The Rancher poured whiskey.
Drank.
Then looked toward her.
“Dress.”
The Young Woman swallowed.
Her fingers moved toward the buttons.
They would not work.
“Faster.”
She tried again.
One button.
Then another.
Her hand slipped.
The Rancher stepped toward her.
She moved backward.
His expression hardened.
“Do not start disappointing me tonight.”
Something inside her changed.
Not courage.
Not yet.
Instinct.
She looked toward the window.
Then toward the washstand.
A ceramic pitcher sat beside the basin.
The Rancher took another step.
The Young Woman grabbed the pitcher.
He frowned.
“What are you doing?”
She threw it.
The pitcher shattered against the wall beside his face.
He swore.
She grabbed the chair.
Drove it through the window.
Glass exploded outward.
Cold air filled the room.
The Rancher roared behind her.
The Young Woman climbed through.
The drop was higher than she expected.
She hit the ground hard.
Pain shot through her ankle.
She stood anyway.
Then ran.
The first hundred yards tore the bottom of her dress.
The next hundred destroyed it.
She grabbed the skirt in both hands and ripped away enough fabric to move.
Behind her, men shouted.
Lanterns appeared.
Dogs barked.
The Young Woman ran toward the canyon.
Bare feet struck dirt.
Rock.
Dry grass.
Then colder stone.
She slipped twice.
Cut one palm.
Kept moving.
The night swallowed the ranch.
Moonlight guided her between dark ridges.
She had no plan.
Only distance.
More.
Then more.
Hooves sounded somewhere behind.
She dropped into a dry wash.
Pressed herself beneath mesquite.
Three riders passed above.
One horse stopped.
The Young Woman covered her mouth.
The rider cursed.
Kicked the horse forward.
They disappeared.
She waited.
Then climbed.
Higher.
The land changed beneath her.
Dry canyon became pine.
Pine became frozen ridge.
Wind grew colder.
By midnight, snow started.
Her feet had stopped hurting.
That frightened her because she knew they should.
She wrapped both arms around herself.
The wedding dress was useless against the cold.
Her hands shook violently.
She saw lights once.
Or thought she did.
Nothing was there.
She kept walking.
Then crawling.
Then falling.
When she finally curled beneath a rock outcrop, she no longer knew whether she was hiding or dying.
The last thing she remembered was thinking that snow felt warmer than the bedroom she had escaped.
The Mountain Man hated towns.
He tolerated them because salt, ammunition, coffee, and flour did not grow from mountain soil.
He had spent two days trading hides.
Now he wanted nothing except his cabin.
His gray horse stopped suddenly near the upper ridge.
The Mountain Man pulled the reins.
“What?”
The horse stared downslope.