“I know of a lawyer,” Joe continued, trying to keep his voice even. “His name is Marcus Hand. You may have heard of him. Big guy, long white hair, wears buckskins in the courtroom. He specializes in getting guilty people off. Believe me, I know. I have a feeling he’d find you guys sympathetic. Who knows-he might be able to get you what you want.”

He waited.

The brothers didn’t ask for a moment to discuss the option. Camish said, “The only way we’re going off this mountain is feetfirst. And I don’t think that’s likely to happen.”

Even without turning around and seeing for himself, Joe knew Nate was gone.

Then, deep in the trees to the east, he heard Nate’s horse whinny.

“Tell you what,” Camish said, standing almost casually. “Unlike your government, we believe in freedom and opportunity. We’ll give you the opportunity to ride away. Just don’t ever come back on our mountain.”

Joe stood silent.

“We’ll give you ten minutes to pack up and ride away,” Camish said. “We won’t interfere and we won’t put you down. And if you ride on out of here, we won’t follow you. I just hope we don’t ever see you up here again.”

He turned toward the fire. “Dave, you can go with him. No offense, but you’re kind of useless. And if the game warden is correct, there will be a battle coming. You might get caught in the crossfire.”

Farkus hopped to his feet, nodding. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you, Camish.”

Camish smirked and looked back to Joe. “You’re still here,” he said.

Joe felt himself nod once.

“You shouldn’t still be here.”

Farkus started to walk toward Joe but hesitated.

“Look,” Camish said. “My brother and I are going to walk away and give you some space. Maybe then you’ll think about what you’re doing and take old Dave here and be gone. But if for some damned reason you want to force the issue, we’ll meet you in that clearing over there,” he gestured toward a small meadow to the west. The morning sun was building behind the trees, ready to launch and flood the meadow with light.

“We’ll finish it there, I guess,” Camish said, shaking his head. He seemed almost sad, Joe thought.

As they backed away from the fire, Camish said, “I think on some level you know we’re right, game warden. But you sure are stubborn.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Joe said. “It’s your government, too. You can work to change it.”

“Too late for that,” Camish said. “This is Rampart Mountain. This is where we turn you people back or we quit trying.”

Joe said, “This is the wrong fight at the wrong time.”

“Got to start somewhere,” Camish said, turning away.

And they were gone.

Farkus looked from Joe, toward where the brothers had melded into the trees, and back. He said, “Let’s get out of here, Joe.”

Joe said, “Go ahead.”

The temperature dropped fifteen degrees as the cold morning air started to move through the timber in anticipation of the sun. Joe felt a long shiver start in his boots and roll through his body until his teeth chattered.

He stood on the side of his gelding, keeping the horse between himself and the meadow. The brothers couldn’t be seen. Neither could Farkus, who’d dumped the panniers from the packhorse, mounted the animal bareback, and headed east in a hurry. He hadn’t looked back.

Joe found the satellite phone, powered it up, and punched in the numbers. He woke her up, and sleep clogged her voice for a moment.

Joe said, “We found them.”

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Not yet.”

“What does that mean, Joe?”

“I’m going to try to bring them in,” he said. “They don’t want to come.”

“Oh, no. Oh, my. Please be careful.”

“I will.”

“Did you find Diane?”

“No, but I know where she is. She’s okay, they say.”

“Thank God. Her mother will be so happy.”

“Yup. I’m not so sure about her dad, though.” Thinking: How do we know the Michigan boys were going to bring her down? How do we know they weren’t going to silence her, too?

“Joe, are you okay? There’s something in your voice. Are you all right?”

“Sure,” he said.

“Is there anything I can do? Anyone I can call?”

“No.”

Joe looked across the meadow as two yellow spear bars of sun shot through a break in the trees. Instantly, the clearing lightened up. In the shadows of the pine tree wall on the far side of the clearing, he could see Camish and Caleb. They were about fifty yards apart, still in the shadows of the trees but about to enter the meadow. Caleb held his rifle across his chest. Camish worked the pump on Joe’s old shotgun.

“I’ve got to go,” Joe said.

“Call me when you can,” Marybeth said.

“I want you to know how much I love you,” he said. “I want you to know I think I’m doing the right thing for you and the girls.”

She was silent for a moment. Then he heard a sob.

“I’ll call,” he said, and punched off. It felt like a lie.

He couldn’t feel his feet or his legs, and his heartbeat whumped in his ears as he walked out into the clearing with his shotgun. Camish and Caleb emerged from the trees. Joe guessed they were seventy-five yards away. Out of range for his shotgun or.40 Glock. He wondered when Caleb would simply raise the rifle and start firing.

Joe thought: They look silly, the Grim Brothers, dressed in the same clothes, identical except for the bandage on Caleb’s jaw. They’re such losers. From another place and another era, and their ideas of the way things ought to be are old and out of date. They know, he thought, if they come down from this mountain they’ll be eaten alive. The poor bastards.

He thought: This is their mountain. It’s where they feel safe. It’s the only place they feel free.

He thought: He might give up his life for an argument he didn’t think he agreed with.

Camish said something, but Joe didn’t catch it due to the roaring in his head.

“What’s that?” Joe called out.

“I said it’s still not too late to leave,” Camish said. “I admire your courage, but I question your judgment.”

Joe thought, Me too.

The brothers were within fifty yards.

Joe thought, Camish first. Shoot Camish first. He was the leader, the spokesman. Taking out Camish might stun Caleb for a split second-in time for Joe to jack in another shell and fire.

Shoot, then run to the side, he thought. Make himself a moving target. Duck and roll. Come up firing. Run right at Caleb, confuse him. Caleb wouldn’t expect Joe to come right at him.

Forty yards.

When Joe was growing up, he’d read everything he could find about Old West outlaws and gunfights. He’d found himself disappointed. In real life, showdowns like the ones portrayed in movies and myths were almost nonexistent. Men rarely faced off against each other on a dusty cow town street at high noon, with the fastest gun winning. Much more likely was an ambush, with one man firing a rifle or a shotgun at his enemy before the victim could draw his weapon, or a gunman sneaking up on someone and putting a bullet in the back of his head from a foot away. Men didn’t face off if they could help it.

He remembered what Nate had told him: It’s about who can look up without any mist in their eyes or doubts in their heart, aim, and pull the trigger without thinking twice. It’s about killing. It’s always worked that way.

Thirty yards.

Not optimum for his shotgun, but close enough.

Without warning, he dropped to one knee, raised his weapon, and shot at Camish.

Camish was hit with a spray of double-ought pellets, but he didn’t fall. Joe caught a glimpse of Camish’s puzzled face, dotted with fresh new holes. He was hurt but the wounds weren’t lethal. He seemed as surprised at what Joe had done as Joe did.