The third rider, a wiry man named Pike, was furious.
He complained about the weather.
The delay.
And Caleb's refusal to hand over the documents.
But he stayed near the stable.
The storm made another confrontation too dangerous even for him.
Inside, Eleanor sat near Owen while Caleb repaired the broken window with spare boards and a heavy covering.
The work took time.
Cold air entered the room.
Bracken watched the doorway suspiciously.
Eventually, the cabin became warm again.
Owen looked toward Eleanor.
For several seconds, he seemed uncertain.
Then he spoke quietly.
“Mrs. Mercer?”
She turned.
“Yes?”
He swallowed.
“I'm sorry.”
Eleanor studied him.
“For what?”
He looked down.
“For coming here.”
She nodded slowly.
“Did you know what Mr. Vane intended?”
Owen shook his head.
“Not exactly.”
He looked toward his hands.
“He told me there was a widow who owed money and a man holding company records.”
Eleanor felt her jaw tighten.
“And he said we'd bring them back.”
Owen nodded.
She watched him for a moment.
Then asked, “Did he tell you I agreed to go?”
The young man hesitated.
“No.”
Eleanor leaned back.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Owen whispered, “I should've asked.”
She looked toward him.
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“I didn't.”
Eleanor considered his face.
He wasn't a powerful man.
He worked for a company that could replace him easily.
He had probably been promised enough money to make the dangerous journey seem worthwhile.
That didn't excuse his participation.
But it helped her understand how Solomon obtained loyalty.
Not everyone working for Whitmore was cruel.
Some were simply poor.
Afraid.
And accustomed to obeying orders from men who controlled their wages.
Eleanor took a breath.
“Owen, how much were you paid to come here?”
He looked embarrassed.
“Three dollars.”
She stared.
“Three dollars?”
He nodded.
“And another two if we brought you back.”
For a moment, she couldn't speak.
Five dollars.
Solomon Whitmore had sent armed men into a blizzard to intimidate her, and one of them was risking his life for five dollars.
Eleanor looked toward the fire.
Then whispered, “He didn't even pay you enough to value the danger.”
Owen lowered his eyes.
“No, ma'am.”
She studied him.
Then asked something else.
“Did Mr. Vane tell you why my husband matters to Solomon?”
The young man frowned.
“He said Mercer was supposed to be dead.”