Her injured shoulder had been cleaned and wrapped.
Her boots were still on.
Her revolver lay on a chair near the bed.
And the satchel was gone.
Clara sat upright.
Pain nearly dropped her back onto the mattress.
"Easy."
Isaiah Cole sat beside a small stove.
Clara reached for the revolver.
He did not stop her.
"Where is my bag?"
"On the table."
It was.
Still buckled.
Clara crossed the room and seized it.
The ledger remained inside.
"You opened it."
"No."
"You knew what was inside."
Isaiah looked toward the window.
"I knew what it felt like."
Clara stared at him.
"That's a strange answer."
"It's the only one you're getting until I know how you found it."
"You don't ask questions here."
Isaiah almost smiled.
"You're in my cabin."
"You murdered Thomas."
The smile disappeared.
"No."
"Someone saw you."
"Someone was paid to say he saw me."
"Thomas had your name written in his appointment book."
"I know."
"He was meeting you."
"I know."
Clara raised the revolver.
"Stop saying that."
Isaiah slowly stood.
He was perhaps thirty-five.
Older than the wanted poster.
A few strands of gray touched his beard.
The scar on his face was more noticeable up close.
"Your husband asked me to meet him," he said.
"To rob him?"
"To help him."
"With what?"
Isaiah looked at the satchel.
"That."
Silence filled the cabin.
Clara lowered the gun slightly.
"You've seen the ledger."
"Not that copy."
"What does that mean?"
Isaiah walked to a shelf.
He removed an old wooden box.
From inside, he took a torn piece of paper.
He placed it on the table.
Clara recognized Thomas's handwriting immediately.
I.C. WILL TAKE THE SOUTH LIST.
MEET AT DRY CREEK AFTER DARK.
IF CARROW KNOWS, BURN EVERYTHING.
Clara's fingers went numb.
She read it again.
I.C.
Isaiah Cole.
"Where did you get this?"
"From Thomas."
"You expect me to believe he trusted you?"
"He trusted me enough to die beside me."
Clara looked up sharply.
Isaiah's jaw tightened.
"I was there the night your husband was killed."
She raised the revolver again.