Chapter 25
Anthony sat crouched by the last flicker of the campfire, turning the embers with a stick. He hadn’t slept more than a handful of hours, and what little rest he had taken had been restless, torn by thoughts of Vanburgh’s reach and Tate’s smug smile.
Gold meant nothing to him. Not when it was weighed against lives. But Vanburgh and men like him wielded money like a whip, and Anthony knew it. The cost was only beginning.
Behind him, Abigail was awake too. She was binding her hair back as she tightened the straps of her weatherworn medical bag. Her face was calm, but her eyes carried the same exhaustion Anthony felt.
Deputy Thomas Brigg stood a few paces away, his broad frame outlined against the pale sky.
His thumbs were hooked under his belt, and his boots were planted firmly in the dust. He wasn’t much for words that morning.
His eyes were set on the horizon where a faint gray ribbon of smoke wound its way skyward.
Anthony rose, brushing ash from his hands. “We need to ride to the Shoshone,” he said. “If Vanburgh’s coming hard, we can’t face him alone.”
“As long as you think they’ll take our side,” the deputy replied.
“They’ve got more reason than you do,” Anthony said. “But we won’t know until we ask.”
Abigail drew closer, shrugging her jacket over her shoulders. “They trusted you when you gave them Tate,” she said. “If they’ve any chance of hearing us out again, it’ll be through you.”
Brigg scratched at his jaw. “I don’t like it. Riding into their camp uninvited, we’ll look like trouble sniffing for more trouble.”
Anthony’s eyes hardened, the fire in them quiet but undeniable. “It’s my mother’s tribe,” he said. “I won’t be uninvited.”
That ended it. They saddled their horses in silence, each lost in their own thoughts as the sun climbed. Hooves struck the hard earth as they rode out, and the cool air was sharp in their lungs.
Anthony felt like the whole situation was complicated. Yes, he was part of the Shoshone. Yes, they had lost the same things. Yes, it was their camp that had been burned that day.
But what did they think of Anthony now that all these rumors were swirling? Did the Shoshone think he was going to bring them trouble? Or were they waiting for somebody to push them in the right direction?
After all, they all had one enemy, and it was Vanburgh.
The trail to the Shoshone camp wound through sage and scrub. He knew they kept moving these days. No camp was permanent. It was going to be hard to find them.
Along the way, Anthony kept his gaze moving. He was checking the skyline, the gullies, and the crests of hills. Even in the wilderness, there was a high chance they were being watched.
By midmorning, they reached the camp. Smoke curled up in thin gray ribbons from stone fire pits, and the camp stirred with life.
Anthony slowed Spirit, dismounting first. The camp quieted at once. Eyes turned toward him—men, women, elders, and the young. They were all staring. There was no anger, but there was caution. He could feel it pressing around him.
Two men stepped forward from the nearest tent. One was Black Wolf; the other was Red Hawk.
“Anthony Hawk,” Black Wolf said, his voice like gravel over stone. “You come back.”
Anthony bowed his head. “I come because I must.”
“You gave us Lyle Tate,” Red Hawk stated. He glanced toward the rear of the camp, his jaw tightening. “But he is gone.”
Anthony stilled. His voice was careful. “Gone?”
“He broke free,” Black Wolf said, nodding. “He killed one of our young men, wounded another, and fled into the hills.”
Brigg cursed under his breath. “Hell’s teeth. That snake always slips the noose.”
Anthony’s fists clenched, and his chest started burning with rage. The man who had set fire to their home . . . who had brought ash and grief . . . he still lived.
“He’ll run straight to Vanburgh,” Anthony said. His tone was iron. “You know what that means.”
Black Wolf’s grave eyes met his. “It means war comes sooner than we wished.”
Anthony took a deep breath, then looked to the elders gathering nearby. “Then I need to speak to the council,” he said.
Word spread quickly, and soon a circle of elders formed near the center of the camp. They sat cross-legged on the earth with their cloaks wrapped close against the mountain air.
Abigail and Brigg followed Anthony into the circle’s edge, lowering themselves as he did.
The murmurs quieted. Black Wolf motioned with one broad hand. “Speak,” he said.
Anthony had to take a deep breath before speaking. “The railroad comes fast,” he said. “It eats land. It eats rivers. It eats the graves of your fathers. Vanburgh is its hand. He has already shown what he brings. He will not stop. Not with me, not with our people. He will take everything.”
The elders murmured low, like wind through pine. Some nodded grimly; others looked down, troubled.
“I don’t ask you to throw your families into gunfire,” Anthony went on. “I ask that some of you stand with us. A few rifles. A few brave hearts. Enough to tip the balance when Vanburgh comes. Enough to make him bleed. Enough to make him think twice.”
An elder with a voice cracked by age shook his head. “We have children,” he said. “We have widows. Soldiers come with Vanburgh’s money. Their rifles are many. Our blood would soak the ground.”
Brigg leaned forward, his voice rough but earnest. “Better blood than chains,” the deputy added. “You think Vanburgh will stop once he drives you out? He’ll take your water, your hunting grounds, and the bones of your dead. You can’t bargain with a man like him.”
Abigail touched Brigg’s sleeve, softening the edge of his words as she spoke gently to the elders.
“He doesn’t mean disrespect,” she said. “Only that Vanburgh will never stop at half measures. He will destroy everything if he isn’t faced.”
“Vanburgh doesn’t care if you fight or if you beg,” Anthony said. “Every day you wait, he cuts deeper into our land. He doesn’t need reasons. He makes them. You’ve seen it.”
Red Hawk folded his arms, but there was less fire in his gaze now and more thought. Black Wolf rubbed his jaw, weighing the silence.
At last, he nodded.
“Some will fight,” Black Wolf said. “Not all. We cannot risk the remaining tribe. But a few will stand with you. And they will stand true.”
Anthony’s shoulders eased, and he bowed his head. “That’s all I ask.”
“It’s a start,” Brigg said as he exhaled.
Abigail placed her hand lightly on Anthony’s arm, her eyes shining with quiet pride. “You won them further than I thought possible,” she said.
As the council broke apart, Black Wolf stepped forward. He clasped Anthony’s forearm firmly, his grip strong as oak. His eyes were grave but not unkind. “Your mother would have been proud,” he said.
Anthony swallowed, the words striking deeper than he expected. “Then we’ll make her pride worth something,” he replied.
“It’s more than we had yesterday,” Black Wolf said. “And it’ll have to do.”
The crowd had begun to thin, voices fading back into the rhythm of camp life.
But Black Wolf lingered. He looked at Anthony in the way of men who had once shared the same fires, the same winters, and the same hunger.
“My family was lost in the fire,” Black Wolf said at last, his voice rough with grief he didn’t show to many.
“I know.” His own voice was quiet, stripped bare. “My aunt, my uncle, my cousin—they were taken too. The smoke carried them before I could do anything.”
Black Wolf clenched his jaw. The weight of their shared loss bound the silence between them. “Rumors spread in towns,” he said finally. “They say you brought this trouble. That your fists and your anger draw fire.”
Anthony’s eyes hardened. “Law is crooked. Bought and sold. They’ll say whatever Vanburgh pays them to say. But you know me, Black Wolf. Don’t believe the lies of men who never bled beside you.”
The older man studied him a moment longer, then placed a heavy hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “I know what I saw when we were boys,” he said. “And I know the man standing before me now. Rumors are wind. Truth is fire. I’ll remember which burns brighter.”
Anthony bowed his head once before Black Wolf turned away to join the others.