And whoever had sent the riders might return with more men.
They needed to reach someone who could protect the evidence.
Someone beyond the influence of Whitcomb Banking House.
Clara suggested a lawyer in Chicago.
Elias dismissed the idea.
"Too far."
"A territorial judge?"
"Possibly."
"The sheriff?"
Elias gave a grim smile.
"Depends which sheriff."
Clara studied him.
"Are there any honest men in Wyoming?"
He looked at her.
"A few."
"Then we should find one."
He considered.
Then said, "There's a woman in Bearclaw Ridge."
Clara raised an eyebrow.
"A woman?"
"Runs the post office. Handles the telegraph accounts when the operator is away. Knows every road and every family in the valley."
"Can we trust her?"
Elias nodded.
"With my life."
Clara looked at him.
"Then why haven't you gone to her before?"
He hesitated.
"Because I didn't have enough proof."
She glanced toward the ledger.
"And now?"
He looked at her.
"Now I have you."
Clara felt warmth rise into her cheeks.
But Elias continued before she could misunderstand.
"You recognize the entries. You know how the accounts were arranged. You can identify your husband's handwriting."
He paused.
"And you can testify about what you saw."
Clara nodded slowly.
For once, she did not feel reduced to someone's wife.
She felt necessary.
Useful.
Capable.
It was a strange and wonderful feeling.
Then Elias added, "But first, we need to make sure those men can't find the evidence."
He looked toward the shelter.
Clara followed his gaze.
And together, they began preparing for the journey that would either free them from Nathaniel Whitcomb's reach or deliver them directly into his hands.
For the next three days, the shelter became a place of preparation rather than refuge.
Elias checked every approach to the property. He moved Copper into the deeper part of the stable, covered tracks whenever fresh snow allowed, and repaired a narrow rear exit that led through a natural gap in the rock.
Clara worked at the kitchen table from morning until the light failed.
She copied the most important ledger entries into three separate notebooks.
One would remain hidden in the shelter.
One would travel with Elias.
The third would be sewn into the lining of her winter cloak.
When she suggested this arrangement, Elias looked impressed.
"Your husband's going to regret teaching you bookkeeping."
Clara did not smile.
"He never taught me."
Elias looked up.
She dipped her pen.