Chapter 43
Anthony stood in the dust-swept street of Silver Cross. The heat of the afternoon baked down on him. He had watched the last of Vanburgh’s men scatter or fall beneath the accurate fire of Red Hawk and Black Wolf, and he had seen the final, exhausted glance Sheriff Muldoon cast from his porch.
The man had seethed with impotent fury, but now he sat caged in the old jail cell, muttering threats and curses that were carried off by the wind.
The sounds of the ridge battle were long gone. The distant echo of rifle shots now belonged to bounty hunters and the few remaining stragglers who thought to capitalize on Vanburgh’s chaos.
Anthony wiped his hands across his pants, brushing away dirt and residual blood. He let out a breath that had been building since dawn. The relief was fragile. There were still too many questions, too many pieces that didn’t yet fit neatly into the fragile puzzle of law and order.
A thunder of hooves on the wooden boardwalk drew Anthony’s attention. A figure emerged from the south end of town, dust rolling behind him like a ghost. He dismounted smoothly. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a sun-creased face and eyes that missed nothing.
It was the sheriff from the next town over: Sheriff Caleb Trask. He had come. His presence alone was enough to shift the nervous tension in the street. Townsfolk whispered, nodding to themselves. They recognized that this man was not easily swayed by threats or bribes.
Anthony’s eyes narrowed slightly as Trask approached. “Sheriff,” he called, voice carrying across the street.
“Anthony Hawk,” Trask said, eyes flicking from Anthony to the Shoshone warriors, Abigail, and then to the sheriff’s office holding Muldoon. “Looks like you stirred up a hornet’s nest.”
“I suppose you could say that,” Anthony replied, gesturing lightly toward the jail. “Muldoon’s in custody for now. Though I doubt he’ll admit anything quietly.”
Trask’s gaze followed Anthony’s hand. “Corruption leaves a stench you can’t ignore,” Trask said, nodding once. “I got word from a messenger. Looks like I got here just in time.”
“You’ve got that right,” Anthony said. “That man’s been Vanburgh’s shadow for years. Silenced men for him, hid his deals, protected his operations. Corruption runs through him like blood through veins.”
Trask’s lips tightened. “I can believe it. I’ve heard stories. Still, doesn’t make him any less a man of the law, at least on paper.”
Anthony gave a short, humorless laugh. “On paper, maybe,” he said.
“But the law didn’t touch Vanburgh while Muldoon was in charge here.
He ensured it. He ensured Vanburgh’s reach stretched unchallenged, and anyone who tried to interfere was left to die.
He’s a danger to this town, to this valley, to anyone who hopes for justice. ”
Trask regarded him quietly for a moment. “So, you want him locked up until a trial?”
“Exactly,” Anthony said firmly. “He’s dangerous, and I want no one harmed further. But I don’t have the authority to hold him past today. That’s why I need someone neutral . . . someone who actually respects the law.”
Trask studied Anthony, noting the blood stains on his shirt, the dirt streaking his face, and the gun at his hip. “You went through hell to get this far, Hawk,” he said. “I can see why you’re so invested. But tell me exactly what happened.”
Anthony gestured toward the remains of Vanburgh’s men scattered along the street, the bullet-ridden boards, and the overturned crates.
“Vanburgh tried to blow up the ridge,” he explained. “Had his men planted with explosives and rifles. I stopped him. Shot him myself.” He let the weight of the statement hang.
Trask’s eyes flicked with acknowledgment. “I suppose that explains the bodies in the street,” he said quietly, his gaze sweeping over the Shoshone warriors who had provided cover and precise fire. “And the ridge . . . the ridge’s safe?”
“Safe,” Anthony replied, nodding. “For now. The remaining men may still be scattered in the hills, but the ridge itself is intact. The powder and Vanburgh’s plans . . . gone. Burned, blown, or buried in the dirt.”
“Sounds like you saved more than just property, Hawk,” he said. “You saved lives. What about Muldoon?”
Anthony motioned back toward the cell. “He’s corrupt,” Anthony said.
“He’s Vanburgh’s man. He’ll lie, cheat, and use the law to cover his tracks if given the chance.
But he’s caged for now. I need him held until proper authority can arrive.
Denver, maybe. The judge there knows about the deeds and that I am the legal owner of Eagle Rock.
Any attempt to interfere . . . well, Muldoon might swing, but that ends here. ”
Trask’s eyebrows lifted. “You say Muldoon might swing?”
“He’s a corrupt man,” Anthony said. “He’ll do whatever he can to protect his interests. If he’s not held, he’ll try to interfere with justice. He’ll pretend to uphold the law, but anyone with sense can see the truth.”
Trask’s lips pressed into a thin line, then he nodded slowly. “I understand. Don’t worry, Hawk. I’ll hold him. Muldoon’s staying in a cell. Until the trial. Until the law takes its course.”
Anthony allowed himself a brief nod. “Good. I don’t like leaving him loose. The town’s still fragile after Vanburgh, and Muldoon is the kind of man who will take advantage.”
Trask’s gaze swept the street, landing briefly on the Shoshone warriors and Abigail. “And the men? Any of Vanburgh’s remnants left?”
“I don’t know,” Anthony said. “I can’t say for certain if any escaped. Could be a few hiding out, waiting for the next move.”
Trask’s face was calm, but his eyes gleamed with experience.
“Then let the law take care of it,” the sheriff said. “We’ve got bounty hunters out—skilled men—working hard. They’ll find them. And anyone trying to stir trouble will find the wrong side of justice waiting.”
Anthony exhaled slowly, relief mingling with fatigue. “I hope you’re right.”
“I am,” Trask said, giving him a firm nod. “But there’s more to do here before we can rest. I’ll make sure your friends are safe, and Muldoon stays under lock until further notice. We’ll sort out the rest. Law is patient, Hawk, even if men aren’t.”
Anthony allowed himself a grim smile. “Good. I’m counting on patience, then.”
Trask looked over the street again. “And the town?”
“They’re shaken,” Anthony said, glancing down the street. “Afraid. But alive. And they’ll understand soon enough. Muldoon can’t protect Vanburgh anymore. That empire is gone.”
Trask nodded again, a sharp, precise movement. “Then I’ll take Muldoon, secure him properly, and make sure there’s a record of what’s happened. No one will be able to deny it. The law will find Vanburgh’s men, and any who resist will answer for it.”
Anthony let the tension drain slowly from his shoulders. For the first time in a few days, he allowed himself to breathe. He knew the battle was only one of many, but for now, the tide had turned.
Trask gave a final glance around the street, acknowledging the Shoshone and Abigail, then nodded toward Anthony.
“You did good, Hawk,” he said. “But the real work starts now. You’ll need patience, allies, and a steady hand. Don’t let your anger dictate the rest of your life.”
“Anger? No. Vigilance. I’ve got enough of that for all of us.”
Trask gave a faint, approving smile. “Then go on. Rest, regroup. The law will handle the rest, and Silver Cross will see the sun rise again without fear.”
Anthony watched as Trask walked toward the jail, preparing to take Muldoon away properly. The crowd murmured behind him. Some eyes were still wary, some hopeful, and Anthony felt the weight of the day settle into his bones.
There would be time for reckoning later. For now, the immediate danger was over.
He turned to Red Hawk, Black Wolf, and Abigail, who had been quietly watching from the street. “We’ve still got work to do,” he said, his voice firm but quieter now. “But the valley is safe.”
***
After the dust had settled, Anthony led Abigail a few paces away from the main street. He hardly noticed the heat of the sun anymore. He let out a long breath, shoulders sagging slightly.
Abigail adjusted the strap of her bag, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. Her eyes flicked to the undertaker’s parlor, where Brigg lay. She managed a small smile despite the grime and exhaustion that coated her features.
“Do you think he’s losing his mind in there?” she asked, teasing. “Still bandaged, stuck on that table, and then he hears gunfire outside. He’s probably imagining half the town’s after him.”
Anthony allowed himself a brief chuckle, though it was heavy with fatigue. “Knowing Brigg?” he said, shaking his head. “He’s probably cursing everyone under the sun, calling me a fool for dragging him here, and wondering if I’ve lost all sense.”
She grinned, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Poor man. He’s stubborn enough to die from boredom before his wound gets him.”
Anthony’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “I’ll go check on him,” he said, his tone quiet now. “Make sure he hasn’t gotten himself tangled up in more trouble while healing.”
Abigail’s eyes softened, a flicker of concern crossing her face. “You don’t have to,” she said. “He’s under my care. I can—”
“No, ma’am,” Anthony said. “Someone needs to keep an eye on him. He’s not the type to lie down quietly, and I’d rather it be me than have him end up tearing the stitches out or doing something stupid.”
She gave a small, resigned laugh. For a long moment, neither spoke, just letting the wind carry away the noise of the town.
“Then go,” Abigail said after a while. “But after, you better rest too. We’re not done yet, but you can’t keep dragging yourself through this alone.”
Anthony nodded once, firm and certain. “I’ll be fine,” he said. But there was a quiet undercurrent to his words, the truth that every muscle in his body screamed at him for relief. “You . . . take a moment. Sit down. Get water. You’ve earned it.”
She gave him a wry look, her exhaustion and humor mingling. “You sound like my mother.”
“Then listen,” Anthony said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Go ahead. Rest while you can.”
He gave a short nod and turned, boots kicking up dust as he made his way back to the undertaker’s. Each step brought him closer to the table where Brigg lay bandaged and still, though he knew the deputy’s restlessness would be visible soon enough.
Inside the undertaker’s, the air was cooler. Brigg’s eyes snapped open the moment Anthony entered, a crooked grin forming despite the ache of his injuries.
“You back already?” Brigg rasped, his voice tight with strain. “Thought maybe the Shoshone had finally decided to haul me out and feed me to the wolves.”
Anthony shook his head, leaning on the edge of the table. “Not today, Brigg. You’re staying put until Abigail says otherwise. Don’t make me regret checking on you.”
Brigg let out a low chuckle, a cough rattling in his chest. “Regret? You? Never.”
Anthony’s eyes swept over him, noting the stiffness in his shoulders and the faint tremor in his hands. “You’re lucky I came when I did,” he said quietly. “One more stunt like this and I’m not going to be as gentle.”
Brigg grinned weakly, letting the words pass without protest. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
Anthony sighed, brushing a hand across his temple. “Just rest. That’s all I’m asking. Abigail’s done what she can. Now it’s time for you to do your part.”
The deputy’s grin faded into a thin line, the exhaustion of his ordeal settling over him. “Fine,” he muttered, leaning back against the table. “But you can’t promise I won’t be grouchy.”
Anthony chuckled softly, allowing a small measure of relief to touch him. “I don’t expect anything else.”
He straightened, glancing around the room to ensure everything was secure. Abigail’s presence outside the door and the Shoshone warriors’ vigilance by the street all gave him a small sense of order returning after the chaos of the past days.
“I’ll check on the street, see if anyone’s stirring trouble,” he said. “Then I’ll make sure everything’s ready for the night.”
Brigg’s voice was faint, almost teasing despite the pain. “Try not to get yourself shot while patrolling,” he said. “Wouldn’t want you joining me on the table sooner than necessary.”
Anthony allowed a faint, dry laugh. “Not today, Brigg. Not today.”
He took one last look at the deputy, now reclining more comfortably though still tense, before stepping toward the door. The sun was dipping lower now. The town was quiet, uneasy, but alive.
Outside, Abigail had settled onto the edge of a step, untying her boots for a moment. She glanced up at him with tired eyes, a half-smile tugging at her lips.
“You checked on him,” she said softly.
“I did,” Anthony replied, voice low. “He’s stubborn. But he’ll survive if he listens for once.”
“Good,” she said, taking a sip of water from her canteen. Her shoulders dropped as she leaned back against the wooden post. “And you? You’ll take a minute for yourself?”
Anthony considered her question, letting his gaze sweep across the street, the jail, and the distant horizon.
“Maybe,” he said finally, a hint of humor in his tone. “After I make sure nothing else decides to come barreling into town.”
Abigail laughed softly, the sound light in the afternoon heat. “Well, don’t be too long, Hawk. I need my stubborn patient alive for tomorrow.”
Anthony shook his head with a faint smile, turning his attention back to the street. Even with the fight behind them, vigilance was necessary. The night would bring shadows, and he would be ready.
But for the first time in days, he allowed himself a moment of calm. A pause where the dust, blood, and fire could be left behind.
As he leaned against the post, he felt the faintest hint of hope. Eagle Rock was safe, the corrupt were contained, and the valley might finally see justice.
The quiet lasted only a few moments, but it was enough for Anthony to gather his strength and prepare for the next trials Silver Cross might demand of him.