Chapter 18
The sun was still low when Anthony left the clearing where he had left Tate. There was no time to dwell. Every minute mattered. He needed Abigail’s mind as much as his own for what came next.
After finding Spirit on the outskirts of the woods, he mounted the mare and urged her onto the trail. The road back to the clinic wound past ridges and groves. It was familiar ground but dangerous now.
Silver Cross was a mess, and Vanburgh’s men would be combing the countryside.
By midmorning, he reached Abigail’s clinic. She was already tending to patients who had limped in before sunrise. Relief and surprise lit her eyes when she looked up.
“Anthony, you’re back early. I thought—”
“Not a moment to waste, ma’am,” he cut in gently. “Tate’s in the tribe’s hands. He won’t trouble us there. But Vanburgh won’t wait. We need to see Eagle Rock before it’s too late. You’re coming.”
Abigail’s brow furrowed. “We can’t just ride in blind. The last thing—”
“No blind moves,” Anthony said. “We scout first. We watch, we plan. But we have to move now.”
She hesitated, then grabbed her satchel. “All right. But, Anthony . . . evidence. Proof. Not just guns.”
“I know,” he said, shoulders easing. “Observation first. Then action.”
Minutes later, they were riding through the forest trail together. The air was sharp with pine and damp earth. Anthony scanned ridges and hollows as they went, noting vantage points and cover.
Days were starting to merge. It felt like a lifetime since he had left Tate with the rest of the Shoshone.
He hadn’t even had a chance to process seeing them again. Black Wolf. Red Hawk. They were alive.
Some of the others had survived the attack. It was good news.
But now, there was another matter to deal with. Vanburgh was close to destroying Eagle Rock. Anthony might not have known the exact time, but he knew that the plan was in motion.
“Eagle Rock isn’t far, ma’am,” he murmured. “If Vanburgh’s moving dynamite, the crates will be obvious. We need eyes on them before he brings in more men.”
“I just hope what we find doesn’t make all the planning useless,” Abigail replied.
Anthony allowed himself a brief grin. “Then we adapt. Always do.”
The canyon mouth opened before them. Anthony dismounted and patted Spirit’s neck.
“Quiet now,” he whispered, scanning the slopes. Dust swirled far below, but nothing else moved.
Abigail slid from her black Thoroughbred, eyes narrowing. “They’ve been busy.”
He followed her gaze. A dozen crates lined the base of the cliff, wrapped in burlap and stacked in rows. Enough to flatten the valley if lit.
“Cover to cover,” Anthony said, pointing toward the boulders. “Stay low. I’ll watch for hazards.”
They crept along the ledge, boots scraping stone.
“Crates of dynamite,” Abigail said quietly. “Worse than I thought. If they catch us—”
“Then we don’t get caught,” Anthony murmured. “Scout. Count. Report. Nothing more.”
She swallowed, steadying her breath. “If we’re discovered, I want a plan.”
“Fall back,” he said simply. “Always an exit. Always a plan.”
They edged closer. Two men appeared at the far end of the ridge with their rifles slung across their backs. Anthony froze.
“Stay down,” he said. “Let them pass.”
The men shifted crates and tapped them. Abigail’s fingers clenched her satchel.
“They’re rigged already,” she breathed.
Anthony’s jaw tightened. “Sloppy work, but enough to kill a town. Count them.”
They kept low, watching each step and each movement. Thirty-five crates on one side. At least forty along the ridge. Fuses wound in careful lines.
“That’s enough,” Anthony whispered, sketching a rough map in his notebook. “We know where they are, how they’re guarded, and when they check them.”
“We should leave before they notice us,” Abigail said.
Anthony nodded. “Slowly.”
They withdrew to a shallow alcove. Only then did he let out a long breath.
“We’ve seen enough for today,” Anthony said. “Tomorrow, we start planning.”
Abigail studied the rough map that Anthony held out for her.
“If they light one fuse, half this canyon goes with it,” she said. “Tate won’t leave anyone alive if he’s part of this.”
“Then we don’t give them the chance,” he replied. “We know the crates and the terrain. That’s our edge.”
She met his eyes. “No recklessness. Promise me.”
“Calculated, ma’am,” he said. “Never reckless. Tomorrow, we’ll find out just how dangerous Vanburgh really is.”
Suddenly, a soft whistle echoed across the canyon floor. Anthony froze, listening. Another sound. It was closer. It sounded like the scrape of boot leather on stone.
“They know someone’s here,” Abigail whispered. “We’ve been spotted?”
Anthony shook his head. “Not yet, ma’am. Don’t move until I say so.”
A few more minutes passed with only the canyon’s natural creaks and dust shifting under distant footsteps. Anthony’s fingers tightened on the revolver grip at his hip. Every muscle coiled. He was ready for the worst.
Then came a muffled shout. “Hey! Who’s there?”
Anthony froze. His breath caught in his chest. He hadn’t made a sound, but something had given them away.
A rifle clattered as one man stepped into view, scanning the rocks with sharp eyes. Another leaned out from behind a crate, squinting into the shadows.
Abigail ducked, her voice a whisper tight with fear.
“Anthony, they’ve seen us. Left side!”
It was too late to be quiet. A shootout was inevitable. There was no reasoning with Vanburgh’s men, especially in these circumstances.
Anthony pivoted and fired a bullet from his Colt 1851 Navy revolver, aiming to disable rather than kill. A man stumbled, clutching an arm. Another dropped behind the crates as dust curled around him.
“Damn it! It’s Hawk!” the man shouted.
From behind one of the crates, another man edged closer with his Winchester rifle raised. Anthony ducked behind a boulder and returned fire. The bullet ricocheted off the stone, spraying gravel into his hair.
“You’re not supposed to be here!” the man yelled, advancing.
Anthony kept moving, firing again. “And you’re not supposed to be handling explosives like that!”
“Anthony, he’s circling!” Abigail said from her spot behind a boulder. “He’s trying to flank us!”
Anthony’s eyes flicked to the movement. “I see him. Cover me, Abigail.”
“I’m trying!” she hissed.
To distract the flanking man, Anthony rolled a small boulder down the slope. He tripped, giving Anthony just enough time to fire a shot into his thigh. He yelped, collapsing to the canyon floor.
“You missed!” the man shouted, regaining his footing.
Anthony ducked instinctively when he heard another bullet coming toward him. “Not today!”
Crates of dynamite rattled nearby as bullets splintered stone around them. Abigail fired a single shot from her Colt Paterson revolver, aiming to disable another man trying to climb the rocks. The bullet connected with a boot, sending him stumbling.
“Got him!” she called, a mix of relief and adrenaline in her voice.
“Nice shot,” Anthony said, glancing at her briefly.
Then he focused on the last man. Moving carefully, he used the canyon’s twists to force him back step by step.
“You can’t keep this up forever!” the man barked. “I’ve got reinforcements coming!”
“Then you’d better hope they’re faster than you,” Anthony replied. “I’m not slowing down.”
“Anthony, we need to corner him before he reaches the fuses!” Abigail said from his side.
“Agreed,” he said, advancing carefully. “He’s getting desperate.”
It was impossible to tell what Vanburgh’s men were thinking. If they were set on blowing up Eagle Rock, who was to say they couldn’t push the plan forward?
“You think you can trap me here?” the last bandit shouted. “I know this canyon like the back of my hand!”
Anthony fired again, forcing him to retreat behind a crate. Dust and splinters flew.
“And I’ve fought in tougher spots than you!” Anthony called back.
The canyon walls narrowed, giving Anthony the advantage. He stepped forward, cutting off the man’s path. “End of the line,” he said.
The man glared, his face streaked with blood and dirt. “This isn’t over, Hawk!”
Anthony kept his revolver trained on him. “Maybe not. But this fight is. One wrong move, and it’s done.”
Suddenly, Abigail’s voice rose from above. “Anthony, more movement down the far end! Could be others from Vanburgh’s crew!”
“Then we finish this fast.” He fired a controlled shot that forced the man to drop behind a crate. Another ricochet chipped wood, splintering it.
“You think you’ve won?” the man shouted, panicked now.
Anthony moved cautiously, forcing the man to retreat. Step by step, he drove him toward a narrow pinch in the canyon floor. Dust hung in the air, mingling with the sharp smell of gunpowder.
Finally, Anthony cornered the man. He was bloodied and breathing hard. His eyes were wild.
“You . . . you think this stops Vanburgh?” he asked. “You’re crazy!”
“Maybe. But I’ve got better aim,” Anthony said, tightening his grip.
The canyon was still for a moment, the tension thick. Then a sudden crack. A bullet ricocheted off the rock wall, whistling past Abigail. She ducked instinctively.
“Stay down!” Anthony said, pressing his back against the nearest wall.
The man in front of him groaned and raised his hands. “All right, all right . . . you win this round, Hawk.”
“I said end of the line,” Anthony repeated. “You’re coming with us. We move fast, or the canyon gets messy.”
Abigail’s hand rested on his arm, whispering urgently. “Anthony, look! They’ve spotted us!”
His eyes narrowed. Dust swirled and shadows shifted along the canyon walls. Another shot rang out. Abigail cried out as the sound tore through the canyon. Anthony’s heart leapt at the sound.
It was hard to keep sights on everybody. It was like everything happened at the same time.
As the bullets continued to fly, everybody moved. Abigail threw herself toward the nearest form of cover. The bandit took his chance to shuffle away. Anthony tried to make himself as small as possible, using the canyon wall as his only shield.
He didn’t know if more men had arrived at the canyon. He didn’t even know if Vanburgh was here.
One thing was for sure—Anthony had bitten off more than he could chew.