Emerald cloak.
Boots.
Simon removed boards from a rear supply opening.
Snow poured in.
The gap was too narrow.
Simon used an axe.
Abigail heard the bounty hunter shouting.
“One minute!”
Simon tore away another beam.
“Try.”
Abigail squeezed through sideways.
Her hips caught.
Panic surged.
“I can’t.”
Simon knelt behind her.
“Look at me.”
She twisted.
“What?”
“You got through a blizzard.”
“Don’t let a wall insult you now.”
She almost laughed.
Then pushed.
Wood scraped her coat.
Simon removed another small section.
Suddenly Abigail fell forward into snow.
“Got it.”
Simon followed.
They crawled behind the cabin toward the creek trench.
A horse whinnied.
Men shouted.
The front door crashed inward.
Simon and Abigail disappeared into the snow-covered drainage cut.
The bounty hunters discovered the empty cabin thirty seconds later.
By then, Simon and Abigail were descending through pines.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
Abigail struggled.
Her body made snow travel brutally difficult.
Simon never told her to hurry.
That would not create speed.
Instead he broke trail.
Found wider routes.
Used rope on steep sections.
When she fell, he helped only after she reached for him.
Gunshots echoed behind them.
Not close.
Yet.
Two hours later, they reached Delaney’s property.
Margaret Delaney opened the door holding a shotgun.
Simon nearly got shot.
“Boone?”
“Morning.”
She stared at Abigail.
Then at the blood on Simon’s sleeve from a wood splinter.
“What happened?”
“Visitors.”
Margaret sighed.
“I told you that cabin needed shutters.”
Simon stared.
“That is your concern?”
“No.”
“My concern is the idiots riding down my lane.”
Margaret’s husband emerged.
Behind him stood another man wearing a marshal’s badge beneath his winter coat.
Abigail almost collapsed from relief.
The legal fight began there.
Not with gunfire.
With testimony.
Documents.
Names.
The bounty hunters claimed lawful authority.
The deputy marshal examined their papers.
The incompetency declaration had not been issued by a judge.
Only a physician’s affidavit and an emergency guardianship petition not yet granted.
They had no lawful power to seize Abigail.
The deputy marshal said so.
The bounty leader argued.
The deputy marshal placed one hand near his revolver.
The argument ended.
By evening, the bounty hunters withdrew.
Abigail did not return to Simon’s cabin.
Not yet.
They traveled under protection to Missoula.
Judge Warren existed.
So did the filed copy.
Abigail’s father had been correct.
The Prescott mineral rights had survived a disputed reorganization.
The water parcel Josiah already controlled did not include mineral ownership beneath adjoining Prescott property.
Without Abigail’s voluntary conveyance—or control over her estate through marriage or guardianship—Sterling could not consolidate the claim.
The fortune was not immediate.
No treasure chest.
No magical mine.
But geological records suggested a rich silver-bearing extension beneath the land.
Worth enough to explain everything.
Josiah had purchased debts not merely to collect them.
He had engineered pressure.
If Abigail married him, spousal agreements would move management authority.
If she refused, guardianship could do something similar.
Her size.
Her age.
Her unmarried status.
Her grief.
Every prejudice surrounding her became useful.
Doctors could describe her as physically dependent.
Lawyers could describe her as emotionally unstable.