McCall looked out the window at the swirling snow. “I hope it comes soon because I need to solve this and get out of here. My wife, Penny, is expecting our second child, and if I have to spend the winter on this side of the Rocky Mountains, snowed in away from her, she’s going to make me regret it for years.” Then he grinned. “The only reason she didn’t come with me is because she’s about seven months gone on a baby. She’s worked as a Pinkerton agent, too, from time to time. She enjoys tracking down bad men.”

The grin convinced Molly he wasn’t all that afraid of his wife.

“Can I study Rachel’s notes for a while? If there’s enough here, we can go arrest Hawkins, dig through his safe for the rest of his rotten poetry, and hang him high. Then I’ll send Rachel back to Chicago and go home.”

He made it sound like he could accomplish it all today. Molly was glad to keep quiet, hoping he could manage that.

McCall read Rachel’s notes quickly, taking notes himself. Then he read them again more slowly and reread the poetry from Hawkins, studying the contents of each packet.

Cheyenne and Falcon came in just as McCall set the notes aside. They stared suspiciously at the newcomer while Wyatt introduced them and caught them up on the Jeffers House of Refuge.

“It’s time to bring the sheriff in on it and arrest Hawkins,” McCall said. “We can do it tomorrow morning, and anyone who wants to ride along is welcome.”

Everyone wanted to come.

Twenty-Three

The weather, colder every day, gave everyone an appetite, so they ate supper before they continued talking about the case.

Molly set the cobbler and a stack of small bowls on the table, then she got a small pitcher of cream.

McCall ate a bite of the cobbler, closed his eyes as a look of bliss crossed his face, and sighed with delight. “My wife is a fine cook, Miss Garner. But this is the best cobbler I’ve ever had.”

“You should taste her custard,” Wyatt said. “There’s nothing else like it in this world.”

Molly smiled.