Chapter 21
The sun rose over the desert, turning the rocks the color of old blood. Blaze crouched behind a ridge of sandstone, his Colt Navy revolver heavy in his hand and his eyes fixed on the valley below. The world was still. There was no wind, no sound but the faint ticking of Shadow’s reins behind him.
“I think they’ll come through that gap,” Graycloud said.
He pointed toward a narrow pass between two ridges. Dust hung faintly in the air there. It wasn’t from the wind but from wheels.
“You’re sure it’s them?” Blaze asked.
Graycloud’s eyes narrowed. “Wagon train. Six, maybe seven riders on guard. Too big for traders, too armed for settlers.”
“Wilder’s crew,” Marisol said.
She checked her rifle quickly, her eyes never leaving the horizon. “How do you wanna play it, Blaze?”
“Quiet, if we can,” Blaze replied. “Loud if we have to.”
“Always a man with a plan,” Marisol said, grinning at his response.
“Not much of one,” Blaze admitted. “But it’ll do.”
They spread out along the ridge. Marisol was higher up, Graycloud was lower, and Blaze was somewhere in between. From here, he could see everything: the cracked earth stretching for miles, the wagon train drawing closer, and the glint of sunlight on metal.
They had been following this trail for ages. Now, it was finally time to face the Hollow Creek Riders. Whatever was left of them.
When they finally came into view, Blaze’s chest tightened.
The wagons were heavy and canvas-covered, pulled by mules. Men rode on either side, their dusters streaked with sweat and sand. Each wore the mark of the Riders. Blaze could see it even from a distance.
Riding at their head was Dean Wilder. Blaze recognized him immediately.
He felt the world narrow to that single figure.
“There he is,” Blaze whispered.
Marisol steadied her rifle. “You want me to take him?”
“Not yet,” Blaze said, his throat dry. “We get the wagons first. Cut him off from the rest.”
Graycloud nodded, slipping his bow from his shoulder. “I’ll take the rear.”
The Riders drew nearer, unaware of the death waiting above. Their laughter carried faintly on the wind. It was rough and careless—the sound of men who’d burned too many homes to fear retribution.
When the lead wagon rolled beneath the ridge, Blaze lifted his hand. “Wait . . .” he murmured.
The second wagon followed, then the third. Dust choked the air.
“Now,” Blaze said.
When Marisol fired first, it was evident that this ambush wasn’t going to be quiet.
The crack of her rifle shattered the stillness. The lead rider on the wagon dropped before the echo even faded. Graycloud loosed an arrow that found another man’s throat.
Then, chaos.
The Riders shouted, scrambling for cover. Bullets tore through the ridge, kicking up shards of stone. Blaze aimed and fired twice. One man fell, and another spun from his horse. The wagons lurched to a halt, mules screaming as reins snapped.
“Up the ridge!” Wilder’s voice cut through the din, sharp and commanding. “Find the bastards!”
Blaze ducked behind a boulder as rounds smacked into the rock.
“They’re spreading out!” he yelled.
Marisol reloaded. “Good. Easier to pick off!”
She fired again, dropping a man trying to flank them. Blaze shifted position, crawling through the dust to get a better angle. The heat burned through his shirt, sweat stinging his eyes.
Graycloud’s arrows whizzed through the air, swift and silent. He moved like a shadow, slipping from one patch of cover to another.
Then Blaze heard it. The creak of wagon wheels rolling again. He peeked over the rock.
Down below, Wilder had turned the wagons toward a cluster of stones—the half-buried mound they’d seen from the ridge the day before. Some of his men were shouting, hacking at the earth with shovels.
“They’re diggin’ again!” Blaze called.
Marisol cursed under her breath. “What in the hell is he after?”
“Gold,” Blaze said, voice low. “It’s gotta be.”
He fired at a Rider climbing the slope. The shot hit the man’s shoulder, spinning him backward. Blaze chambered another round and shouted, “Graycloud, we can’t let him finish that dig!”
Graycloud’s voice came back, calm amid the storm. “Then stop him.”
Blaze scrambled down the ridge, boots slipping on loose sand. Bullets whined past his ears. He hit the ground running, ducking behind a wagon wheel.
“Wilder!” he shouted.
The outlaw leader turned, face half-hidden beneath his hat brim. Even from here, Blaze could see the smirk tugging at the man’s lips.
“Well,” Wilder called, “if it ain’t the boy with his daddy’s eyes.”
Blaze’s blood ran cold. “You killed my family.”
“Didn’t kill them for fun,” Wilder said, stepping closer, his revolver glinting in the sun. “Did it ’cause they were sitting on what’s mine.”
“Yours?” Blaze spat. “You take what ain’t yours and call it law?”
Wilder smiled. “Law’s written by the man who lives longest.”
Blaze couldn’t understand why Wilder had to dig now. They were in the middle of a shootout, and he was more concerned with the alleged treasure.
Clearly, the outlaw must have thought his men weren’t going to make it out of this situation. He wanted to use them while he could.
Wilder fired a single bullet toward him. It tore past Blaze’s cheek, hot and close. Blaze dropped, rolled, and returned fire. Dust exploded near Wilder’s boots.
When Marisol’s rifle barked from the ridge, one of Wilder’s men fell, clutching his chest. Graycloud’s arrow pinned another through the back.
“Get that chest out, Clay!” Wilder barked to his men.
Blaze looked and froze.
The Riders had unearthed a stone slab, half-buried beneath the sand. With a grunt, they heaved it aside, revealing a hollow beneath. Inside lay an old chest bound in rusted iron, its surface etched with strange, worn markings. He could see them from here.
“Boss!” one of the Riders shouted. “We got it!”
Wilder strode over, his boots sinking into the soft sand. “Open it.”
Blaze felt as if he were pinned in place. He couldn’t get a good angle on any of the bandits because of the wagons. Every time he tried to peek out, another bullet flew past his head.
It wasn’t worth the risk. He had to be patient.
Three bandits pried the lid loose. A dull, golden light spilled out. It wasn’t bright, but heavy and thick, as if the metal itself breathed.
The Riders stared in awe. One reached in and pulled out a fistful of coins. They shimmered oddly in the sunlight, edges dark with age and grit. Wilder laughed, tossing them from hand to hand.
“This is the rest of it,” Clay said, breathless. “It’s real, boss. Every damn piece.”
Wilder’s grin spread slowly and wide. “Told you. The land don’t lie.”
He reached in again, letting the coins slide through his gloved fingers. They made a low, rich sound—the weight of fortune.
“Load it up,” he ordered. “We’re done here. This was the last location.”
Blaze’s jaw clenched. “He’s takin’ it all.”
Marisol’s rifle cracked again. A man fell beside the wagon.
“Blaze, make sure he don’t get far!” she shouted.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He broke from cover, sprinting down the slope. A Rider saw him coming and swung his rifle up, but Blaze fired first. The man dropped where he stood.
Another came at him from the side. Blaze dove and fired again. The man’s shotgun boomed wide, pellets tearing up dust where Blaze had been a second before.
When Blaze rose, the man was down. It was hard for him to keep count of the bandits. There must have been close to fifteen here.
It was obvious they didn’t all belong to Wilder. His gang had been smaller when he arrived at Buckeye Ranch.
It took Blaze a second to realize what he’d done. His hands shook just a little. Then he shoved the feeling down and ran for the wagons.
“Wilder!” he shouted again.
The outlaw turned in the chaos, his Smith & Wesson Model 3 revolver drawn.
“You can’t stop what’s comin’, boy!” he shouted.
“Watch me.”
Blaze fired. The shot went wide and the dust burst at Wilder’s feet. He laughed, swinging into the saddle.
“Load it!” Wilder barked. His men hauled the chest into the nearest wagon. Blaze fired again, hitting a spoke. The wheel cracked but held.
Marisol’s shots chased them as they spurred the mules forward. Graycloud sent two more arrows flying, but Wilder was already pulling ahead, his black leather hat flashing once in the sunlight before vanishing behind a veil of dust.
Blaze stopped running, breath ragged.
The desert went quiet again. Just the hiss of wind and the smell of spent gunpowder.
Marisol rode down the slope toward him. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” Blaze said softly. “He’s got the gold.”
Graycloud joined them, his face set hard. “And now he’s got reason to kill whoever stands in his way.”
Blaze holstered his revolver, staring after the dust trail fading toward the horizon. “Then we’d best make sure we’re the ones waiting at the end of it.”
The wind kicked up, sweeping through the shattered wagons, rattling the few gold coins still glinting in the sand.