Chapter 39
“Keep movin’,” Marisol said.
Her voice came from somewhere ahead, sharp through the storm of dust. Blaze followed the sound, stumbling over rocks.
The air shimmered with heat and powder. The mine behind them was already half-collapsed and was breaking apart again.
It groaned like a dying beast trying to drag itself back into the earth.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Blaze muttered when he heard the noise.
“Chato!” Marisol shouted.
“Here!” the Indian replied.
The answer came from down the slope. It was rough, hoarse, but alive.
Blaze blinked through the haze until he saw Graycloud standing among the scattered boulders with his bow in hand. He waved them forward urgently.
“Move! It’s coming down!” he shouted.
“Go!” Blaze said.
Marisol darted first, light on her feet even with the rifle slung across her shoulder. Blaze followed, half-running, half-falling down the rocky incline.
Behind him, the mountain roared again.
“Faster!” Graycloud shouted.
“I’m trying!” Blaze gasped.
They threw themselves behind a jagged outcrop just as what was left of the mine entrance caved in for good. A wall of dust and debris erupted into the sky. The ground shuddered beneath them.
Rocks clattered down like hail. Blaze hit the dirt, covering his head as a blast of hot air rolled over them.
For a moment, there was nothing but thunder. Then . . . silence. Only the hiss of settling dust remained.
Marisol coughed and pushed herself upright. “Everyone whole?”
Graycloud nodded once, brushing grit from his hair. “Alive.”
“Barely,” Blaze added.
He sat up slowly. His hands trembled as he wiped the grime from his face. The mine entrance was gone. Now, it was just a heap of rock and splintered timber. Whatever gold or men had still been inside were buried forever.
“Well,” Graycloud said quietly, “that’s the end of that.”
“Not yet,” Blaze said.
Marisol turned toward him. “Blaze—”
He raised a hand, cutting her off. “I know what you’re gonna say. But Rachel’s still out there. Wilder or no Wilder, that don’t change nothing.”
Graycloud’s dark eyes studied him. “Wilder’s dead?”
“Yeah,” Blaze said. “Dead.”
Neither spoke for a while. The wind tugged at the edges of Blaze’s torn coat, whistling through the crags.
“Was it clean?” Marisol asked at last.
Blaze looked away. “As clean as it could be.”
She nodded, understanding what he didn’t say.
“Then we finish what’s left,” Graycloud said, glancing down at the nearest body.
Blaze said nothing. He just stared at the ruins of the mine. The dust had begun to settle, turning the morning light hazy and golden.
Marisol touched his arm. “You look like a man with ghosts on his back.”
“Maybe I am,” Blaze replied.
“Talk, then,” she said. “Let them go.”
He hesitated, then reached inside his coat. The paper was crumpled from the fall, its edges torn and blackened with soot. He held it out silently.
“What’s that?” Marisol asked.
“Wilder showed me before he died,” Blaze said. “Said I oughta know the truth.” Graycloud took the paper carefully. He unfolded it and frowned. “A wanted poster,” he said.
“Read the name,” Blaze murmured.
Graycloud squinted at the faded ink. “‘Jack Carrow . . . wanted for robbery and murder, Red Rock Territory.’”
When he looked back at Blaze, he shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“It was a fake name,” Blaze replied. “Fake name for Thomas Buckeye.”
Marisol’s brows knitted. “Thomas . . . your father.”
“He said Pa was a thief,” Blaze replied. “A bandit. Said he ran with Wilder back in the day . . . till they turned on each other.”
“That’s a lie,” Marisol said quickly.
“I thought so too,” Blaze said. “But look at it. Same face, near enough. Same scar above the brow. Same name.”
Graycloud passed the poster back. “Could be forged.”
“Could be,” Blaze said. “But Wilder had no reason to forge it. He was proud of it. Said Pa tried to cheat the Riders out of gold . . . that he wasn’t no hero, just another outlaw with fancy talk.”
Marisol knelt in front of him. Her eyes were fierce. “And you believe that man?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” Blaze admitted. “All my life, I thought Pa died fighting for what was right. Turns out maybe he was the one who needed stopping.” He crumpled the paper in his fist, breathing hard. “Everything I done was for him,” he said. “For what I thought he was.”
Marisol placed her hand on his. “And what you are ain’t changed, Blaze. You fight for folks who can’t fight for themselves. That’s who you’ve always been.”
He didn’t look up. “Even if my blood says otherwise?”
She squeezed his hand. “Blood don’t decide the man.”
“A tree grows where it’s planted,” Graycloud said, nodding. “Not where the seed came from.”
Blaze gave a tired laugh. “You two make it sound easy.”
“It ain’t,” Marisol said. “But it’s the truth.”
The wind gusted again, carrying the faint scent of gunpowder from the cliffs. The morning sun broke through the dust in thin rays, lighting the wreck of the mine like a grave.
“Maybe Pa did wrong,” he said quietly. “But he taught me one thing that still holds true.”
“What’s that?” Marisol asked.
He looked toward the mountains, eyes hardening. “Patience wins a gunfight.”
She smiled faintly. “Seems it already did.”
He slipped the wanted poster into his pocket again. “Let’s get off this mountain.”
They started down the slope together, slowly and carefully. Loose stones clattered beneath their boots. Every breath came shallow. It was part exhaustion, part disbelief that they were still alive.
After a while, Graycloud spoke. “You said your father was friends with Kane once.”
“Yeah,” Blaze said. “Makes sense now. Guess Kane knew who Pa really was . . . Maybe even worked jobs with him.”
Marisol frowned. “Then all this . . .”
“Maybe it’s been a long time coming,” Blaze said. “Wilder, Kane, the Riders . . . they’re all the same breed. My father might’ve been one too.”
“Or he left it behind,” Marisol said. “Men change. You ever think of that?”
Blaze didn’t answer right away. “If he did,” he said finally, “he paid for it.”
They reached a narrow ridge overlooking the valley. The morning light stretched across the desert floor, painting everything in soft gold. From up here, the world almost looked peaceful again.
“Rachel’s still in Red Rock,” Blaze said. “If Kane’s behind all this, he won’t stop with Wilder gone.”
Blaze scanned the land in front of him. Their horses should have been waiting for them nearby.
“Then we go after her,” Marisol said.
Graycloud nodded. “We’ll move once the dust clears.”
Blaze sank to one knee, resting his weight on a rock.
“I’ll go ahead,” he said. “You two catch up.”
“You’re in no shape to go anywhere alone,” Marisol said firmly.
He gave a faint grin. “You sound like Ma.”
“Then listen for once.”
He chuckled softly, then grew quiet again. “Marisol, Graycloud, I need you both to know . . . if any of that about Pa’s true, and it shames you—”
Graycloud cut him off. “Stop. Your father’s choices ain’t yours.”
“And you’re the one we follow, not him,” Marisol added.
“You sure about that?” Blaze asked.
“Very sure,” she said. “You led us here. You faced Wilder. You ended it.”
Graycloud tilted his head. “The mountain stands, even if its roots are buried in ash.”
Blaze looked at him, half smiling. “You always talk like that?”
“Only when I’m right,” Graycloud said dryly.
Marisol laughed. It was a short, rough sound that broke the tension. “Come on, both of you,” she said. “Let’s get water and bandage those cuts before you start talkin’ poetry.”
They moved toward a small stream that ran down from the rocks. The water was cold and clear. Blaze knelt and splashed his face, washing away dust and blood. When he looked up again, Marisol was watching him.
“What?” he asked.
“You still look lost,” she said gently.
“Maybe I am,” he said.
She shrugged. “Then we’ll help you find your way.”
He stared at her for a long moment. There was no pity in her eyes. He nodded. “Thanks,” he said softly.
She smiled. “You can thank me when we’re all home safe.”
Graycloud glanced toward the valley. “Sun’s climbing. We should move before more Riders decide to regroup.”
Blaze rose to his feet. “Right.”
They started down the slope, weaving between rocks and brush. The mine behind them was silent now, a scar on the mountain’s side.
Halfway down, Blaze paused and looked back one last time. The dust had thinned enough to see where the entrance used to be. A faint glint caught his eye before the wind covered it again.
“Guess that’s where the past stays,” he murmured.
“What?” Marisol asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just talking to ghosts.”
She gave him a small, sad smile. “Then tell them goodbye.”
He did. Quietly, under his breath, as they walked.
By the time they reached the base of the ridge, the sun was high above the horizon. The light warmed their backs as they made their way to the horses tied in the shade below.
Graycloud mounted first, scanning the distant plain. “Smoke in the distance,” he said. “Could be trouble.”
Blaze climbed onto Shadow, ignoring the ache in his ribs. “Then trouble’s where we’re headed.”
Marisol swung into her saddle beside him. “You sure you’re ready for this?”
“No,” Blaze said. “But Rachel don’t have time for me to be ready.”
Graycloud gave a sharp nod. “Then we ride.”
The three of them turned their horses toward Red Rock Crossing. Dust rose behind them, trailing over the desert.
Blaze reached into his coat pocket one last time, feeling the crumpled poster between his fingers. He thought about tearing it up but decided against it. Instead, he folded it tighter and tucked it close to his chest.
Some truths were better carried than forgotten.