Forever by Your Side (Willamette Brides #3) - Tracie Peterson Page 0,85

the dirt around it to show signs of activity. Tom and the other men advanced cautiously. Just because they didn’t see anyone didn’t mean there wasn’t a guard present.

Clint had worked with the soldiers to see that a detailed count was taken of the Indians each day. This kept them occupied between eleven and noon, giving Tom and the others just an hour or so to seek out the weapons. They’d been looking ever since the army had taken Adam Browning away, and now it looked like they had finally managed to locate the stash. It was a huge relief.

Seeing no one in the area, Tom and one of the soldiers advanced and knocked on the door of the shack. There was no answer. Tom opened the door to find the shack was comprised of one large room, and in the room were stacked crates of what he could only presume were rifles. Hundreds of rifles, and no doubt as much ammunition as was needed for a war.

Tom spied a crate with its lid askew. He walked over and pushed back the lid to reveal the cargo inside. He picked up one of the rifles and held it up to catch the light coming in from the open doorway. How many people might have been killed with this weapon alone?

“They’re here,” the soldier called outside to the others.

Tom replaced the rifle and shook his head. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

“At least the hotel clerk was able to state that Papa isn’t the same man who signed the ledger using his name.” They had just finished supper, and Connie was determined to give her mother hope. “He was quite certain about it.”

“Well, of course he was. Your father was never there.”

“Once I can get them to compare the signatures on the receipts to Adam’s as well as the hotel ledger, hopefully they will release him for lack of evidence,” Uncle Lance said.

“It’s all too maddening.” Connie’s mother shook her head.

“Lance will see him vindicated,” Hope assured her sister.

There was a knock at the door, and Seth excused himself to see who it was. Meanwhile, the ever-opinionated Bedelia Clifton spoke up.

“I believe you should tell your story to the newspapers.” For a moment everyone fell silent and looked at the older woman. “It only makes sense,” she continued. “There is a man out there posing as Adam Browning. It’s possible that someone will remember him calling himself by that name, or that someone will have had dealings with him and would be willing to come forward and speak up on the matter.”

“She’s right,” Uncle Lance said. “We could explain the situation and ask if there are any witnesses who might come forward to prove the man they dealt with also wasn’t Adam Browning. I’ll get on that in the morning. Hopefully we’ll have Adam out of jail by the end of the day tomorrow.”

Connie saw the hope in her mother’s eyes.

Please, Father God, please let it be so.

The door to Clint’s office opened, and his father walked in as though he owned the place. He looked at Clint with a scowl. “What kind of mess do you have going on here? There are soldiers everywhere.”

“I presume they’re here because you are. After all, you’re a very important man.” Clint’s sarcasm made his father smile.

“I am, aren’t I?” He laughed. “I was afraid they were here to quell an uprising.”

“Well, I’m sure that might have something to do with it.”

“Your Indians . . . they won’t be discouraged, will they?” His father raised his brow. “Back out on you?”

Clint got to his feet and laughed. “No, sir. Everything is still going as planned.” He came around the desk and embraced his father. “Good to see you again.”

The older man smiled. “I thought I should come pick out the land I intend to buy after your little Indian uprising sees them all dead.”

Chapter 20

Connie sat up with a start and looked at the clock on the mantel. It was nearly six in the morning. She eased back against her pillow, trying to remember what had so shocked her. Then it started to come back to her.

At the police station, her father had said he knew nothing about the shipments of whiskey and rifles coming to the reservation. That he’d never even seen any crates, much less signed for them. But Clint had told her that night by the river that her father was well aware of it. That they had seen