“I’ll Pay You Back When I Grow Up,” Girl Told Mountain Man — 15 Years Later, He Remembered
Chapter 12
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"A crew," Gideon said, his voice grim. "Four. Maybe five. They'll come up the main trail on horseback, but they'll dismount at the tree line. They'll approach on foot, expecting a corpse.""When?""Soon. The heavy snow will block the pass by the end of the week. If they want this land secured before the spring thaw, they have to move now."The answer came two days later.It was mid-morning. The sky was the color of bruised iron, heavy with impending snow. Clara was at the stove, boiling coffee. Gideon was sitting in his chair, carefully sharpening a hunting knife with a whetstone using his left hand. The rhythmic shh-shh-shh of the steel against the stone was the only sound in the cabin.Suddenly, a raven outside the window let out a harsh, frantic croak and took flight, its wings snapping violently against the cold air.Gideon's hand stopped. He didn't move. He didn't breathe. He just listened.The silence of the mountain was absolute, but to a man who had lived in it for 20 years, the silence had textures. He listened to the absence of the wind. He listened to the lack of squirrel chatter.Then, he heard it.It was faint: the subtle, unnatural crunch of a boot breaking through the frozen crust of the snow. It wasn't an animal. Animals moved with purpose, distributing their weight. This was the heavy, dragging step of a man trying to be quiet and failing.Gideon slowly set the whetstone and the knife down on the table. He looked at Clara. She had already stopped pouring the coffee. She set the pot down soundlessly on the iron stove. She looked at him, her dark eyes wide, but entirely composed."They're here," Gideon whispered.He moved to stand up, reaching for his revolver on the table, but a sharp, blinding pain shot through his shoulder, forcing a hiss through his teeth. His legs felt heavy, the lingering weakness of the fever betraying him.Clara crossed the room in three rapid, silent strides. She put her hand flat on his uninjured shoulder and pushed him back down into the chair with surprising force."Sit down," she breathed, her voice commanding. "You can't even hold the rifle steady. You'll just get us both killed."Before he could argue, Clara turned away. She walked to the wall and picked up the Winchester. She checked the chamber with a smooth, practiced flick of her wrist, verifying the brass casing in the breech. She picked up the heavy canvas bandolier and slung it diagonally across her chest, the cartridges clinking softly against the fabric of her blouse.She walked to the heavy oak door. She didn't stand in front of it; she pressed her back against the thick log wall right beside the frame, keeping out of the direct line of fire.