Part 5
Chapter 5
"Six in the tube, one in the chamber," he answered, his eyes darting to her hands. "Why? What are you planning to do with that kettle?"
"You shoot the first one who crosses the threshold," she said evenly. "I’ll make sure the second one regrets the day his mother taught him to walk."
A heavy crash shattered the upper latch, splintering the aged cedar frame inward. A blast of blinding snow and sub-zero air rushed into the room, snuffing out the candle.
A tall, bearded man in a filthy buffalo coat kicked the door wide open. His rifle was raised, his eyes wild with feral hunger and frostbite.
Jed didn't hesitate; the Winchester roared, spitting a lance of yellow fire into the howling dark. The heavy slug caught the lead outlaw dead in the breastbone.
The man collapsed backward into the snowbank with a muffled gasp, dropping his weapon into the drift. Before Jed could work the lever, a second man lunged inside.
The second outlaw was broad-shouldered and quick, swinging a heavy iron revolver toward Jed's head. He never got the chance to pull the hammer back.
Martha stepped forward with the full, devastating force of her heavy frame behind her. She swung the iron poker like a woodsman felling an oak tree in winter.
The poker struck the man’s forearm with a sickening crunch, sending the revolver spinning across the floor. He howled in agony, clutching his shattered wrist against his chest.
Before he could retreat, Martha hurled the boiling kettle directly into his face. The outlaw shrieked as scalding water and blinding steam met freezing skin in the howling doorway.
He stumbled backward, clutching his blistering face, tumbling over the corpse of his brother. He rolled into the deep snow, screaming curses into the unforgiving gale.
A third figure remained outside, visible only as a shifting shadow in the storm. Seeing his companions broken, he fired two wild, panicked shots through the doorway.
The lead slugs splintered the doorframe, showering Martha's hair with pine shards. Jed racked the lever, stepped onto the threshold, and fired twice into the swirling white gloom.
A distant cry echoed down the ravine, followed by the sound of boots sliding frantically down the shale. Then, nothing remained but the deafening roar of the blizzard.
Jed stood in the doorway, the rifle smoking in his hands, snow plastering his beard. He stared into the darkness for a long minute before kicking the door shut.
He dropped the heavy replacement timber into the iron brackets, securing the cabin. The room fell into an eerie, heavy silence, broken only by their ragged breathing.
Martha stood over the dropped revolver, her chest heaving beneath her soaked wool bodice. Her heavy arms were trembling, but her posture remained straight, unyielding, and utterly unbreakable.
Jed slowly turned around, his eyes traveling from the bloodied poker in her hand to her flushed, resolute face. The perpetual sneer on his scarred lips had completely vanished.
"You took his arm off," Jed said softly, his voice stripped of every trace of mockery. "I never seen a woman move like that in all my days."
"I told you down at the creek, Mr. Boon," she breathed, wiping sweat and snow from her forehead. "A draft horse pulls its weight. Even against the devil."
For the first time since she stepped off the stagecoach, Jed’s face softened. A quiet, hesitant respect flickered across his rugged features, replacing years of bitter, defensive solitude.
"Let’s see what they died for," Jed said, walking over to her brass-bound trunk. He pulled his hunting knife and wedged the heavy blade beneath the false bottom.
With a sharp groan of protesting wood, the hidden panel cracked open. Packed tightly in greased flannel lay twelve heavy bars of unrefined territorial gold bullion.
Martha stared at the dull yellow metal, her lips parting in quiet astonishment. "That miserable Chicago thief used me to smuggle an entire fortune across the territory."
"They knew the law watched the trains and the stage lines for Silas's partners," Jed said, lifting one heavy bar. "Nobody searches a lonely woman answering a matrimonial ad."
"They thought I was too stupid to notice the weight," Martha muttered bitterly, looking at her hands. "They figured I was just fat and clumsy enough to carry it."
"You carried it up my mountain," Jed said, his voice dropping an octave, steady and grave. "And then you defended my cabin like you owned every spruce log in it."
He replaced the false board and pushed the trunk back against the wall. Then he walked to the hearth, picked up a dry log, and fed the struggling fire.
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"Sit down, Martha," he said gently, pointing toward the rocking chair by the hearth. "Your knee’s swelling through your stocking. Let me fetch the winter tallow."
—END OF Chapter 5,
