She Sheltered a Stranger and His Daughter — Then Armed Men Surrounded Her Ranch

The second bullet struck the bedpost inches from Emma’s head.

Daniel threw himself across the little girl, pulling her onto the floor.

“Stay down!”

Sarah grabbed her shotgun.

Outside, horses stamped against the frozen earth.

At least four riders.

Possibly more.

A voice came from the yard.

“Carter! You have something that belongs to Mr. Whitcomb!”

Daniel’s expression hardened.

Sarah knew that name.

Silas Whitcomb owned the largest cattle operation in southern Wyoming. He also controlled the bank holding her father’s debt.

Three weeks earlier, Whitcomb had offered to purchase her ranch for less than half its value.

She had refused.

Now his men were standing outside her house with rifles.

“Why does Whitcomb want the child?” Sarah demanded.

Daniel reached beneath his coat and withdrew a revolver.

“He doesn’t want Emma.”

“Then what?”

Daniel glanced at the wooden box.

“He wants what her mother left behind.”

Another shot tore through the kitchen wall.

Sarah moved toward the back window.

“I know this house better than they do.”

She fired into the darkness near the horse trough.

A man cursed.

Another horse reared.

Daniel stared at her.

“You can shoot?”

“My father taught me before he taught me to read.”

Despite everything, Daniel almost smiled.

Then Sarah opened a concealed hatch beneath the kitchen table.

“Root cellar. Take Emma.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll make them think we’re still upstairs.”

Daniel hesitated only a moment before carrying his daughter below.

Sarah extinguished the remaining lamps, threw a blanket over the cellar entrance, and slipped through the rear pantry door.

Ten minutes later, the attackers found the front door hanging open.

The house appeared deserted.

But Sarah had not fled.

She was waiting in the barn loft with a rifle.

When the first rider approached the cellar’s outside entrance, she fired a warning shot that struck the wooden gate beside him.

“Next one won’t miss!”

The riders retreated toward the road.

One of them shouted:

“Whitcomb will have this land by November, Miss Collins! You can’t hide forever!”

Then they disappeared into the darkness.

By dawn, Daniel and Emma were sitting at Sarah’s kitchen table.

Sarah placed her shotgun between them.

“Start talking.”

Daniel stared into his coffee.

“My wife was named Rebecca.”

Emma looked up.

Daniel continued.

“She worked as a bookkeeper for Whitcomb. Three years ago, she discovered he’d been purchasing ranches using forged debts.”

Sarah went still.

“Forged?”

“He arranged loans in the names of landowners who never borrowed money. When they couldn’t repay, the bank seized their property.”

Sarah thought of the debt her father supposedly owed.

“Rebecca copied the records,” Daniel said. “Then she disappeared.”

“You told Emma her mother died.”

Daniel’s voice broke.

“Because that’s what the sheriff told me.”

Sarah looked toward the child.

Emma was tracing a small circle on the table with her finger.

“She didn’t disappear,” Emma whispered.

Both adults turned.

“What did you say?” Daniel asked.

Emma hugged her wooden box.

“Mama went with the man who wore the red gloves.”

Daniel went pale.

Sarah leaned closer.

“Did you see his face?”

Emma nodded.

“Yes.”

“Who was he?”

The child shook her head.

“Mama said I mustn’t tell until we found the moon lady.”

Sarah touched her necklace.

Her mother had given it to her shortly before dying of fever, fourteen years earlier.

It was the only piece of jewelry she owned.

“Why me?” Sarah whispered.

Daniel reached into his coat.

He removed a folded piece of paper, yellowed and worn.

“I found this sewn into Rebecca’s winter dress after she vanished.”

He handed it to Sarah.

Only seven words were written inside.

Find Eleanor’s daughter. She has the other half.

Sarah’s heart began pounding.

Eleanor was her mother’s name.

“The other half of what?”

Daniel shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

Sarah looked at Emma’s box.

Then at the crescent necklace.

A strange memory surfaced.

Her mother had once told her that the pendant was not jewelry.

It was a promise.

Sarah unclasped the necklace and turned it over.

For the first time in her life, she noticed a nearly invisible seam running along its edge.

Daniel handed her his pocketknife.

She pressed the blade against the seam.

The pendant opened.

Inside was a tiny brass key.

Emma gasped.

“That’s Mama’s key!”

Sarah stared at the child.

The little girl placed the wooden box on the table.

Her hands trembled.

“She said the moon would open it.”

Sarah inserted the key into a concealed opening beneath the box’s iron hinge.

A soft click followed.

The lid sprang open.

Inside lay a folded map, a bundle of letters, and a photograph.

Sarah unfolded the photograph first.

It showed three women standing outside a small church.

One was Rebecca Carter.

One was a woman Sarah had never seen.

And the third was her mother, Eleanor Collins.

But the date written on the back made Sarah’s blood run cold.

June 1874.

Her mother had supposedly died in February 1865.

Sarah stared at the photograph.

Then she noticed the message written beneath the date.

Sarah must never learn who her real father is.

And beside those words was a signature.

Silas Whitcomb.