Chapter 34
The shot cracked first.
The flash from Wilder’s Smith & Wesson revolver lit the tunnel in a burst of white fire.
Blaze had to act fast. He must have moved away at the same time Wilder’s bullet left the chamber.
Bullets screamed past, hammering sparks from the rock wall. Blaze dove sideways, rolling behind a half-toppled ore cart as more rounds tore through the dust.
“Get him!” Wilder’s voice thundered. “Don’t let him reach the back!”
Blaze crouched low, heart slamming in his chest. The mine filled with the echo of gunfire. It was deafening and endless. The smell of powder and burnt oil clung to the air.
“Cover that gold!” one of the Riders yelled. “He’s after the sacks!”
“Forget the gold, you fool. Kill him first!” Wilder bellowed back.
Blaze peeked over the cart. Wilder was crouched behind a stack of crates, reloading quickly with his jaw clenched tight. Two of his men flanked wide with their Winchester rifles drawn, while another dragged a heavy chest toward a tunnel in the back wall.
“Leave it!” Blaze shouted, his voice ringing through the cavern. “You won’t live long enough to spend it!”
One Rider barked a laugh. “Big talk from a dead man!”
He raised his rifle. Blaze fired first.
The man spun, hit square in the shoulder, and crashed into a heap of timber. The others fired back in a frenzy. The cart Blaze hid behind jolted with the impact of slugs.
“Fan out!” Wilder shouted. “Pin him!”
Blaze scrambled sideways, his boots slipping on loose gravel. He darted between shadows, squeezing off shots to keep them at bay. The muzzle flashes painted the tunnel in orange bursts.
“You can’t hide, Buckeye!” Wilder yelled. “Ain’t no place you can crawl where I won’t dig you out!”
“Funny,” Blaze said, ducking behind a column of rock. “That’s what your boys said at the pass. They’re bones now.”
“Don’t you talk about them!”
Another shot cracked. Stone chips stung Blaze’s cheek.
“O’Hara!” Wilder shouted. “Get that gold to the wagon!”
“I’m tryin’, boss,” came a panicked voice.
“Try harder!”
Blaze took aim through the haze. He could just make out a shadow hauling a canvas sack toward the rear tunnel.
“Not today,” Blaze muttered. He fired.
The bullet tore through the dark. O’Hara cried out, clutching his leg. The sack fell, spilling coins that scattered like raindrops across the floor.
“Damn you,” Wilder said. “You’ll pay for that!”
“Already have,” Blaze said. “Every mile, every grave. You just don’t know the cost yet.”
Wilder’s eyes burned in the dim light. “You think you can outgun me, boy?”
“I don’t have to,” Blaze said. “You already outnumbered yourself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Men follow fear only so long,” Blaze replied. “You made them scared. Now they’re just looking for a way out.”
“You shut your mouth!” Wilder snarled, spinning toward his men. “You hear him? He’s lyin’ through his teeth! You ride with me, or you die with him!”
The Riders hesitated. It was just a flicker, but Blaze saw it. He used it.
He rolled from cover, firing twice in quick succession. One man dropped, and another stumbled back, clutching his arm. The rest dove for the shadows, returning fire wild and blind.
“Hold your ground!” Wilder barked. “He’s only one person!”
Blaze reloaded behind a boulder, listening to the metallic echoes fade and surge again. His hands were steady now. His breathing even.
He’d been here before. Gun smoke, echoing chambers, the world shrinking down to sound and light and instinct.
“Graycloud,” he muttered under his breath, “I hope you’re in place.”
A bullet shattered the lantern nearest him, plunging half the chamber into flickering darkness.
“Got him cornered!” a Rider shouted.
“No, you don’t,” Blaze whispered.
He swung out from behind the rock, firing low. The Rider screamed, dropped his gun, and fell against the mine wall.
The chamber fell quiet for half a second.
“Where is he?” another voice called, nervous.
Blaze waited. The dust hung like fog. It was thick and suffocating.
“He’s movin’ left!” someone shouted.
“Shoot both ways!” Wilder yelled. “I want him down!”
Gunfire erupted again. It was wild and uncontrolled. The ricochets screamed like banshees.
Blaze darted toward the fallen chest and stayed low to the ground. He grabbed a spare revolver from one of the dead men and checked the cylinder. It was half full.
“That’ll do,” he said to himself.
He wasn’t about to swap out his father’s Colt. Not when he could use it to put an end to Dean Wilder.
So, Blaze began taking the bullets out of the spare gun and shoving them into his own Navy.
“Boys!” Wilder’s voice carried through the haze. “Get that damn gold moving. I said move!”
Two Riders broke from cover, rushing toward the rear. Blaze fired, hitting one square in the back. The other ducked behind a crate, dragging the sack like a lifeline.
“Cover him!” Wilder said.
“No one’s left to cover him,” Blaze replied.
Wilder’s silhouette loomed through the smoke, his revolver raised. “Then I’ll do it myself!”
He fired. Blaze dove behind the fallen cart again, splinters flying.
“Come on out!” Wilder taunted. “Face me proper.”
“You want proper?” Blaze called back. “Step into the light!”
Wilder laughed, rough and humorless. “You think I’m fool enough to walk into your sights?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Blaze said. “You’re too smart for that. Too careful. Too scared.”
“Scared?” Wilder hissed. “You think I’m scared of you?”
“I think you’re scared of losin’ what’s left,” Blaze replied.
Wilder’s voice dropped lower. “You don’t understand, Buckeye. This gold ain’t just metal. It’s mine. It’s owed.”
“Owed to who?” Blaze asked. “To your greed? To the dead men you sent for it?”
“To me,” Wilder spat. “To every man who took nothin’ and made himself something! The world don’t give . . . it takes. I just took first.”
Blaze rose slowly, gun leveled. “Then this is where taking ends.”
They locked eyes across the smoke. Wilder’s hand twitched.
“Boss!” someone yelled from the back tunnel. “The sacks are too heavy . . . we can’t get them through!”
“Then dump half!” Wilder snapped, never looking away from Blaze. “Just move it!”
Blaze edged sideways, trying to angle closer to the tunnel. His boot nudged a loose shell casing. The soft clink echoed too loudly.
“There!” a Rider shouted. “He’s by the wall!”
The cavern exploded again.
Bullets tore into the stone, one grazing Blaze’s sleeve, another slamming into the beam beside his head. He dropped, rolled, and fired blindly.
Wilder ducked behind the crates, laughing between shots.
“You think you can stop me? You think one man can hold back a storm?” he asked.
“I ain’t holding it back,” Blaze said, breath ragged. “I’m ending it.”
A fresh voice shouted from deeper inside. “Boss, we’re losin’ men!”
“Then die faster!” Wilder screamed.
That was the moment Blaze saw it. The unraveling. The men were no longer fighting for gold or loyalty. They were just fighting to survive.
He fired again, each shot measured and methodical. The echoes came back like thunder rolling down the tunnels.
One Rider rushed him. Blaze swung the butt of his revolver, cracked it across the man’s jaw, and shoved him aside.
“Boss!” another called. “We can’t hold him!”
“You’ll hold or you’ll burn!” Wilder shouted.
Blaze reloaded quickly, leaning against a beam. Sweat streaked down through the dust on his face.
“You’re losing them, Wilder,” he said. “They’re bleeding out while you hide behind your crates.”
“You shut your cursed mouth!”
“Why?” Blaze asked. “Is the truth too loud for you?”
Wilder fired. The shot hit the beam inches from Blaze’s head, showering him with splinters.
Blaze crouched lower, teeth gritted.
“You should’ve stayed in the valley,” he said. “You could’ve lived quietly. Instead, you came digging your own grave.”
“Graves don’t scare me,” Wilder said. “But yours might.”
The words came with another shot. Blaze ducked. His hat flew off, spinning into the dirt.
The air hummed with gun smoke and heat. Then, from outside the mine, came a sound. It was distant, sharp, and rhythmic.
A rifle. Marisol.
Blaze almost smiled. “Guess I ain’t alone after all.”
Wilder looked toward the entrance for just a second. “What the hell?”
Blaze moved.
He came out of cover fast with his revolver raised and boots pounding against stone. The flash from his muzzle lit Wilder’s furious face.
“Stop him!” Wilder roared.
No one did.
The surviving Riders ducked and panicked. Bullets ricocheted in every direction, the whole mine roaring like a storm.
Wilder staggered backward, tripping over a crate, his lantern tumbling from his hand. It shattered on the floor. The flames flared across the spilled oil.
“Damn it!” Wilder shouted.
The fire caught quickly, licking up the wooden supports. The gold sacks gleamed in the flickering light like sin itself burning.
“Boss, the fire!” a Rider cried.
“Forget it!” he yelled back. “Just shoot him!”
Blaze fired again. The Rider fell.
Smoke filled the chamber, curling and thick. Blaze coughed, his eyes stinging. Through the haze, Wilder’s shadow loomed.
“You can’t win, Buckeye!” he shouted. “You hear me? You can’t kill what won’t die!”
Blaze reloaded one last time. “Then I’ll make you wish you could.”
The two men squared off through fire and smoke, each seeing the other like a reflection in hell.