“I’ll Pay You Back When I Grow Up,” Girl Told Mountain Man — 15 Years Later, He Remembered
Chapter 11
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Clara rolled her eyes and turned back to the fire. "Next time you get shot, hire a French chef."The moment passed, slipping back into the comfortable, abrasive rhythm they had established. But beneath the surface, a mutual, unspoken understanding had cemented itself: they were both solitary creatures, forged in different kinds of fires, but forged from the same stubborn iron.By the third week, the snow began to fall in earnest. It started as a fine, powdery dusting, quickly thickening into heavy, wet flakes that blanketed the high ridge, burying the stumps and the rocks.Gideon was finally able to move around the cabin with relative ease, though his right arm remained strapped tight to his chest. He showed Clara how to pack the snow around the base of the cabin logs for extra insulation. He showed her how to clean the action of his Winchester rifle without taking it completely apart. He watched her handle the weapon, noting the competent, fearless way she checked the breech and chambered a round."You know how to shoot?" he asked one afternoon, watching her aim the unloaded rifle out the window at a distant pine cone."I lived in a boarding house in the bad end of St. Louis," Clara said, lowering the weapon. "A woman carrying a medical bag full of laudanum and silver instruments is a prime target for desperate men. I learned how to shoot a revolver at 20. I prefer the rifle.""Good," Gideon said softly, his eyes narrowing as he looked out the frost-rimed glass of the window. "Because the timber company isn't going to let this go. I killed two of their men. They wanted this land before; now they want blood to settle the ledger.""The assayer in town said they were waiting for you to bleed out," Clara said, leaning the rifle against the wall."I've been quiet for three weeks. No smoke from the chimney for the first few days, no movement. They likely think I'm rotting in here right now." Gideon walked over to a heavy wooden chest at the foot of his bed. He opened it with his left hand, digging through layers of old wool blankets until he pulled out a heavy canvas bandolier loaded with .44-40 cartridges. "But eventually," Gideon continued, tossing the bandolier onto the table—it landed with a heavy metallic clatter—"a foreman is going to send a crew up here to confirm the kill and claim the deed. And they won't send the law. They'll send hired guns. Men who don't care if there's a woman in the cabin."Clara looked at the brass casings gleaming in the dim light. She felt a cold knot of anticipation tighten in her stomach. She had fought disease, infection, and death in the sterile, quiet rooms of the city. This was a different kind of violence, but she did not feel afraid; she felt a strange, terrifying calm settle over her."How many men?" she asked.