Chapter 45 - The Converging Shadows
Splinters of green wood and torn leaves sprayed across my neck as Thomas shoved me down into the muddy recess of the vault.
"Get down! Keep your head below the granite shelf!" Thomas hissed, his hand reaching instantly beneath his duck canvas coat to draw a long-barreled Colt single-action revolver that looked as old and merciless as the land itself.
Another crack echoed from the tree line fifty yards to the north, followed by the metallic *ping* of a bullet striking the iron rim of the open vault door. Through the sheeting rain, two sets of high-intensity halogen spotlights flickered into life near the boundary fence where the irrigation ditch intersected the timber reserve.
"It’s not the sheriff," Daniel said, peering through the three-inch gap between the heavy door and the stone frame. "Those are commercial trucks. The same ones that were parked outside the brokerage on Main Street last Thursday."
"Julian didn't wait for the court hearing," I said, my teeth clenched so tight my jaw ached. The shock that had held me for the last hour had vanished, replaced by a cold, white fury that burned away every vestige of fatigue. "He knows the eastern wall came down. He knows we found the door."
"He doesn't want the land anymore," Thomas said, cocking the hammer of the heavy revolver with a sharp, dual-stage click. "He knows if these patents reach the federal district judge in Helena, his grandfather’s records will be audited back to nineteen-twenty. The whole family goes to the penitentiary for wire fraud, forgery, and grand larceny. He’s here to burn the box, Carmen. And everyone who has seen what’s inside it."
A voice boomed through a portable megaphone from behind the glare of the spotlights. The voice was thin, high-strung, and reeking of panic. It was Julian’s younger brother, Bradley—the one who managed the family’s holding company.
"Carmen! Daniel!" the megaphone squawked, the wind distorting the syllables into grotesque, metallic barks. "We know you’re down there! The property has been condemned by the county health inspector due to structural instability from the slide! You are in an active hazard zone! Step away from the excavation and bring the metal containers to the fence line! The deputies are five minutes behind us!"
"He’s lying," Daniel said, his knuckles white against the oak box. "If the deputies were coming, they’d have their sirens running up the valley road. He’s alone with his private security crew."
"Thomas," I said, reaching down into my deep coat pocket and pulling out the spare heavy battery for the high-intensity floodlight we used for night harvesting. "How many rounds do you have in that cylinder?"
"Five," Thomas said without turning his head. "One empty chamber under the hammer so I don't shoot my own kneecap off when I trip over a hemlock root."
"Daniel," I ordered, my voice low and steady. "Take the oilcloth packet from the back shelf. The long one."
May you like
Daniel reached into the shadows of the redwood chamber and dragged the heavy, wax-coated bundle out into the dim light. As the oilcloth fell away, the dark walnut stock and blued steel receiver of Arthur’s old Winchester Model 1894 lever-action carbine emerged, coated in a thick, protective layer of amber cosmoline. Beside it, tied with a strip of rawhide, were two boxes of thirty-thirty cartridges, their cardboard boxes faded but completely dry.
"Your father didn't just leave papers in this hole, Daniel," I said, wiping the grease from the receiver with the hem of my duster. "He knew what kind of men lived on Main Street."
