"Morning," Arthur said. He climbed into the carriage and shut the heavy door.
The carriage lurched forward. The four horses pulled them away from the ranch, the wooden wheels grinding against the frozen dirt. Inside the cabin, Arthur sat in the center of the leather bench. He did not pull the curtains. He did not open his ledgers. He simply unbuttoned his heavy coat, reached into his holster, and pulled out his heavy cavalry revolver. He rested the weapon quietly on his lap.
For two hours, they rode through the winding mountain roads. The trail grew steeper. The tall pines crowded in on both sides, blocking out the morning sun. The air grew thinner and colder. The only sounds were the cracking of the whip, the snorting of the horses, and the relentless creak of the wooden carriage.
Arthur felt the road begin to tilt. They were approaching the high pass: O'Keeffe's Run.
It was a notorious stretch of trail. The road was narrow, hugging a sheer cliff face. On the left side, a jagged wall of rock reached up toward the sky. On the right, there was a 300-foot drop into a rocky ravine filled with freezing, rushing water. A heavy wagon pushed over that edge would shatter into kindling. A man inside would not survive.
The carriage began to slow down. Arthur's thumb rested on the hammer of his revolver. The coach ground to a halt, the wheels locked, and the horses stamped nervously, sensing the dangerous edge. Above him, Arthur heard the heavy boots of the driver stepping down from the box. Micah dropped to the dirt with a soft thud.
Footsteps crunched slowly along the side of the carriage. Micah was walking toward the passenger door. He was not rushing; he had all the time in the world. He stopped right outside Arthur's door. Arthur heard the sharp metallic click of a gun being cocked.
Suddenly, the carriage door swung open.
Micah Bell stood there, a cruel smirk twisting his scarred face. He had his pistol aimed directly into the dark cabin.
"End of the line, Mr. Miller," Micah sneered.
Arthur did not raise his hands. He did not beg. He looked calmly at the barrel of the gun, then looked up at Micah's face.
"You should look behind you," Arthur said softly.
Micah's smirk faltered. He heard the sound of sliding rocks.
"Drop it!" a voice boomed from the cliff wall.