Chapter 24
The sun was dropping low when Anthony finally spoke. He had been mostly quiet since the saloon. His thoughts moved heavier than his boots on the dry boards of Dry Creek.
Abigail kept pace beside him. Her face was set in that calm determination he had come to expect from her. She had questions. He had answers, but none she would like.
“We’ll need to talk to Deputy Brigg,” Anthony said at last.
His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the weight behind it.
“He’s the only lawman in this county who hasn’t got his leash tied to Vanburgh’s boot,” Anthony said. “Maybe he keeps quiet because he’s scared. Maybe because he knows speaking up too loud gets a man buried. Either way, he’s who we need.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea?” Abigail asked. “I know he talked with me before, but after what happened, we need to be careful about who to trust.”
“I don’t think he’ll betray us, ma’am,” Anthony said. “He went against the sheriff. That must have taken some guts.”
“If he went against him, he might go against us,” Abigail said, shrugging. “Perhaps he’s one of those people . . . Grass is greener on the other side, you know?”
Anthony’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He tugged at the reins, turning his horse toward the open road. “I’ll need you to fetch him, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll keep my distance. No sense walking into the wolf’s pen while his teeth are still sharp.”
The ride to Silver Cross was quiet except for the steady beat of hooves on dry earth. The sky burned orange and red at the edges, fading into purple as night pressed down on the plains.
When the town came into sight, Anthony slowed Spirit and pulled up short near a rocky rise overlooking the main street. Lanterns had been lit, their glow casting long shadows across shuttered windows.
Silver Cross looked restless. It was like the town itself was bracing for the storm Vanburgh would surely bring.
“You go on,” Anthony said, nodding toward the town. “I’ll be watching from here. If anything goes sideways, you’ll hear me soon enough.”
Abigail studied him for a long moment. She looked like she wanted to argue, but she only sighed. “Fine,” she said. “But if he refuses, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She rode down the slope, the sound of her horse’s hooves muffled by the dust. Anthony dismounted, leading his horse behind the rocks where he had a clear view of the town but kept himself out of sight.
He crouched, eyes scanning the street for Vanburgh’s men. He saw a few shapes lingering near the saloon and another near the telegraph office, but they kept to themselves.
Watching. Always watching.
Abigail tied her horse outside the sheriff’s office and squared her shoulders before stepping inside. Anthony watched her disappear through the doorway.
Minutes crawled past. Then the door opened again. Abigail emerged, and with her came Deputy Thomas Brigg.
Anthony studied the man from his perch. Brigg was broad-shouldered. His uniform was neat but worn, and the badge on his chest was dulled from years of dust and handling. His face was calm, but Anthony caught the flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he followed Abigail into the street.
They spoke in low tones. Brigg was asking questions that Anthony couldn’t hear. Abigail gestured toward the ridge where Anthony waited, and the deputy’s gaze followed.
For a moment, Anthony thought he saw recognition . . . then caution. Brigg said something that made Abigail pause, then nodded stiffly.
Anthony kept his hand near the Colt on his hip. He didn’t like this part. The waiting and trusting another man’s decision. But if Abigail believed Brigg was worth the gamble, he’d hear the deputy out.
From a distance, Anthony saw Brigg glance again toward him. The man was curious. Curious enough to step off the boardwalk and down into the street.
The deputy crossed the street with steady strides. His hand rested near his belt. It wasn’t on his revolver but close enough to make a point. Abigail walked beside him, eyes darting between Brigg and the ridge where Anthony waited. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
Anthony shifted from his crouch and stood tall, brushing dust from his coat. He stepped into the fading light, making sure Brigg could see him plain. No sense looking like he was skulking.
The deputy stopped when he reached the edge of town, Abigail a pace behind him. For a long moment, the two men only stared across the distance.
Then Anthony raised a hand, motioning Brigg closer.
The deputy hesitated, then stepped forward until the lantern glow from the town no longer reached him. The ridge fell quiet. Abigail stayed back at the base of the slope with her arms crossed. She was watching them both.
“Deputy,” Anthony said at last.
“Hawk,” Brigg replied, his tone neither friendly nor hostile. His eyes studied Anthony, measuring him.
Anthony dipped his chin. “Reckon I owe you thanks.”
Brigg frowned. “Thanks?”
“For telling the lady here about Lyle Tate,” Anthony said. His gaze was steady, his voice carrying the grit of truth. “Word reached me soon enough. I found Tate. Found his convoy too.”
Brigg’s brow furrowed. “You did more than find him. Whole town’s been buzzing since word came back. They said Tate’s men were scattered. That the wagons never made it through the canyon. You do that?”
“I did,” Anthony replied. “Couldn’t let those supplies reach Vanburgh. Tate’s convoy was blood money, meant to feed his machine while the rest of this county starves.”
Brigg watched him. He rubbed his thumb against the worn edge of his badge. “And Tate himself?”
Anthony’s eyes hardened. “I gave him to the Shoshone.”
That caught Brigg still. The deputy’s face shifted, a flicker of surprise under the lamplight glow that reached them faintly from town.
“The Shoshone?” he asked. “After what happened to your camp?”
“Exactly because of it,” Anthony said. “Vanburgh sent his riders to burn their lodges. Slaughtered their families. Tate was there. He led the charge. So I gave him to the ones still breathing. What they do with him . . . that’s their justice.”
Brigg let out a slow breath, narrowing his eyes as he looked toward the dark horizon where the Shoshone camps might be. “And what do you reckon they’ll do to him?” he asked.
Anthony shrugged, though his face was stone. “Whatever their law demands,” he said. “Whatever their grief demands. It ain’t mine to answer for. I have other things to take care of.”
The deputy studied him, then glanced toward Abigail at the foot of the ridge. She didn’t flinch or look away. When Brigg turned back, his voice was quieter. “That’s a dangerous gift you gave them,” he said. “Might give Vanburgh more reason to cry for war.”
“Vanburgh don’t need reasons,” Anthony said. “He makes his own. Always has.”
The deputy was silent for a long moment. “So why am I here? Why risk sending her into town to fetch me?”
“Because you’re the only man wearing a badge in this county who hasn’t sold his soul to Vanburgh,” he replied.
“That’s a mighty bold claim,” the deputy said, narrowing his eyes.
“And true,” Anthony replied. “I sat in that courthouse. I watched the judge take his coin, plain as day. Watched the whole room play its part.”
Brigg’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t deny it. He scratched at the stubble along his jaw. “I heard about what happened in court,” he admitted. “Folks talk. But talk don’t make proof.”
Anthony’s voice sharpened. “Proof don’t matter in this county.
Not when Vanburgh buys the judge, the sheriff, half the jurymen, and every gunman who’ll take a coin.
I ain’t asking you to march into Denver and shout it from the rooftops.
I’m asking if you’ll listen. If you’ll see what’s really coming. ”
Brigg didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked toward town, then back. The silence stretched until Anthony felt the weight of it pressing down.
“What makes you think I ain’t just another leash-holder for Vanburgh?” the deputy asked. “You’re putting an awful lot of trust in a man you hardly know.”
“Because if you were his man, I’d already be dead,” Anthony replied. “You knew where to find me. You knew Abigail was tied to me. Yet you didn’t send word. That tells me you ain’t his creature. At least, not yet.”
Brigg’s mouth twitched. It was almost a smile. “You got a sharp tongue, Hawk.”
“I got more than a tongue,” he said. “I got stakes in this fight. Stakes I ain’t shared with anyone outside the lady standing down there.”
The deputy tilted his head. “What stakes?”
Anthony took a breath. He’d weighed this moment since the ride out. Trust was a currency more costly than gold in Vanburgh’s county. But without it, he and Abigail stood alone.
“I own Eagle Rock,” Anthony said, voice level. “Half of it. Other half belongs to Abigail.”
Brigg blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Eagle Rock? That mine’s been shut for years. Folks say it’s picked clean.”
“They’re wrong,” Anthony said. “There’s ore there.
Rich ore. Enough to matter. Enough to draw the railroad’s eye.
Vanburgh wants it bad, and he’ll burn this county to ash to claim it.
That’s why he’s bought the judge, the sheriff, and anyone fool enough to wear his brand. That’s why he wants me gone.”
The deputy’s brow furrowed, his boots shifting in the dirt. He let out a long whistle. “Well, hell,” he said, sighing. “That does explain a lot.”
“Now you see why I needed you,” Anthony said. “Why I risked her going into town. This ain’t about some brawl in a saloon or me beating on one of Vanburgh’s men. It’s bigger. It’s Eagle Rock. It’s the railroad. And it’s Vanburgh’s hunger.”
Brigg rubbed his chin, pacing a step. “You’re asking a lot, Hawk. If I stand with you, I’m standing against the sheriff. Against the judge. Against Vanburgh himself.”
“You already been standing against them,” Anthony said. “Else you wouldn’t be here.”
The deputy let out a humorless chuckle. “Maybe. But you ain’t answered one thing yet. What exactly do you want from me?”
“I want to know if the law in this county’s got any spine left,” Anthony said. “I want someone who’ll stand when the storm comes. And it’s coming. You’ve seen it. You’ve heard it in town.”
Brigg folded his arms, his voice careful. “And if I stand? If I put my neck out with you . . . what then? You got a plan, or just a mine and a grudge?”
“Plan comes after survival,” he said. “Right now, I need to know if you’ll be there when Vanburgh makes his move. Because he will.”
Brigg didn’t answer. Not at once. His gaze turned toward the horizon, where the last light was fading. He was quiet for a long while. “These Shoshone you speak of,” he said. “You gave Tate to them. You think they’d stand with you?”
Anthony paused. He hadn’t expected Brigg to ask it outright.
“They might,” he said slowly. “They got reason enough. We are all from the same tribe. Our dead are still fresh in the ground. Vanburgh brought fire to their lodges, and Tate swung the torch. They want blood, and I gave them a start.”
Brigg nodded, more to himself than anyone. “If they’d stand with you, that’s more than just another rifle at your side,” the deputy said. “That’s a force Vanburgh can’t just brush off. But they’ll want more than vengeance, Hawk.”
“I don’t break my word,” Anthony said. “They’ll get what I am prepared to give.”
For a long moment, Brigg stared at Anthony.
He was weighing every line in his face and every word in his tone.
At last, he nodded once. “All right,” he said.
“You’ve had your say. But know this, Hawk .
. . if I step your way, there ain’t no turning back.
And if you’re lying . . . if you’re just another outlaw looking to bleed this county for your own stake . . . I’ll put you down myself.”
Anthony didn’t flinch. “Fair enough, Deputy.”