Chapter 27
The smoke of gunfire still lingered in the trees. The horses around them stamped nervously, and the echoes of the skirmish rolled away down the valley.
Anthony reloaded his Colt Navy revolver with steady hands, each click of the cylinder sharp in the hush that followed the violence. The bounty hunters lay scattered among the needles and brush.
Deputy Thomas Brigg wiped a sleeve across his face, leaving a streak of blood and dirt on his cheek. He spat on the ground, eyeing the bodies.
“It was one hell of a welcome, Hawk,” he said. “Vanburgh must’ve put a heavy purse on your head.”
Anthony holstered the revolver as he scanned the woods.
“Not just mine,” he replied. “All of ours. He won’t stop until Eagle Rock is his . . . no matter how many men he must bury.”
A few feet away, Abigail bent over one of the wounded bounty hunters. The man coughed once before falling still, leaving her grim-faced.
“They’ll keep coming,” she said quietly. “Every man Vanburgh hires is another pair of eyes watching the road. We can’t hold them off forever.”
Anthony nodded. His gaze drifted east, where the blue line of mountains stood tall against the horizon.
“That’s why we need a different move, ma’am,” Anthony replied.
Brigg squatted by the fire they had kindled, his broad shoulders tense. “And what move would that be?” he asked. “We got the deeds, sure. But paper don’t mean much if the courts are bought and the judges laugh you outta town.”
Reaching inside his coat, Anthony pulled out the iron box they’d salvaged from Abigail’s burned clinic. He set it between them, its weight heavy on the earth. He opened it carefully, revealing the deeds, the letter bearing her father’s hand, and the trust papers binding Eagle Rock to their name.
“This box is the only thing standing between Vanburgh and total claim,” Anthony said. “The originals are gold, but they’re also a target. If he gets hold of them, it’s finished.”
Abigail crossed her arms, clenching her jaw. “So, we guard them. Day and night, if we must.”
“Not all of them,” Anthony said, glancing at Brigg. “That’s too much risk in one place. We make copies. You take them to Denver.”
“Denver?” the deputy asked, straightening his back.
“Capitol’s the only place left where law might still count for something,” Anthony said. “Vanburgh’s reach runs long in these counties, but Denver . . . he don’t own every man there. With those deeds filed, we’ve got leverage. A legal foothold . . . even if the local courts spit in our faces.”
“That means splitting the box,” Abigail said, furrowing her eyebrows. “Copies with him, originals with us.”
“It’s safer that way, ma’am,” Anthony replied. “Even if Brigg gets cut down on the road, we’ll still hold the true claim. And if we fall, he carries the paper east . . . where Vanburgh’s hands can’t twist it so easy.”
The fire popped, sending sparks skyward. Brigg rubbed his chin, staring into the flames. “You’re asking me to ride near two hundred miles with bounty men behind every bush and hill. That’s a death run, Hawk.”
“You’re the one man I trust to pull it through,” Anthony said, his voice softening. “You’ve fought beside me and kept your head while the bullets flew. Denver will listen to you. You’ve got the right sort of tongue for lawmen . . . rough enough to earn respect, sharp enough to cut.”
“And you two?” Brigg asked, shifting uneasily. “Stay here, guarding scraps of paper while the wolves circle?”
“It’s not scraps,” Abigail said. “It’s proof. Proof of my father’s word, proof of what Eagle Rock is meant to be. I won’t abandon it to flames a second time.”
“We’ll dig in,” Anthony said, placing a hand on the box. “Hold the originals here where Vanburgh expects us least. But someone must carry word beyond his shadow. That’s you, Brigg.”
For a long moment, silence stretched. Brigg’s gaze moved between them as the fire painted his weathered features in red and gold. Finally, he exhaled. “Damn you both,” he muttered. “I swore I was done running errands for dead men’s papers. But you’re right. Denver’s the only chance.”
Abigail’s face softened. “Thank you, Brigg.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, standing and kicking dirt over the nearest corpse. “If Vanburgh don’t gut me on the trail, the marshals in Denver just might. But I’ll ride it.”
“Then it’s settled,” Anthony said, giving the deputy a curt nod.
After grabbing some papers and a quill from Abigail’s saddlebag, they worked by firelight. Abigail carefully transcribed the deeds while Anthony sharpened his knife and kept watch. Brigg smoked in silence, occasionally rising to pace the perimeter. His rifle was always cradled in his arms.
The forest around them seemed alive. The hush between owl calls and the rustle of leaves was a constant reminder that bounty hunters were never far behind.
Abigail paused in her writing, looking over at Anthony.
“Do you think the courts in Denver will really listen?” she asked. “Or will they see just another claim ripe for the taking?”
“Maybe they will, ma’am,” he said, leaning on his knee. “Maybe they won’t. But it’s the only chance we’ve got that don’t end in more blood. I’d rather fight in daylight with the law watching than die in the shadows where no one knows the truth.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Abigail replied, dipping her quill again. “My father always said the law was a tool, dull or sharp depending on who held it. We just have to sharpen it in the right place.”
“Law’s a tool, all right,” Brigg said, snorting. “Trouble is that most men wield it like a hammer, smashing whatever is in reach. Denver ain’t no promised land, Hawk. Don’t forget that.”
Anthony’s eyes flicked to the iron box. “I won’t.”
***
Dawn broke gray and cold. The fire was down to embers, and the last of the night’s quiet pressed close around them. Brigg saddled his horse, the fresh copies tucked safely in his saddlebag.
Abigail watched with her arms folded, her face tight with worry. “You’ll ride fast?” she asked.
“As fast as the horse will carry me,” the deputy replied. “Don’t waste prayers on me, Doc. I’ve dodged worse than bounty hunters.”
Anthony stepped forward, offering his hand. Brigg clasped it firmly. No words passed between them for a moment.
“Get it done, Brigg,” Anthony said. “Denver’s our only light.”
Brigg gave a single nod. “You hold the flame, Hawk. I’ll carry the spark.”
He swung into the saddle, the morning mist curling around him like smoke. For a moment, he looked down at them with an unreadable expression. Then, he turned his horse eastward.
The sound of hooves faded into the forest, leaving Anthony and Abigail alone beside the smoldering fire. She exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging.
“It feels like we’ve just torn the last thread holding us together,” she murmured.
Anthony bent, closing the iron box with a decisive click. “No. We’ve given ourselves a chance.”
He looked toward the mountains as the sky paled with the rising sun.