Chapter 33
Blaze could feel the soot on his face itching where sweat had gathered. It stung when he wiped it away, leaving streaks of black on his sleeve. He smelled like smoke and mule dust. He hoped it was good enough to pass for one of Wilder’s potential hires.
The plan had sounded simple back at camp: go in quietly, find the mine, see how many men Wilder had left. But now, with the mountain looming ahead, its weight pressed hard against his ribs.
Wilder. Even the name made his jaw tighten. The man who’d burned their ranch, who’d laughed when Blaze’s father fell. Blaze had dreamed of that moment a hundred nights: the firelight, the shouting, the smell of death. Now he was here, and the dream felt too small for the anger inside him.
He tugged his hat lower and checked the Colt at his side before starting down the last stretch toward the mine.
“Easy there, stranger. You’re a long way from town.”
Blaze lifted his head slowly, dust drifting from the brim of his hat. The mine entrance yawned dark behind the rider blocking his path. One of Wilder’s men. He was a thick-necked brute with a Hawken Plains rifle slung across his chest—just like Marisol’s.
The man squinted through the dawn haze.
“Morning,” Blaze said, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible. “Heard there was work up this way. Hauling ore, maybe.”
The rider spat into the dirt. “Ain’t no work here unless you’re invited.”
“Didn’t figure you folks were the inviting type.” Blaze gave a faint grin, just enough to look harmless. “My name’s Boone.”
The lie tasted easy on his tongue. He kept his hands loose and his shoulders slouched. Behind him, the high crags were just shadows. Somewhere far above, Marisol was waiting with her rifle ready. Graycloud too. He should have been guarding the path below.
He couldn’t think of them now.
The rider studied him, then jerked his head toward the tunnel. “Get inside. Boss will decide what to do with you.”
“Appreciate it,” Blaze said.
He followed the man into the mine and tried to pretend his heart wasn’t about to burst through his chest.
The air cooled, thick with the scent of damp earth and metal. Lanterns hung from crooked nails, their light shivering across walls veined with silver. The floor was rutted, scattered with pickaxes and broken boards.
Voices echoed deeper in. Men were shouting orders, and boots were scraping rock. The sound of crates being dragged and gold being moved pierced through him.
It looked like Wilder was preparing for war.
Blaze’s eyes flicked quickly. Two men near the entrance, rifles at the ready. Three more down by a cart, stacking sacks that clinked faintly. Another pair stood watch at a side tunnel, nerves twitching at every echo. That made seven so far.
He walked slowly, counting with his heartbeat.
“Where’d you say you came from?” the man with the Hawken Plains rifle asked as he walked.
“Silver Bend,” Blaze said, scratching his jaw. “Place’s gone dry. Figured I’d try my luck up here.”
The man grunted, unconvinced.
The deeper Blaze went, the thicker the air felt. Sweat clung under his collar despite the chill. Ahead, the tunnel widened into a cavern big enough to hold a dozen wagons. Lanterns threw a honeyed glow over the rough stone. At the far side, sitting on an overturned barrel, was Wilder.
Blaze recognized him straight away. It was hard not to.
Something inside him shifted. Suddenly, he was very aware that he was looking at the man responsible for the death of his parents.
However, the outlaw leader also looked different from the man Blaze had first seen at his ranch.
The arrogance was still there but twisted now.
His eyes were rimmed red, and his face was drawn thin from too many sleepless nights.
His coat was fine but dust-streaked. He was speaking low to two of his men when he saw Blaze approach.
“Who’s this?” Wilder asked without rising.
“Found him outside,” the guard said. “Says he’s lookin’ for work.”
“Does he now?” Wilder stood. His boots clicked on the rock. “Step closer, friend. Let me get a look at you.”
Blaze did, keeping his movements easy. His gaze was just shy of direct.
“Name’s Boone,” he said again, trying to make his voice deeper. “Heard you boys were movin’ ore outta here. I can haul, dig, don’t much matter.”
Wilder smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. We ain’t hiring.”
“Then maybe I got bad directions.” Blaze shrugged. “Could be I’ll just move along.”
“No need to hurry.” Wilder took a few steps, circling him. “Ain’t often strangers find this place. Must’ve wandered far to get here.”
“Been ridin’ a while,” Blaze said.
“From where?” he asked.
“South.”
“That so?” Wilder’s voice was soft, almost kind. “Ain’t many decent men come north from there these days. Not since Red Rock went quiet.”
Blaze’s pulse jumped, but he kept his face still. “Don’t know much about Red Rock.”
Wilder smiled again, teeth bright under the lantern light. “No? Word was there was some trouble there. Outlaws running wild. Men getting shot down. Bad business.”
“Can’t say I heard,” Blaze replied.
“Mm.” Wilder studied him, eyes narrowing. “You look like a man who’s seen bad business.”
Blaze chuckled low. “Ain’t we all?”
The air between them hung heavy. One of the Riders shifted his grip on his rifle. Another scratched his neck. Wilder’s gaze never wavered.
“Tell me, Boone,” he said at last, “what kind of work do you do?”
“Whatever’s needed,” Blaze replied.
“Ever handle a gun?”
“Only when I got to.”
“That a fact?” Wilder’s smile thinned. “I could use men who ‘only handle guns when they got to.’ Honest types. Quiet. But see, I like to know who I’m dealing with. So why don’t you take off that hat?”
Blaze hesitated a second too long. Then he lifted it off, brushing the brim with his thumb. His hair fell in dusty strands across his brow.
Wilder’s eyes flicked. Not recognition yet, but suspicion. “You sure I don’t know you?”
“Don’t reckon so.” Blaze shrugged.
Wilder circled again, hands clasped behind his back. “Maybe not. Still, you got a way about you. Standing straight when you should be bending. Talking like you ain’t afraid.”
“Fear’s a waste of time,” Blaze said lightly.
That drew a laugh from one of the men. Wilder didn’t smile. “You got a mouth on you,” he said. “Could be that’s gonna get you hurt someday.”
“Maybe. But I ain’t lookin’ for hurt. Just money.”
Wilder stopped circling. He stared hard, eyes tracing Blaze’s face, the coat, and the way his hand rested near his belt but never strayed too close to his holster.
“Where’d you get that coat?” he asked suddenly.
Blaze blinked. “Traded for it.”
“Looks familiar. Like one I had seen before.” Wilder’s voice dropped low. “You sure you’re from Silver Bend?”
“Sure as I can be,” Blaze replied.
The silence stretched. Someone coughed. A pebble skittered down from the tunnel wall. Blaze could feel sweat tracing his temple. He needed to count again, keep his mind working. Eight men total now, maybe nine if one was deeper inside. Wilder made ten.
Probably more down the tunnels.
Not good odds.
“Boss,” one of the Riders said, “maybe he’s just some drifter. Ain’t worth—”
Wilder lifted a hand. “I’ll decide what he’s worth.”
Blaze held his breath. He had crazy luck on his side if none of Wilder’s men had recognized him yet.
Though, how could they? Every bandit that had been close enough to study his face was now dead.
Wilder stepped closer, close enough that Blaze could smell the stale whiskey on his breath.
“You got eyes like someone I once crossed,” he said. “It was a kid who tried to ruin me once.”
“Sounds like he failed.”
“He did.” Wilder grinned thinly. “But I remember him. Had a temper. Blaze Buckeye, they call him.”
The name hit the air like a bullet. No one moved.
Blaze smiled faintly. “Can’t say I ever heard of him.”
“No?” Wilder tilted his head. “Pity. You got his look.”
“Guess there’s worse men to resemble.”
Wilder stared, then turned his back, pacing slowly toward the lantern hanging on the wall.
“See, I been thinking about him,” he said.
“This Blaze Buckeye. Killed some of my best riders. Cost me good men. Cost me gold.” He turned again.
“Man like that’s got a habit of showin’ up where he ain’t wanted. ”
“Sounds reckless,” Blaze said, shrugging simply.
“Oh, he’s more than reckless.” Wilder’s hand brushed the butt of his revolver. “He’s stubborn. Thinks he’s got God on his side.”
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Wilder’s eyes glinted. “Lift your head.”
Blaze hesitated. “What for?”
“Do it.”
Blaze lifted his chin, meeting his gaze head-on. The lantern light caught his eyes. Wilder froze.
The recognition hit like thunder. For a long moment, nothing moved. Then Wilder’s lips curved.
“Well,” he said softly. “I’ll be damned.”
Blaze didn’t move. The silence of the mine thickened, broken only by the slow drip of water from the ceiling. Somewhere deeper in the tunnel, a wagon wheel creaked.
“You got nothin’ to say?” Wilder asked, his voice calm but tight. “Not even a howdy?”
“Wouldn’t know what to say,” Blaze replied. “Seems you already said it.”
“That I did.” Wilder’s grin spread. “Never thought I’d see your face again. Last I heard from my boys, you were half-dead in the desert.”
“Guess you heard wrong,” Blaze said.
“Seems I did.” Wilder turned to his men, gesturing with lazy ease. “Boys, take a good look. This right here’s the man who’s been makin’ ghosts of your friends.”
Several of the Riders muttered. Blaze could feel their eyes on him, could hear the soft metallic ticks of fingers brushing triggers.
“Reckon you’ve been busy,” Wilder said. “Trail of bodies, dust, and trouble following you like a storm cloud. You come here to finish the job?”
Blaze shifted slightly, his tone steady. “Just came for what’s mine.”
Wilder laughed, harsh and bright. “What’s yours? Ain’t nothin’ here belongs to you.”
“Gold wasn’t yours either,” Blaze said. “But that didn’t stop you from taking it.”
The words landed like a slap. Wilder’s grin faltered for a moment. Then he stepped forward, his boots grinding in the dirt.
“You got gall coming here alone.”
“Never said I was alone.”
That sparked a flicker of movement. Half the men glanced toward the entrance, toward the cliffs above. Wilder’s eyes darted too, just for a second. Blaze saw the paranoia flicker through him, the twitch behind his calm.
“Don’t play games,” Wilder snapped. “You think I don’t know how you work? You sneak, you hide, you wait for your chance. But you made a mistake coming here.”
“Maybe,” Blaze said quietly. “Or maybe I finally got you where I want you.”
Wilder’s jaw clenched. The gold light of the lanterns wavered between them, shadows trembling along the walls.
“You think this ends with you walking out of here?” Wilder asked.
Blaze didn’t answer. He let the silence work for him. Around the cavern, boots shifted. Metal clinked.
One of the Riders whispered, “Boss—”
“Shut up, Nigel,” Wilder snapped without turning. His voice was low again. “You don’t scare me, Buckeye.”
“Good,” Blaze said. “You’ll die looking me in the eye.”
Wilder’s hand twitched near his revolver. Blaze saw it. He measured the distance, the angle, and the time it would take.
“You really think I’m the one dyin’ here?” Wilder asked with a smirk.
“Doesn’t matter what I think.” Blaze’s voice was a whisper now, steady as stone. “Matters what you feel.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re sweating.” Blaze nodded at him. “Can see it in the light. You’re scared, Wilder. And that’s how I know I’ve already won.”
Wilder’s face hardened, fury flashing behind his eyes. “You ain’t won nothing.” He turned to his men, barking sharply. “Spread out! Don’t let him near the gold!”
The Riders moved. Blaze’s hand drifted toward the revolver on his hip, but he couldn’t shoot. Not yet.
Wilder’s voice cut through the chaos, cold as steel.
“You made one mistake coming here, Buckeye,” he said. “You thought this was my hideout. But this . . . this is my tomb for you.”
Blaze smiled faintly. “You sure about that?”
“I’m certain.”
The two of them stared at each other across the lantern light. One was calm, and the other was burning with rage. The Riders waited, rifles trembling in their hands.
“Go ahead, draw,” Wilder said, his voice a hiss. “Let’s end it right now.”
Blaze didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on Wilder’s. The moment stretched thin as a wire.
Outside, far above, a hawk cried across the crags. And then Wilder’s fingers tightened on his revolver.