Chapter 28
Eagle Rock basin was quiet that day, and the air was crisp with the scent of cottonwoods and dust. The creek whispered nearby, its voice lost beneath the weight of silence pressing down from the ridges.
Anthony led Spirit into the cover of the trees, scanning the folds of land the way a hawk scans the sky.
His shoulders stayed tense, and his eyes were always restless.
“This’ll do,” he said finally, dropping the reins.
Abigail slipped from her mare with less ease, brushing dust from her pants as her boots found the soft earth by the water. Her arms folded tightly around herself, though it wasn’t yet cold.
“Feels strange,” she murmured. “Stopping when he’s so close.”
Anthony crouched to check the ground, testing the soil with his palm. He didn’t look at her when he answered.
“Strange, maybe,” he replied. “But stopping’s better than riding blind into his teeth.”
Her gaze lingered on him. “You can feel it, can’t you? That he’s here. At Eagle Rock.”
Anthony held his breath as he listened to the sounds around him. Then he rose, brushing dirt from his hand.
“I can feel it,” he said. “He’s coiled in that canyon, sitting on powder and fuses . . . just waiting to strike along with his army.”
“Then tomorrow we decide,” she said. “One way or another. Do you think it’ll be too late by then?”
“Either way, we must wait for Deputy Brigg,” Anthony replied. “We can’t do this without him.”
Together, they worked quietly. Anthony stripped the saddles and checked the cinches before tethering the horses near the water. Meanwhile, Abigail gathered what little kindling the basin offered and built a fire so small it was more ember than flame.
When it caught, she sat opposite him with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around her legs.
The light painted them both in shifting gold. Anthony rested with the bow he grabbed from his saddle across his knees and his eyes on the black horizon where the ridges swallowed the last of the sun. Abigail watched him for a while before she broke the silence.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said softly.
“Thinking, ma’am,” he said.
“That’s dangerous out here,” she teased, though her voice was weary.
“Safer than not thinking,” Anthony replied with a small smile. “Safer than charging blind.”
“And what are you thinking?” Abigail asked. She tilted her head, her eyes catching the firelight.
He fed a twig into the flames. The sparks rose quick and died even quicker.
“Vanburgh’s camp,” he said. “Brigg said he’s got men all through the canyon. Rifles stacked, dynamite piled high. We’ve seen them ourselves. If we don’t go in careful, we’ll never walk out.”
“Vanburgh doesn’t know careful,” Abigail replied, her gaze hardening. “He only knows fire and thunder. If he wanted you dead, he’d keep sending bounty men . . . but he isn’t. He’s saving the powder for something bigger.”
“You believe that?” Anthony asked, lifting his eyes to hers.
“I know it,” she said. “Those kegs aren’t for scaring us off. We know that he’s planning to erase something. Eagle Rock and all the tribes that surround it. Maybe even this whole valley.”
Anthony’s hand curled tight around his bow. “All to clear the land.”
“All to make Eagle Rock his,” she said bitterly.
For a while, the only sound was the creek and the fire. Anthony leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The firelight sharpened the contours of his face.
“Then we hit him before he can strike,” Anthony said.
Her brow furrowed. “Hit him how? You and me against an army?”
“Not an army, ma’am,” he said. “A gang. Paid men. They scatter once their head’s cut off. We cut Vanburgh out and the rest falls apart.”
“You make it sound simple,” Abigail replied, shaking her head. “But it’s not.”
“I didn’t say it was simple,” he said evenly. “But it’s what we’ve got.”
Abigail drew her knees closer, her voice softening. “And what about us?”
His eyes met hers, steady as stone. “What about us?”
“If something happens . . .” she faltered, then steadied herself. “If something happens to you, this all dies with you. Brigg may get to Denver, but Vanburgh will still be here, still holding the canyon. The tribes will be scattered. And Eagle Rock . . .”
Anthony didn’t mean to, but his hand moved, brushing against hers across the fire. He stopped when he felt her fingers, but she didn’t pull away.
“Nothing’s gonna happen to me, ma’am,” he said low. “Not yet.”
Her eyes searched his face. “You sound sure.”
“I’ve walked too far for it to end easy. And if it does . . .” His voice dropped. “If it does, I’ll go down swinging.”
Her hand tightened slightly on his, holding him there. “You always think of the fight,” she whispered. “Never the after.”
“The after?”
“Yes,” Abigail said. “After Vanburgh. After Eagle Rock is safe. After the dust settles.” She gave a faint smile that trembled at the edges. “What then?” she asked.
For once, Anthony didn’t have an answer ready. He looked at her as the fire softened her tired face, and for a moment, he saw something he’d buried long ago.
A chance at peace. Laughter. No more violence.
“I reckon,” he said slowly, “we’ll figure it out. Together.”
The word hung between them heavier than any rifle. Abigail’s breath caught, and in her eyes, he saw hope flicker like the fire. But hope couldn’t last long in the basin’s silence. She eased her hand free, folding it into her lap.
“We will plan it through,” Abigail confirmed. “His guards, his stores, the lay of the canyon. We use the land against him. No mistakes.”
Anthony nodded. “No mistakes.”
The fire sank lower, its light turning ember-red. Anthony leaned back against the cottonwood, with his bow still across his knees. Abigail curled into herself, her face turned toward him though her eyes closed slowly.
Above them, the stars sharpened in the cold sky. The world felt still. It was like the breath before a storm.
Anthony watched the horizon where Eagle Rock waited and where Vanburgh’s powder kegs gleamed in the dark. His chest tightened, but it didn’t come from fear. He was not afraid.
Tomorrow they would strike. Tomorrow it would begin or end.
He glanced once more at Abigail, her breathing steady but shallow. The fire’s glow brushed her cheek. She wasn’t asleep. He knew that. Neither of them could be, not with what loomed ahead.
Anthony shifted his grip on the bow and settled against the tree. The night pressed closer, and the silence deepened. Somewhere beyond the ridges, Vanburgh prepared his fire.
But here in the basin, Anthony and Abigail held their own flame.
And neither was ready to let it go out.