Chapter 5
Eli held his breath, blending into the dark brickwork as the two enforcers paused near the mouth of the alley. The taller of the two, a man with a wide-brimmed black hat pulled low over his forehead, spat a stream of dark tobacco juice onto the dusty boards.
"I'm telling you, Miller, the girl's been sniffing around the ruins twice a day," the tall man muttered, his voice raspy and carrying clearly in the evening stillness. "If she finds where Vance hid that ledger, the whole operation down in the valley falls apart before the rail commissioners even sign the purchase orders."
"Let her look," the second man, Miller, replied with a low, dismissive chuckle. "The cellar door's swollen tighter than a drum. Without a team of mules or an iron bar, she ain't getting down there. And if she does find it, we just take it off her hands when she climbs back up. Nobody's coming to help her in this dead town anyway."
Eli tightened his grip on the crowbar, his knuckles turning white. He resisted the urge to step out and settle the score right there in the dust. A direct confrontation would draw the rest of their crew, and Clara was still sitting alone in the dark alley with only a kerosene lantern for protection. Prudence dictated patience—a lesson the frontier had beaten into him over decades of narrow escapes.
The two enforcers lingered for another agonizing minute, their boots scraping against the gravel before they finally ambled away toward the town saloon, where the faint sound of a mechanical piano tinkled through the swinging doors.
Eli waited until their footsteps faded completely before he exhaled a long, slow breath. He slipped back down the narrow corridor, moving with the practiced stealth of a man who knew how to vanish in plain sight. When he reached the rear of the ruined hardware store, he found Clara sitting quietly right where he had left her, the lantern light casting soft shadows across her alert face.
She looked up as he approached, her eyes questioning. He held up the iron crowbar in the dim light, offering a reassuring nod.
"Enforcers?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"Two of 'em," Eli murmured, dropping to one knee beside the swollen cellar doors. "Talbot and Miller's crew from the look of their coats. They know you're looking for the box, Clara. Which means our window just got a whole lot smaller."
"Then we have to work fast," she said, sliding closer and holding the lantern higher to give him a better angle. "If they come back around on their rounds, we'll be trapped in the open."
Eli wedged the flat, tapered end of the crowbar into the narrow gap between the charred wooden door and the swollen frame. He braced his boot against the lower board, using his entire body weight as a lever. The old oak groaned, the sound tearing through the quiet alley like a pistol shot. He paused, holding his breath to listen, but the distant tinkling of the saloon piano continued without interruption.
"Hold the light steady," Eli grunted through clenched teeth, throwing his weight against the iron bar once more with a sudden, powerful surge.
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With a loud, splintering crack, the rusted iron padlock snapped free from its rotting moorings, flying off into the dirt. The heavy wooden door swung upward with a heavy thud, releasing a thick, stale cloud of subterranean air that smelled of damp earth, old paper, and forgotten secrets.
Eli lowered the crowbar and wiped a streak of soot from his forehead, looking down into the dark, yawning cavity of the cellar.
