Chapter 35
Anthony’s finger tightened on the trigger of his Colt Navy revolver, and every muscle in his body was coiled like a spring.
The crack of rifles echoed across the ridge.
It was a violent drumbeat that made the rocks vibrate beneath his boots.
Smoke and dust rolled through the canyon like a living thing.
“Now!” Anthony barked, his voice sharp, cutting through the chaos.
Black Wolf answered immediately, moving down the southern slope with his warriors and sliding between boulders and sage.
From Anthony’s vantage point, he could see the horses bolting, hooves kicking up dirt as the Shoshone struck first. Riders scrambled, shouting curses.
Some fired wildly over the panicked animals’ heads.
Red Hawk’s sharp, low whistle carried through the smoke. It was both a warning and a rallying cry. Anthony pivoted, taking the western flank. The north ridge was clear for now, and his revolver spurted flame with each squeeze of the trigger.
One of Vanburgh’s men went down behind a wagon, his rifle skittering across the dirt. Anthony’s eyes never left the powder stores at the center. He knew the slightest misstep could trigger a chain reaction that would level the ridge.
“Keep your heads down!” he yelled to his men, though they could hardly hear him over the noise.
A figure emerged from the haze, stepping out of the central tent. It was Vanburgh.
Anthony froze for a fraction of a second, catching the arrogance in the man’s posture. The rail baron’s chest puffed out. His hands were on his hips, and his 1860 Colt Army revolver was holstered, as if daring anyone to touch him.
“Well, well,” Vanburgh called across the chaos, his voice dripping with contempt. “Anthony Hawk—the mountain rat thinks he can play hero. You and your little savages will be nothing more than dust by the time I’m finished!”
Anthony’s teeth clenched. He leaned low behind a boulder, sliding a round into his revolver.
“Haven’t you got a mansion to ruin, Vanburgh?” he asked. “Or did your greed run out of rooftops to poke?”
Vanburgh laughed. It was a harsh, grating sound.
“Bold words for someone hiding behind rocks and bowstrings,” he replied. “Let me guess . . . you think your little stunt here matters? That you’ve got the numbers to scare me?”
Anthony adjusted his stance, eyeing the ridge. Three men who had been Vanburgh’s enforcers had once been a constant threat. Not anymore.
“Some of your boys are already dead,” Anthony said, his voice calm but cutting. “The ones you sent to keep me pinned? They’re feeding the dirt.”
Vanburgh’s grin vanished. His eyes flicked toward the southern slope where Black Wolf’s men were already wreaking havoc. Then, a low growl formed in his throat.
“Dead? Those were my best! My finest! You’ll pay for this insolence!”
Anthony didn’t flinch. He glanced to Red Hawk signaling from the west ridge. “Keep your heads down! Don’t let them pin us!”
Two men rounded the corner of a canvas tent, rifles leveled toward him. Anthony rolled forward, sliding behind a jagged boulder. He fired twice in rapid succession.
Both men crumpled, shouting curses that were swallowed by the roar of gunfire.
The ridge had erupted into a maelstrom. Smoke curled around the tents, mingling with dust and the acrid tang of spent gunpowder. Horses screamed and bolted in every direction. Riders tried to regain control as arrows streaked from the rocks above.
Anthony rose slightly, scanning for Vanburgh again. The man had vanished into the central tent, but Anthony could hear the shuffle of boots and the clatter of weapons. Every second counted.
From the south, Black Wolf shouted, “Horses are down! Riders are scrambling! Now’s the time!”
Anthony sprinted along the ridge with his bow notched, picking his targets with deadly precision. A man stepped into view near the powder crates with his Winchester rifle raised.
In less than a split second, Anthony’s arrow struck true in the shoulder. The man dropped his rifle and fell to the dirt with a scream.
A soldier to his right fired at him, sending a spray of gravel across Anthony’s boots. He rolled behind cover, slamming his palm against the ground to steady himself. Then, he fired twice, the Colt’s report cutting through the noise. Both rounds found their mark.
The central ridge trembled as explosions of gunfire rocked the tents. Anthony ducked behind a boulder as a volley of bullets struck, sending splinters of wood and canvas into the air.
He caught sight of Vanburgh’s shadow moving behind one of the wagons, his revolver raised. Anthony’s pulse hammered.
Every instinct screamed to charge, but he knew the ridge was a trap. One wrong move and the powder crates would go up.
“Vanburgh!” Anthony yelled across the chaos. “You sent men to kill me. They’re all dead. Your plan’s crumbling, and you’re standing there!”
At that, he stepped partially into the sun, his teeth flashing.
“You think this ridge belongs to you, Hawk?” he asked. “That your little band of savages can dictate terms to me? I own this land, these men, this line of steel! You’ll regret this!”
“I don’t negotiate with thieves,” Anthony replied. “Your men are falling. Your explosives won’t fire unless you want to bury yourself in them.”
Vanburgh’s hand twitched toward his holster. Anthony fired an arrow high, startling a nearby soldier and breaking the man’s aim. Another flash from his Colt sent a man behind a barrel to the dirt.
“Look around, Vanburgh!” Anthony shouted. “Your bounty hunters? Gone. Your guards? Scattered. Your horses? Dead. Your men’s loyalty? Broken. And yet here I am, still standing. Still breathing.”
The rail baron’s face twisted in rage. He cursed under his breath, then fired his revolver at a shadow flitting along the rocks. Anthony ducked behind his cover, rolling as the bullet tore into stone beside him.
Red Hawk appeared at Anthony’s side.
“They push too far!” he shouted, firing again and cutting down a man who had tried to flank them from the west.
“Keep them off the powder!” Anthony said. “I’ll draw Vanburgh’s attention!” He rose slightly, allowing himself to be seen with his revolver leveled.
Vanburgh’s grin snapped into a sneer. “Finally! Come out and play, Hawk! You’ll be the first to die!”
Anthony didn’t flinch. He fired a round over Vanburgh’s shoulder, forcing him to duck behind a crate. Then another. Each shot was deliberate, meant to provoke and keep Vanburgh exposed.
“You’ve lost more than half your men already,” Anthony said, his voice carrying over the roar. “Lyle Tate, the enforcers you boasted about? Vanburgh, your empire on this ridge is crumbling. You’re out of options.”
Vanburgh’s eyes blazed with fury, teeth clenched. He fired again, a shot that tore through a wagon and sent splinters flying. Anthony rolled, taking cover behind another boulder.
Black Wolf’s warriors were screaming war cries from the south, moving like shadows.
They were unseen until they struck. A man tried to rise from behind a downed wagon to get a clear shot at Anthony.
The arrow from Anthony’s bow found the man’s chest before he could fire, knocking him to the dirt with a grunt.
The shootout had become a storm. Bullets and arrows flew, men screamed and fell, and horses screamed as their hooves tore up the ground. Anthony’s voice rose above it all as he barked orders and drew lines of sight for his men.
One of Vanburgh’s soldiers tried to sneak along a ridge behind Anthony’s position. A round from the Colt found his leg, and he tumbled down the slope, screaming.
Anthony’s mind ran like clockwork: Powder stores. Neutralize threat. Guards. Draw fire. Vanburgh. Keep him exposed. Men. Cover and flank.
Every shot, every shout, every breath measured.
“Vanburgh!” he shouted again, his voice carrying rage and authority. “You thought you could crush Eagle Rock and walk away rich. You thought you could touch my people, my land, my family . . . and still live!”
The baron fired back. His revolver cracked against the rocks, narrowly missing Anthony’s shoulder. Anthony leaned forward, letting a spent bullet rattle past before firing his revolver, aiming for Vanburgh’s hand as he drew again.
A man beside Vanburgh went down screaming. Another staggered. Vanburgh himself ducked behind a crate, fury radiating from every movement. He bellowed, cursing Hawk’s name over and over.
The valley around Eagle Rock was alive with motion. Anthony rolled behind a boulder and reloaded as fast as he could. He fired, then leapt up again before sliding down the slope.
Black Wolf’s warriors were hitting the south ridge. Red Hawk and Anthony’s men pinned the western approaches. Anthony could see smoke curling from the north as shots rang out from unseen positions.
Vanburgh peeked from behind a crate again, firing wildly as if trying to catch Anthony off guard. Anthony’s revolver cracked twice, and Vanburgh flinched, ducking back again.
“You’re not invincible, Vanburgh!” Anthony yelled, moving closer. “Your greed will be your ruin.”
The rail baron’s face was red with fury. “I’ll kill you! I’ll—”
Another round from Hawk’s Colt cut off his words, and the man nearest Vanburgh fell, screaming in pain. Anthony slid behind a jagged rock with his arrow notched, bowstring pulled taut.
Anthony took a breath, letting his eyes sweep the battlefield. His Colt was empty again. He reached into his pocket to pull out a handful of bullets. He reloaded, fingers steady despite the adrenaline.
His bow rested across his back, quiver in place. He moved along the ridge, ducking, firing, sliding, repositioning. He had committed every move to memory.
Vanburgh cursed, firing at every shadow. Anthony dodged behind a boulder, feeling the heat of the shot pass too close.