Chapter 32
“We’ll stop here,” Blaze said.
The words came out low, though his chest still burned from the climb. The ridge leveled just enough for the three of them to crouch among the rocks. Below them, the mountain dropped into a labyrinth of canyons and jagged stone. The air was sharp, thin, and bitter with dust.
Marisol unslung her rifle and crawled to a boulder’s edge.
“They’re down there,” she said. “Smoke from their fires. See it?”
“Yeah,” Blaze said, squinting. “They’re setting up for a siege.”
Graycloud moved silently behind them, his eyes narrowing at the faint flicker below.
“Wilder has chosen a fortress,” he said. “The mountain hides him, and the gold keeps him chained.”
Blaze watched the thin wisp of smoke curl into the dying light. It was small—no more than what a few campfires could produce—though he could feel the weight of it. A camp like that didn’t rest easy.
“They’ll have lookouts,” Blaze said.
“Of course,” Marisol replied. “That’s what makes this stupid.”
Blaze turned to her, a faint smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“You don’t even know what I’m fixing to do yet.”
“Oh, I know,” she said. “You’ve got that look. The same one you had before walking into that saloon where we all got ambushed.”
“We lived through that, didn’t we?” he asked.
“Barely,” she replied.
Graycloud lowered himself onto one knee beside them.
“We cannot charge a mine,” he said. “They would shoot us like deer in a canyon. We need a way inside without being seen.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Blaze said. “One man could walk in. Maybe two. They’re expecting an army. What they won’t expect is a fool.”
Marisol frowned. “You’re sayin’ you want to walk in there?”
Blaze glanced down the slope again, tracing the ridges with his eyes.
“Not as me,” he said. “As someone else.”
He could almost feel Marisol stop breathing. It was only Graycloud who continued to function beside him.
The Indian tilted his head slightly. “You mean to disguise yourself?”
“That’s the idea.” Blaze pushed his hat back a little, grinning faintly despite the dirt streaking his face. “A drifter. Maybe looking for work. Mines always have room for one more hand.”
Marisol let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious,” he replied.
“You think Wilder won’t recognize you?” she asked. “You think those men who’ve been shootin’ at us for weeks won’t notice the man they’ve been dying to kill?”
“Maybe not right away,” Blaze said. “If I keep my head down and act harmless, they might not see it till it’s too late.”
Graycloud’s gaze was steady. “And if they do?”
“Then I’ll improvise,” Blaze shrugged one shoulder.
Marisol groaned. “That’s not a plan, Blaze. That’s suicide wrapped in bad confidence.”
He chuckled quietly. “You said something like that before the shootout in Red Mesa, remember?”
“That’s because you have the same look in your eye now,” she said. “The one that says you’ve already decided.”
Blaze leaned back against the rock, eyes fixed on the mountain. “I can’t let him dig in up there. If he fortifies that place, we’ll never get him out. Best way to stop him is from the inside.”
Graycloud looked at the slope below.
“He is right,” he said softly. “The mountain can be climbed from only two sides. He who enters unseen will hold the power.”
Marisol shot him a glare. “Don’t encourage him.”
The Indian only smiled faintly. “I am not. I am reminding him of the cost.”
Blaze shifted his weight, hand brushing the worn grip of his revolver. “I know the cost.”
“You don’t have to prove anything,” Marisol said softly. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”
“This ain’t about pride,” Blaze said. “It’s about justice. It’s about Rachel. If Kane’s telling him anything, he’ll go for her next. I can’t let him.”
The name hung between them like smoke. Marisol looked down, tracing a finger along the rifle barrel.
“You really think Kane would sell her out?” she asked.
“I don’t think,” Blaze said quietly. “I know. I thought I could trust him. He was a family friend . . . but knowing what I know now . . . I should have never left her with him.”
“You didn’t know,” Marisol replied. “You thought you were leaving her in a safe place.”
The silence that followed was long. Only the wind moved, sighing through the rocks.
Finally, Graycloud spoke. “Then we plan. Not for luck, but for survival.”
Blaze nodded once. “Agreed.”
They spread out a few paces, setting everything down. The sun had slipped behind the peaks now, throwing the valleys into shadow. The mine below glimmered faintly with light.
“Alright,” Blaze said, drawing a rough map in the dirt with the tip of his knife. “This ridge runs down toward the west side. They’ve likely posted guards along here, here, and here. That canyon to the south . . . if you get high enough, you could cover the whole entrance from a perch.”
Marisol leaned closer. “That’s where you want me?”
“Yeah,” Blaze said. “You’ll have a clean shot on the mouth. If anything goes wrong, you’ll see it first.”
“And what about me?” Graycloud asked.
“You stay near the base,” Blaze said. “Hide among the rocks. If anyone tries to come up behind me, or if I make it out alive, you’ll be my way out.”
“And if you don’t make it out?” Marisol asked, exhaling sharply.
“Then you two ride back to town,” Blaze said. “Warn the pastor, get Rachel out.”
“Blaze,” she said, her voice low.
He looked up. Her eyes were bright, reflecting the faint orange light from below.
“You think I’m lettin’ you walk into that mine alone?”
“I ain’t asking,” Blaze said. “I’m telling you.”
Graycloud rose to his feet slowly.
“She is right to be angry,” he said. “You walk into the heart of the wolf’s den. Even if your disguise fools them, the scent of your purpose will not.”
“I’ll manage,” Blaze said.
“You always say that,” Marisol muttered.
He grinned. “And I’m always right.”
“Until you’re not.”
He laughed softly, then leaned forward, drawing his hat brim low. “If I’m gonna pass for a drifter, I’ll need to look the part,” he said.
Marisol eyed him skeptically. “You already look half-dead.”
“Then I’m halfway there.”
Graycloud stepped closer, unclipping a small pouch from his belt.
“Here,” he said. “Ash. From our last fire. Rub it into your face. Make yourself ghostlike.”
Blaze took it, dusting the gray powder over his jaw and neck. The gritty feel sank into his skin. He looked like he’d been walking the desert for days.
Marisol rummaged in her saddlebag and tossed him an old coat, frayed and dirty.
“Wear this,” she said. “Looks like somethin’ a beggar would trade for whiskey.”
Blaze slipped it on, the fabric rough and stiff with dust. “How do I look?”
“Like a fool,” Marisol said.
“Perfect.”
Graycloud handed him a small flask. “For your throat. Drifters always carry thirst.”
Blaze nodded his thanks, then tucked it inside the coat.
Marisol leaned back against the rock, shaking her head.
“You sure you can pull off harmless?” she asked. “You’ve got too much edge for it.”
“I’ll try thinking dumb thoughts,” Blaze said. “That might help.”
Despite herself, she smiled. “You’re impossible.”
“Only mostly.”
They settled into silence again, watching the torches flicker below. The camp looked smaller from this distance, but Blaze could picture the men inside. They were probably loading rifles, stacking crates, and whispering about the kid who’d been chasing them.
“Marisol,” Blaze said after a moment, “if you get the chance, don’t shoot unless you have to. I’ll need them looking at me, not you.”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” she replied.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Graycloud’s voice came quietly. “When do you go?”
“At dawn,” Blaze said. “Before the light hits the ridge.”
Marisol studied his face. “You mean to walk right up the trail?”
“Like I belong there,” Blaze said. “Men don’t see what they ain’t looking for.”
She sighed, rubbing her temples. “You ever wonder if maybe you like gettin’ shot at?”
He smiled. “Keeps life interesting.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “If you don’t come out by sundown, I’m coming in after you.”
“Don’t,” Blaze said. “If I’m not out by then, it means I’m either dead or waiting for dark.”
“That’s not a promise I can keep,” she replied.
“I’m not asking you to,” he said softly. “But I’m hoping you will.”
Graycloud rose, his silhouette blending with the stone.
“The mountain sleeps lightly,” he said. “We should too.”
They made camp in the hollow of the ridge, far enough from sight but close enough to watch the mine.
Blaze couldn’t sleep. He lay on his back, staring at the faint stars between the cliffs. The wind sighed through the crags.
He thought of Rachel—her laugh and the way she’d hide her worry behind stubborn pride. He thought of their mother’s stories, of headless riders and spirits that punished liars. He wondered if those tales were truer than he’d once believed.
“Can’t sleep?” Marisol’s voice came from beside him, soft as the wind.
“Not much,” Blaze said.
She shifted closer, her tattered blanket rustling. “You’re thinkin’ too loud.”
He smiled faintly. “You can hear that?”
“Always could.”
He turned his head toward her. The moonlight caught her eyes, making them shine pale silver. “You’ll cover me tomorrow?”
“With every bullet I got,” she said.
“That’s comforting,” he replied.
“It better be.”
He wanted to say something else, but the words stuck.
Instead, he settled for the most obvious response. “Thank you.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
Graycloud’s low voice came from the other side of the camp. “Sleep now. Dawn waits for no one.”
That was when Blaze shut his eyes.
When morning came, the light crept slowly over the peaks, gold bleeding into gray. The air was colder than before, sharp enough to sting his lungs. He rose quietly, made sure he looked the part of a drifter, and adjusted the brim of his hat.
Marisol was already awake, crouched by the rifle. She looked at him, her face unreadable. “You ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Blaze said.
Graycloud stepped forward and pressed a small feather into Blaze’s palm.
“From the hawk that circled us yesterday,” he said. “For sight and for strength.”
Blaze closed his fingers around it. “I’ll bring it back.”
“Or you’ll bring yourself,” Graycloud replied.
Marisol reached out, gripping Blaze’s arm tightly. “Don’t play the hero. Just be smart.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said.
“Your best gets people shot,” she joked.
He smiled crookedly. “Then I’ll aim lower.”
She almost laughed, but it came out as a sigh. “Go.”
Blaze turned toward the canyon. The slope ahead was narrow, winding between jagged rocks and thornbush.
He moved slowly, each step careful and quiet. Behind him, he could feel their eyes on his back—both their faith and their fear.
The sun crept higher, catching the metal edge of his revolver as he hid it beneath his coat. His heartbeat matched the rhythm of his boots on stone.
He didn’t look back.
By the time he reached the lower trail, the mine entrance loomed ahead—a dark mouth in the mountain’s face, torches flickering like eyes.
He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin just enough to look tired but not dangerous, and started down the path like a man who’d been walking too long and didn’t care where he ended up.
“Easy now,” Blaze muttered under his breath. “Just another lost soul looking for work.”
He kept walking, straight toward the lion’s den.