora recognized the paper before she read the words.

It had been torn from the back of her father’s old account book. She used the pages for shopping lists.

The handwriting was hers.

Meet me behind the bank after closing. Bring the keys. Tell no one.

Nora stared.

“I didn’t write this.”

“It’s your hand,” Silas said.

“It looks like mine.”

“Wade could copy it?”

“No.”

The room seemed to contract around her.

Mara leaned closer.

“Who else knew your handwriting?”

Nora thought of Missouri.

Her father’s store.

Letters home.

Christmas cards.

Order ledgers.

Then she remembered a passenger who had joined their journey outside Omaha.

A soft-spoken widow with copper-red hair and gray gloves, traveling west to join a brother in Cheyenne.

She had shared Nora’s wagon for twelve days.

She had held Elsie when Nora cooked.

She had praised Nora’s neat penmanship after borrowing her account book to write a letter.

Then she had vanished one rainy morning near Fort Laramie, leaving behind nothing but a broken comb.

Nora whispered, “Clara.”

Silas’s eyes sharpened.

“Who?”

“Clara Voss.”

Mara sat down slowly.

“Describe her.”

“Red hair. Green eyes. About thirty. Scar beneath her left ear.”

Mara and Silas looked at each other.

Nora saw recognition pass between them.

“What is it?”

Silas crossed to the bedroom door and shut it.

Mara pulled the curtains tight.

Neither spoke.

“What is it?” Nora demanded again.

Silas turned.

“There is no Clara Voss.”

“I traveled with her.”

“There was a Clara Voss,” he said. “She died seven years ago in a fire outside Rawlins.”

Nora shook her head.

“You’re mistaken.”

“I buried her.”

The room went silent.

Elsie made a soft sigh in the cradle.

Nora gripped the edge of the bed.

“Then who was in my wagon?”

Silas unfolded the wanted notice again. He held it near the lamp.

“Look at the bank clerk’s statement.”

Nora read the lines beneath the reward.

The woman was tall. Heavyset. Dark-haired. Approximately thirty years old.

That was Nora.

Then one last sentence.

Witness reports the female suspect addressed the male robber as Silas.

Nora raised her eyes.

Silas Creed stood across from her, his face unreadable.

Mara had already drawn the pistol.

This time, she was pointing it at him.

Silas did not move.

Nora’s wound throbbed beneath the bandages.

Outside, somewhere beyond the barn, a horse gave a warning snort.

Then another answered from the darkness.

Not one horse.

Many.

Silas looked toward the window.

“They came back too quickly.”

Mara’s pistol remained fixed on his chest.

“Who did you bury seven years ago?” Nora asked.

Silas looked at Nora.

Before he could answer, a woman’s voice floated from the yard.

Smooth.

Familiar.

“Come out, Nora.”

Nora’s blood went colder than the prairie night.

The voice belonged to the red-haired widow who had vanished near Fort Laramie.

Clara.

Elsie began to cry.

Outside, the woman laughed softly.

Then she called, “Bring my daughter with you.”