Now, as the sky lightened with dawn, he could see across the fields to the Christian Sorenson farm, where the planned raid was to have taken place. Raising the binoculars he’d brought, he made a sweep of the property. The house and outbuildings were all standing, with no sign of damage. A thin column of smoke curled upward from the chimney of the house, where someone was probably making breakfast. A man in overalls moved about the yard, doing chores.
Blake allowed himself a long exhalation of relief. Either because of the rain or a change in plans, the raid on the Sorenson farm hadn’t happened—at least not yet.
The Anderson homestead was two miles to the west. Blake rode that way, not planning to visit Hanna’s family, but to make sure, from a distance, that nothing was amiss.
When he scanned the property with his binoculars, nothing seemed out of place. He recognized Lars’s tall figure hitching up the wagon, and there was Alvar, coming out of the shed. Both men looked fine.
Grateful that he could bring good news to Hanna, Blake turned the horse for home. A narrow wagon trail led south across the pastures to cross with another trail that led into town. The distance was longer than the way he’d come but he could make better time on the trail than cutting through pastures.
The crossing was marked by an ancient dead tree. As a schoolboy, he’d heard stories about the tree being haunted. He remembered those stories as he took the wagon road and nudged the horse to an easy trot. At least, he could laugh at them now.
His spirits lightened as he rode along the trail. Last night he’d made Hanna his true wife. The two of them, with Little Joe, had become a real family. That was something to celebrate.
Maybe later, when Hanna was able to leave the baby with Sarah, he could take her back to Miles City for a real honeymoon—a fine meal at the hotel and a night in one of its luxury suites. She could enjoy the bubble bath to her heart’s content. But this time she wouldn’t need to close the bathroom door. The thought made him smile.
By now the golden rim of the sun had risen above the mountains. Raindrops from the storm glittered like diamonds on the grass blades. Meadowlarks trilled their songs across the pastures.
Blake was dwelling on thoughts of a happy future when he came to the crossroads. What he suddenly saw made his throat jerk tight, as if he were being strangled. He fought back a wave of nausea.
Black vultures perched in the tree, squawking and flapping. Below them, hanging by nooses from the limbs, were the bodies of two men. Their bloated, discolored features weren’t easy to look at, but Blake recognized them. They were the two men who’d tried to rape Hana, two of the gang who’d dynamited Ulli Swenson’s house, killing his little girl.
He remembered their names—Sig Hoskins and his scrawny sidekick, Lem.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ALVAR HAD SHOWN UP FOR WORK AS USUAL THAT MORNING, LOOKING strained but behaving as if nothing had happened. After Blake had returned to the house, let Hanna know her family was safe, and gulped down some coffee, he went back to the mill and took the young man aside.
“I saw the bodies of those two raiders, Alvar,” he said. “I know I can trust you to tell me the truth. Were you there?”
A troubled look crossed Alvar’s handsome face. “We ambushed them on the way to the Sorensons’,” he admitted. “There were just three of them and nine of us, so we had them outnumbered. The big one called Hobie got away, but we caught the other two. We knew for sure they were the ones who’d killed Ulli’s little girl, so we gave them what they deserved. We executed them. Franz Kreuger and Stefan strung them up. I held one of the horses while my father watched. And if you’re wondering, no, I’m not sorry. It needed to be done, and the law wouldn’t do it.”
Nothing he’d said surprised Blake. “I understand,” he said. “But you need to know that you haven’t ended the trouble. From here on, things are bound to get worse.”
“I know that. We’ll be ready for them. So are you going to report us?”
Blake shook his head. “Whatever you’ve told me, I’ll keep it in confidence. Beyond that, I can’t promise anything except that I’ll try to keep you and your family safe.” He paused, giving Alvar a stern look. “That will be your responsibility, too. You know you’ve put your family in danger.”
“They were already in danger. This is why we need to fight.”
“I understand. Now get back to work and don’t make any trouble.”
Blake watched Alvar walk away, his blond head held high in defiant pride. Kristin was scheduled to leave on the train three days from now. It would be just as well if she didn’t know what he’d been involved in. She would only worry. So would Hanna.
For now he would keep Alvar’s story to himself, as he had promised. But he couldn’t waste any more time getting to the land office in Miles City. Tracking down the source of payments and finding proof might be the only way to stop the raids before more people died. But first he had to speak with Garrity. Finding the old man, he told him about the hangings. Without mentioning Alvar’s part, he warned Garrity that people might be coming by, and the three boys who worked at the mill could be taken in revenge.
He left that morning, arriving in Miles City about 11:30. The clerk at the land office recognized him and gave him free access to the property transfer records he requested. The transactions were listed in a thick book with entries going back to the early settlement days. Each entry included a legal description of the parcel, the names of the buyer and seller, terms of sale, the date, and the signature of the person submitting the deed to be stamped with the official seal.
Most of the recent land transfers were from departing homesteaders to Doyle Petit. No surprise there. But a closer inspection revealed something that rocked Blake onto his heels. Most of the deeds had been submitted and signed, not by Doyle, but by Ralph Tomlinson.
Amelia’s foreman and lover working with Doyle? Now there was a surprise. Could Tomlinson be the silent partner who was passing cash to the raiders?
Nothing Blake had found here was illegal. But it was proof of a connection between the two men, who were both connected to Amelia. Could she be involved, too? Blake would bet against it. Violence wasn’t her way of dealing with problems. It was too ugly and messy. Subterfuge and manipulation were her preferred tools.
But Ralph Tomlinson—the more Blake thought about it, the more the idea made sense. For as long as Blake could remember, Tomlinson had shared Amelia’s bed and taken her orders like a slave or a dog. At some point that must have grated on his manly pride. He was virtually a kept man, with no family, no fortune, no life except with the woman who kept him on a leash.
Doyle most likely saw Tomlinson as someone he could use—and he’d taken full advantage.
Blake was a long way from proving Ralph Tomlinson’s connection to the raids. But fate had just tossed him the ball, for who should walk into the bank just then but Ralph Tomlinson.
Blake had no evidence of anything illegal the man had done. But one of the things that made him a good poker player was his ability to bluff. And right now, bluffing was the only option he had.
“Ralph.” He walked out of the land office and gave him a nod of greeting. “Running errands for Amelia, are you? Or are you working for Doyle today?”