The fort changed after dark.
During daylight, Fort Laramie had seemed noisy enough to swallow fear.
Wagons rolled through the yard.
Blacksmith hammers rang against iron.
Soldiers shouted.
Children ran between buildings.
Teamsters argued about freight.
After sunset, the sounds thinned.
Lanterns glowed beside doors.
Bootsteps became distinct.
Voices carried farther.
Every shadow seemed to have a reason for existing.
Martha pulled Jeb’s old shawl around her shoulders and crossed the yard.
She moved slowly.
Doctor Whitcomb had told her to remain in bed.
Her back agreed with him.
Her temper did not.
Boon’s wagon stood near the quartermaster warehouse.
Two freight horses had been moved to the stable.
The wagon itself was unattended.
Too unattended.
Martha paused.
Tully wanted something inside.
Surely he would be watching.
She scanned the nearby buildings.
No movement.
Martha climbed into the wagon.
Her belly made the maneuver awkward.
She located the coffee crate.
“False bottom,” she whispered.
The crate was heavy.
She shifted it.
Nothing.
She ran her fingers beneath the wooden base.
A thin board moved.
Martha pried it upward.
Inside lay an oilskin packet.
Her pulse jumped.
She pulled it out.
Ledger.
Several folded letters.
And a small metal key.
Martha opened the book.
Columns of numbers.
Dates.
Freight weights.
Names.
At first, none of it meant anything.
Then she saw repeated entries.
ARMY MEDICAL STORES.
Listed weight: 600 pounds.
Received: 420.
GRAIN.
Listed: 2,000.
Received: 1,460.
PAYROLL ESCORT EXPENSE.
Duplicate entries.
The same signatures.
W. Tully.
Martha’s mouth went dry.
A voice behind her said, “Looking for something?”
She spun.
A man stood outside the wagon.
Not Tully.
One of his riders.
The younger one.
Martha pushed the ledger beneath her shawl.
“I lost my Bible.”
“Inside Mercer’s wagon?”
“I traveled with him.”
The man stepped closer.
“Mr. Tully asked that nobody disturb the cargo.”
“I didn’t realize he owned it.”
His smile faded.
“He owns more around here than people think.”
“I’m beginning to notice.”
The man reached for the wagon.
Martha raised her voice.
“Sergeant Dwyer!”
The rider froze.
Martha smiled.
“Interesting.”
“You bluff badly.”
“Do I?”
A lantern appeared behind him.
Dwyer approached.
“You bothering Mrs. Reed, Pike?”
The younger man stepped away.
“No, Sergeant.”
“Then become less available.”
Pike left.
Martha exhaled.
Dwyer climbed halfway into the wagon.
“You really called my name without knowing I was there?”
“Yes.”
“That’s either brave or foolish.”
“I have recently met someone who specializes in both.”
Dwyer looked toward the bundle beneath her shawl.
“You found it.”
Martha handed him the ledger.
Boon had said to wait until morning.
But circumstances had changed.
Dwyer opened it.
His expression hardened.
“Where’d Mercer get this?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“I know where.”
Martha waited.
Dwyer sighed.
“Former quartermaster clerk named Henry Sutter. Disappeared six months ago.”
“Dead?”
“Probably.”
“And the ledger?”
“Copies.”
“Of what?”
“Original shipping books. Sutter started noticing shortages.”
Dwyer turned several pages.
“This is enough to force an investigation.”
“Enough to clear Boon?”
“Not by itself.”
Martha’s hope fell.
“The murder charge is separate.”
“But connected.”
“We know that. Knowing and proving are different animals.”
Martha looked toward the guardhouse.
“Can I see him?”
Dwyer considered.
“Five minutes.”
Boon sat inside a holding room rather than a cell.
No shackles.
No ropes.
That told Martha Dwyer had more authority—and more trust in him—than Tully wanted.
Boon stood when she entered.
“You should be in bed.”
“That seems to be everyone’s favorite thing to say.”
“You found the ledger.”
“Dwyer has it.”
Boon’s jaw tightened.
“I told you morning.”
“One of Tully’s men came looking.”
That changed his expression.
“Pike?”
“Yes.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
Boon exhaled.
“Good.”
Martha folded her arms.
“You are not allowed to sound relieved while you’re locked in a room.”
“I can sound however I want.”
“Who is Henry Sutter?”
Boon leaned against the wall.
“Man who sent me the ledger.”
“Alive?”
“Last time I saw him.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Martha stared.
“You saw him?”
Boon nodded.
“He found me in the mountains.”
“Why you?”
“Because he knew I hated Tully.”
“Strong qualification.”
“He also knew I’d come back if I had proof.”
“Where is Sutter now?”
“I don’t know.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“It isn’t.”
Boon looked toward the door.
“Tully knows Sutter copied those books. If Sutter is alive, he’s hiding.”
“And if he isn’t?”
Boon said nothing.
Martha sat.
“Tell me about Amos Bell.”
His gaze hardened.
“You should rest.”
“I will after you stop treating me like something breakable.”
“Martha—”
“I buried my husband alone.”
Boon fell silent.
“I drove a wagon alone while pregnant. I survived after you found me because you helped, not because you commanded me. There is a difference.”
Boon lowered his eyes.
“You’re right.”
“Good. Now tell me.”
He sat across from her.
“Amos was a decent man. Wife. Two sons. He found shortages and confronted Tully. I walked into the warehouse because Amos had sent word he wanted to talk.”
“Tully was already there?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I heard arguing. Then a gunshot.”
Boon rubbed his palms together.
“When I entered, Amos was on the floor. Tully stood over him.”
“And Tully gave you the gun.”
“He shoved it into my hand and told me Amos had tried to kill him.”
“Why take it?”
“Because I was stupid.”
“You weren’t expecting a trap.”
Boon looked at her.
“You’re kinder than I am.”
“What happened next?”
“Amos woke enough to grab my coat. I knelt. He thought I’d shot him.”
Boon’s voice dropped.
“He fought me. The revolver fired again.”
“Was that second shot the one that killed him?”
“Yes.”
Martha understood the problem.
Boon had technically fired the fatal bullet.
Even accidentally, it gave Tully the perfect story.
“Did Amos say anything?”
“Two words.”
“What?”
“Black ledger.”
Martha frowned.
“This ledger?”
“No. Original one. Tully kept two sets of books.”
“And you never found it.”
“No.”
Dwyer entered.
“Time.”
Martha stood reluctantly.
Boon looked toward her.
“Stay near the infirmary tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because Tully knows I have something.”
“Dwyer has it now.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
Dwyer nodded.
“I’ll put a man near the doctor’s building.”
Martha hated the necessity.
Before leaving, she looked back.
“Boon?”
“Yes?”
“You came here knowing you might hang.”
His face went still.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“For the same reason you kept driving after burying Jeb.”
Martha waited.
Boon looked toward her belly.
“Some things are worth being afraid for.”
That answer followed her all the way to the infirmary.
She had barely reached her room when Doctor Whitcomb appeared.
“Where have you been?”
“Walking.”
“In your condition?”
“My condition is pregnant, Doctor, not dead.”
“I have met dead patients who followed instructions better.”
Martha smiled.
Whitcomb pointed toward the bed.
“Lie down.”
This time she obeyed.
Near midnight, she woke to smoke.
Not much.
A faint smell.
Then shouting.
Martha sat up.
Outside, bells rang.
“Fire!”
Boots pounded past the infirmary.
Martha reached the window.
Flames climbed the side of the quartermaster warehouse.
Men ran with buckets.
Soldiers shouted commands.
Then Martha understood.
The ledger.
Tully knew Dwyer had it.
Or suspected.
The fire was not accidental.
Doctor Whitcomb entered.
“Stay here.”
“I know.”
He looked surprised.
“Finally.”
Then gunfire cracked across the fort.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Martha flinched.
People screamed outside.
Another shot.
Then the infirmary door burst open.
Pike stepped inside.
The young rider from Tully’s roadblock.
His face was no longer friendly.
He held a revolver.
“Mrs. Reed.”
Martha backed toward the wall.
“What do you want?”
“The packet you took.”
“I gave it away.”
“To who?”
She said nothing.
Pike raised the gun.
“I won’t ask again.”
From the hallway came a heavy thud.
Pike turned.
Too late.
Boon slammed into him.
Both men crashed against the doorframe.
The revolver fired into the ceiling.
Martha screamed.
Boon drove Pike backward.
The two men fought through the hallway.
Martha saw blood on Boon’s shoulder.
“Boon!”
“I’m fine!”
Pike reached for the fallen gun.
Boon kicked it away.
Dwyer appeared with two soldiers.
“Enough!”
Pike froze.
Dwyer aimed his rifle.
“Hands.”
Pike slowly raised them.
Martha stared at Boon.
“You escaped.”
Boon looked offended.
“Released.”
Dwyer snorted.
“Temporarily.”
Smoke rolled through the open door.
“What happened?” Martha asked.
“Tully happened,” Boon said.
Dwyer nodded toward Pike.
“And his friends.”
A soldier ran up.
“Sergeant! We found another man behind the warehouse.”
“Tully?”
“No. Older fellow. Badly hurt.”
Boon turned.
“Who?”
“Calls himself Sutter.”
Everything stopped.
Henry Sutter.
Alive.
Dwyer moved first.
“Bring him to Whitcomb.”
The soldier hesitated.
“He says he won’t talk unless Mercer is there.”
Boon looked toward Martha.
She understood immediately.
The one living man who might clear Boon had just appeared during a fire started to destroy evidence.
And somewhere inside Fort Laramie, Wade Tully knew it too.
Outside, flames rose higher.
Inside Martha’s belly, the baby shifted hard.
Then pain tightened across her back.
She closed her eyes.
Not now.
Please.
Not now.
But when another contraction came less than five minutes later, Martha knew exactly what it meant.
This time the pain was not stopping.
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