Chapter 20
The wind carried the smell of smoke long before they saw the flames.
“Another one,” Blaze said.
Shadow slowed beneath him, his ears flicking forward. Across the open plain, the remnants of a homestead sat twisted and blackened against the sky. Fences were half-burned, and cattle lay sprawled like broken toys.
Graycloud rode ahead, his sharp eyes scanning the ground. Marisol trailed slightly behind, her rifle resting across the saddle horn. The expression on her face was tight.
“They’ve been through here,” Graycloud said.
“How long?” Blaze asked.
Once they all pulled their horses to a stop, Graycloud hopped down from his saddle.
He walked a few paces forward and crouched beside a set of hoofprints near the road, pressing his fingers into the dust.
“A day,” he said. “Maybe less. Ten to twelve horses, moving fast.”
It always amazed Blaze how the Indian could tell so much from tracks. He thought he would get used to it, but he couldn’t.
“Wilder’s crew,” Blaze said quietly. “No doubt about it.”
He always knew Dean Wilder had plenty of people at his disposal, but riding around with at least ten men was an understatement.
Marisol reined in beside them. “They’re not even hidin’ anymore. Just ridin’ through and burnin’ what’s left.”
“Fear works faster than bullets,” Graycloud said. “He wants word to spread.”
Blaze looked toward the horizon, where another thin trail of smoke curled upward into the pale sky.
“Then let’s make sure he knows we’re still behind him,” he said.
Marisol frowned. “You think he cares who’s followin’?”
“He’ll care when I catch him.”
They rode on through the afternoon heat. The land opened wide and merciless, dotted with sagebrush and the charred remains of once-living things.
Every few miles, they passed more signs: a wagon wheel half-buried in dust, a farmhouse door hanging open with the wind moaning through it like a ghost.
Near dusk, they came upon a family digging graves by the remains of their barn. The man’s shirt was soaked with sweat, his face hollow. Two small boys worked beside him, their hands blistered from shovels too big for them.
Blaze couldn’t continue riding. He stopped at the fence.
“You need help, mister?” he asked.
The man looked up, eyes red-rimmed and sunken. “Ain’t enough help in the world for this.”
Blaze dismounted, stepping closer. “Was it the Hollow Creek Riders?”
The man nodded slowly. “Said we owed Wilder tribute for riding on his land. We told them we didn’t owe him nothing. So they made sure we remembered who did.”
His gaze fell to the three mounds already covered. Blaze didn’t ask who was buried there. He didn’t need to.
“I’m sorry,” Blaze said softly.
The man looked at him with dull hatred. “Sorry don’t change nothing. You one of his too?”
“No, sir,” Blaze said. “I’m hunting him.”
The man spat into the dirt. “Then make it quick when you find him. Don’t let him beg.”
“I’ll do what needs doing,” Blaze promised.
He turned back to his horse, but the man called after him. “You can’t kill what the desert’s already cursed, boy. Wilder ain’t just a man anymore. You’ll see.”
Blaze mounted up without answering.
“What was he talking about?” Marisol asked from her saddle.
Graycloud looked like he beat her to asking the same question. He narrowed his eyes at Blaze, expecting him to answer.
“I don’t know,” Blaze replied with a sigh.
The man’s words hung in his head long after the ranch had faded behind them.
***
That night they camped beneath a ridge of red rock, with the moon spilling pale light over the desert floor. The fire crackled between them.
Marisol sat with her rifle in her lap, oiling the barrel.
“That man was broken,” she said. “You could see it in his eyes.”
“Whole country’s breaking,” Blaze said. “One town, one farm at a time.”
Graycloud added another stick to the fire. “This is what happens when gold finds men before peace does. My uncle used to say the earth remembers greed.”
“Is that what he wants from all this? Just gold?” Blaze asked.
The Indian gave a faint smile. “You think men kill this many just for blood?”
Blaze stared into the flames, the orange light flickering across his face.
“He killed my ma for nothing,” Blaze said. “Maybe that was blood enough.”
Marisol’s voice softened. “Maybe not. Maybe she had something he wanted.”
Blaze looked up sharply. “Like what? She told him everything she knew. He killed her anyway.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense,” she said. “But Wilder’s not random. He’s too organized. Too fast. He’s buildin’ toward somethin’.”
“The Riders follow him because he promises more than loot,” Graycloud added. “He promises fortune. Power. That’s how men like him build armies.”
Blaze threw a stick into the fire. He wasn’t sure he believed that logic.
The last time he saw Wilder, he was acting like a madman. How could a person kill another over something so minuscule?
The more Blaze thought about it, the more he realized that Wilder did not follow logic. He was ready to destroy everything in his path . . . even when he didn’t have to.
By morning, they were back on the trail. Blaze could see rolling hills of dust and rock before him, and the horizon shimmered with heat.
Hours passed before they saw the next sign of life. It was a lone figure walking crookedly along the road, a tattered coat hanging off his shoulders. He carried a stick and muttered to himself, stopping every few steps to look behind him.
“Traveler,” Graycloud said quietly.
“Or trouble,” Marisol replied.
Blaze slowed Shadow, keeping a hand near his revolver. “Let’s see what he’s about.”
As they drew closer, the man lifted his head. His beard was wild, and his skin burned raw by the sun. When he saw them, he waved his arms and laughed.
“You seen it!” he shouted. “You must’ve seen it too! The desert . . . it spit it right out of the ground!”
Blaze frowned. Marisol and Graycloud exchanged a glance beside him.
“What are you talking about, old-timer?” Blaze asked.
The man stumbled toward them, eyes wild. “Gold! Cursed gold! The kind that screams when you touch it!”
Marisol tightened her grip on her rifle. “You’re drunk.”
“I ain’t drunk!” the man said, staggering closer. “I saw him . . . the man with the black hat and the devil’s smile! He had men with him. He dug where no one should dig! The ground split open, and the earth spat treasure back at him!”
Blaze glanced toward Graycloud. His heart began to hammer in his chest.
“Black hat,” he said under his breath. “Could be Wilder.”
The Indian nodded slightly. Marisol bit her bottom lip.
Slowly, Blaze dismounted, holding up a hand to calm the man. “Easy now, sir,” he said. “You said he was digging? Where?”
The old man’s eyes darted between them. “Out past Dead Rock Canyon. You’ll find the scars still bleeding in the sand.”
“Bleeding?” Marisol asked.
“The ground don’t forget what it gives up,” the man whispered. “And the gold . . . it ain’t gold no more. It’s cursed. Mark my words, the desert don’t give gifts. It takes payment.”
He started laughing again. It was high and cracked, echoing across the rocks.
“When did you see him?” Blaze asked, taking a step closer.
“Two nights back!” the man yelped. “Riders everywhere with that Wilder. Diggin’, haulin’, buryin’. The stars watched ’em, and they didn’t like what they saw!”
Then, his laughter turned to coughing. He dropped to his knees, clutching his chest.
Blaze stared at him. He was ill. Marisol hopped off her horse and knelt beside the man.
“He’s dehydrated.” She pulled a canteen from her hip and tipped it toward his lips, but he pushed it away.
“Don’t want it,” he rasped. “Water won’t save me. You go near that place, you’ll see what I saw.”
“What’s that?” Blaze asked.
“The dead dig too,” he whispered, then fell backward into the dust.
For a long moment, the trio simply stared at the crazy stranger. It was like they expected him to get up at any second.
Eventually, Marisol checked his pulse. Then, she looked up.
“He’s out cold,” she said.
“Mad,” Graycloud said simply. “Too long in the sun.”
Blaze stood, watching the old man’s chest rise and fall. “Maybe. But he knew Wilder’s name.”
“Could’ve heard it anywhere,” Marisol replied, corking her canteen. “Word travels fast when blood’s involved.”
“Still,” Blaze said, “we’ll ride toward Dead Rock. Just in case.”
“Chasin’ a fool’s story could get us killed,” the Indian warned.
“So could ignoring it,” Blaze said.
They left the man with water and shade, then pushed on. The land grew rougher and took on the color of burnt clay. A vulture circled high overhead.
By midafternoon, they reached a ridge overlooking a vast flat stretch of desert. There, faint but visible even from a distance, were long trenches as if something had clawed up from below.
“There,” Blaze said. “You see that?”
Marisol raised her eyebrows. “Looks like dig sites.”
“And fresh,” Graycloud added.
Blaze’s chest tightened. “He wasn’t lying.”
“You think Wilder found somethin’?” Marisol asked.
“Maybe,” Blaze said. “But if he did, I want to know what it was.”
Graycloud dismounted, crouching to study the ground. “Tracks lead that way . . . at least one heavy wagon, heading north. He’s moving whatever he dug up.”
“Then we follow,” Blaze said.
Marisol looked uneasy. “Blaze . . . that old man wasn’t right in the head. You really want to chase after a cursed hole in the desert?”
He met her eyes. “I don’t care if the gold’s cursed or blessed. If Wilder’s after it, I need to see why.”
“Then we ride,” the Indian said, nodding.
Marisol sighed. “You two are gonna get me killed.”
Blaze managed a thin smile. “Not before we get him first.”
They set camp among the rocks overlooking the valley.
As the last light bled from the sky, Blaze sat apart, watching the shadows stretch across the dig site below. The ground shimmered faintly in the moonlight, as if something beneath it still breathed.
He thought about his father. About the day he was killed by Wilder.
Then, he thought about the recent murder of his mother.
Both his parents had always said that they never had the gold. His father would have never stolen it. It made no sense.
Now that Wilder had allegedly found some kind of treasure, it made Blaze wonder if it had been buried out here by someone else.