Chapter 16
Anthony led Tate down the ridge, keeping the rope firm but careful. The night pressed around them. It was quiet except for the whisper of wind through sage. Tate’s breaths came unevenly, but he laughed.
“You think you’ve got me?” Tate spat. “One rope, one Colt, and you think you’re justice?”
Anthony said nothing. He didn’t need to argue. His jaw tightened as he focused on the path ahead.
“You’re still mad about it, huh?” Tate sneered. “Your family, your tribe . . . gone. Thought you could stop it? Thought you could get revenge?”
The ridge fell away behind them, and the road curled downward into shadows where the convoy had halted. The clatter of horses and shouts still rang faintly in the distance, but Anthony ignored it.
Spirit had bolted in fright when the gunfire started. She had gone careening down the hill, disappearing into the darkness. Anthony didn’t chase her. The animal would find its way back eventually.
“You’re slow,” Tate said, stumbling against the rope. “You move like a tired mule. Maybe the rage doesn’t suit you, Hawk. Maybe it’s holding you back.”
Anthony didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He concentrated on the path, where roots and rocks were hidden in the shadows. Each one of his steps was deliberate. The night was his ally. It hid them from any wandering eyes.
“Oh, don’t just ignore me,” Tate said, lips curling. “You’re still angry. Still carrying that weight, aren’t you? Your family . . . your tribe . . . gone like smoke in the wind.”
The old, bitter ache twisted in his chest. He could imagine the flash of fire, hear the screams, and smell the black smoke. Tate had been a part of it, or close enough to know who had fallen, who had screamed.
“I’m not here for your mouth,” Anthony said finally, his voice low and sharp. “I’m here for the truth.”
Tate laughed, ragged and hollow. “The truth? Ha! The truth won’t matter,” he said. “You think dragging me along, tying me up, will make the world bend to your sense of right? Vanburgh’s rail is coming. Eagle Rock will be gone in days. Just days. And there won’t be a soul left to say otherwise.”
Anthony’s fingers tightened on the rope.
“You’ll tell me what I need to know,” he replied. “That’s enough. Everything else will follow.”
Tate sneered, but the smirk had a little less confidence in it now. “You think you can stop it?” he asked. “Stop the railroad, stop Vanburgh? You’re just one man. One angry ghost, all dressed up and pointing a Colt at me. And for what? Justice? Ha!”
Anthony glanced around the ridge as he guided them through a shallow canyon. The ground was uneven, and brush scratched at their clothes, but he moved with purpose. Every shadow, every rustle in the sage made his senses stretch.
“You’ll see,” Tate continued, voice louder now, trying to rattle him. “You’ll see Eagle Rock blown into splinters, just like your family, just like your precious tribe. Nothing left! Nothing!”
“Then we’ll see,” Anthony replied calmly. “And we’ll see who’s left standing when it’s done.”
The rope tightened in his grip. He wasn’t joking. He’d lived with fire and loss, and he had survived. One more night of careful walking, one more day of cunning, could give him leverage over this man. Over Vanburgh.
Tate stumbled again, and Anthony caught him by the arm, yanking him upright. “I said, walk steady.”
“You don’t frighten me, Hawk,” Tate spat. “Not really. You think you’re clever. You think your Colt and your rope can undo the world. The railroad’s coming. The explosions . . . the fire . . . it doesn’t care about you. It doesn’t care about them. Nothing does!”
That was when he saw movement in the distance.
He slowed, motioning for Tate to follow quietly. At first, he thought it might be scavengers or maybe bandits. But the shapes were moving carefully. It was almost like shadows melting through the night.
Anthony froze, crouching low. “Stop. Move quietly.”
“Who is that?” Tate asked.
Anthony’s eyes narrowed as he tried to pick out details. The figures moved like hunters, but the way they paused wasn’t typical outlaw movement. They were watching. Silent. Alert.
Anthony’s chest hitched when one figure stepped into a slant of moonlight. Recognition slammed into him.
“No . . . it can’t be.”
The next figure revealed a familiar face. Then another. He blinked, and his stomach turned with disbelief. Small Bear. One of the men who had survived. Alive. Against all odds. His tribe. Some of them, at least.
“You . . . survived?” Anthony whispered, almost to himself.
Small Bear nodded, grim and quiet. “Barely. The fire . . . the soldiers . . . Vanburgh’s men . . . we ran. Hidden. We hid.”
Anthony’s grip on the rope slackened slightly as he looked back at Tate. The man’s bravado faltered. The smirk was gone. Suddenly, this wasn’t about the Colt, or the rope, or even Anthony’s revenge. This was about them . . . the people who had endured.
The tribe stepped forward cautiously, surrounding them in the shadows. Children clung to their mothers. Women whispered urgent warnings. Men’s eyes were hard.
“Careful,” Anthony said. “Keep to the shadows. Quiet. There might be men following us.”
The tribe’s eyes fell on Lyle Tate, and recognition spread like fire through the shadows.
“By the spirits . . .” a man muttered. Anthony blinked. The voice was rough but familiar.
Black Wolf. It looked like he had aged a decade in the past few weeks. He was tall and strong, and his hands were steady on the war club slung across his back.
“Tate,” another said sharply, voice tight with anger. “He’s the one who rode with Vanburgh’s men. Helped them burn our homes. Killed our families.”
It was Red Hawk, one of the older warriors. His eyes glittered in the moonlight.
Tate swallowed hard. His bravado was gone. “I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said weakly.
“You dare lie to us now?” Black Wolf stepped forward, voice low and dangerous. “After everything?”
Anthony’s hand tightened on the rope again, feeling the tension radiate from the tribe. “Easy,” he said, calm but firm. “Don’t act rash. He’ll talk if he wants to. He already knows you’ll hold him accountable.”
Red Hawk spat onto the ground. “I don’t care if he talks. He’ll pay for what he did.”
Tate laughed nervously. It was a sound more bitter than brave. “You think taking me will stop Vanburgh?” he asked. “Stop the railroad? I can tell you what you want, or I can keep quiet. But your fire won’t change a thing.”
“You want to talk?” Anthony asked. “Then talk. You might as well say what you know.”
Tate hesitated. His eyes darted around, meeting one face after another, the children peeking from behind their mothers, the women watching silently. He swallowed hard. Then the words came.
“They’re going to blast Eagle Rock in a few days,” he said. “Vanburgh’s got the railroad prepped. The charges . . . they’ll hit the rock walls near the town. Fire, collapse, everything. No one will stand in the way. Not the law. Not anyone.”
The information was exactly what he needed. He didn’t have to imagine Tate’s fear, didn’t have to gamble on guesses. He knew the plan, the timing, the threat. Abigail had to hear this. And soon.
“How many men?” Anthony asked quietly.
“Half a dozen guards at the site,” Tate said, voice trembling. “The rest . . . just rail workers. Most won’t even know why they’re there. They’re careful. Vanburgh trusts no one but a few of his own.”
“Enough,” he said, letting the rope relax slightly. “I’ve got what I need.”
Tate blinked, confused. “You . . . you’re letting me go? I thought—”
“You’re not for me,” Anthony said. “You’re for them.”
He gestured at the tribe.
“They’ll handle it,” he continued. “Your hands, your deeds. You made this mess. Let them take what’s theirs.”
Red Hawk stepped forward, his gaze sharp. “And you? You just hand him over?”
“He’s yours,” Anthony replied. “I need him only for the truth. That’s done. The rest . . . let it be your justice.”
Tate’s lips twisted in panic. “You can’t! You don’t know what they’ll do!”
“Then it’s your problem now.”
Black Wolf moved in carefully, taking the rope from Anthony’s hand. He let the slack remain just long enough to keep control but not enough for escape.
“You’ll answer for everything,” he said to Tate. “Every lie, every death, every fire. You brought this on yourself.”
Tate swallowed, looking around at the faces of the tribe. Anthony watched quietly. For once, the rope wasn’t his tool of control. The tribe’s presence was enough.
“You think I’m scared of you?” Tate said weakly. “You can’t stop Vanburgh. The railroad . . . Eagle Rock . . . It’s coming anyway!”
Anthony said nothing. He let the words hang. Let the tribe hear them. Let them decide what mattered.
Black Wolf’s hand went to Tate’s shoulder, firm and unyielding. “Then you’ll tell us,” he said. “Every word. Every detail. If you think we’re scared, you’ve already lost.”
“I . . . I can tell you more,” Tate said, his voice shaking. “The blasting . . . they’ll place it near the west wall . . . charges set for sunrise . . .”
Anthony’s eyes narrowed. The information was everything he needed. He memorized it, running it over in his mind. Abigail needed to know. He could relay the exact timing, the site, the guards. That was leverage. That was survival.
“You’re done with me,” Tate said nervously. “I’m . . . I’m done.”
Red Hawk’s gaze softened slightly, though the anger still burned in his eyes. “We’ll handle it,” he said. “Justice for the fires. Justice for the dead.”
Tate swallowed again. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and his smirk had completely vanished. For the first time, he realized he wasn’t in control. The weight of what he had done pressed down on him.