It did not look like a refuge. It looked like the mouth of a trap. They did not go to the livery. They did not go to the hotel. They rode the back alleys, keeping to the shadows of the warehouses and the slat-sided shacks where the miners lived.
They found the small clapboard house of Dr. Clara Hargrove and knocked on the kitchen door. Clara opened it, a shotgun in her hand, her eyes hard until she saw Jonah's face. She lowered the barrel and ushered them inside, bolting the door behind them. "You made it," Clara said, her voice tight with relief.
I heard the weather turned on the ridge. I feared you were frozen. "We are close to it," Jonah said, unwrapping the scarf from his face. His skin was windburned. His eyes red rimmed from the glare.
Clara moved efficiently, pouring coffee and pulling chairs close to the stove. She looked at Millie, who sat shivering, clutching the oil skin packet that contained the ledger. "The circuit judge is in town," Clara said without preamble. Judge Thaddius. He is a hard man, but he is not on Pritchard's payroll.
At least not yet. He is holding court at the Grand Imperial Hotel until the weather clears enough for the train. We need to see him, Millie said. She placed the packet on the table. We have the proof, Clara.
Everything Etienne wrote. Clara looked at the packet, then at the young woman. It will not be enough to just hand it to him. Clara warned. Pritchard has filed an injunction against Jonah.
He has painted you as a fugitive and Jonah as a kidnapper. If you walk into that hotel, the sheriff will arrest you before you get within 10 ft of the judge. Then we force them to listen. Jonah said. Clara sat down, her hands wrapped around her own cup.
I will help you, she said. Jonah looked at her. Why? You have a practice here. Pritchard could ruin you.
Clara's expression hardened. Last winter, a boy died on my table. He was crushed in the sawmill. The foreman said it was an accident. Said the boy was careless, but I saw the gears.
The safety guard had been removed to speed up production. Pritchard saved $12 a day by removing that guard. And when I tried to report it, the sheriff told me to stick to bandages and leave the law to men. She looked at Millie. I am tired of watching men like Silas Pritchard decide who gets to live and who gets to die.
I will stand with you. I will testify to the injuries I saw on you. Millie, I will put my name on the line. The plan was desperate, but it was all they had. They waited until midm morning.