Red Hawk spat onto the ground. “I don’t care if he talks. He’ll pay for what he did.”
Tate laughed nervously. It was a sound more bitter than brave. “You think taking me will stop Vanburgh?” he asked. “Stop the railroad? I can tell you what you want, or I can keep quiet. But your fire won’t change a thing.”
“You want to talk?” Anthony asked. “Then talk. You might as well say what you know.”
Tate hesitated. His eyes darted around, meeting one face after another, the children peeking from behind their mothers, the women watching silently. He swallowed hard. Then the words came.
“They’re going to blast Eagle Rock in a few days,” he said. “Vanburgh’s got the railroad prepped. The charges...they’ll hit the rock walls near the town. Fire, collapse, everything. No one will stand in the way. Not the law. Not anyone.”
The information was exactly what he needed. He didn’t have to imagine Tate’s fear, didn’t have to gamble on guesses. He knew the plan, the timing, the threat. Abigail had to hear this. And soon.
“How many men?” Anthony asked quietly.
“Half a dozen guards at the site,” Tate said, voice trembling. “The rest...just rail workers. Most won’t even know why they’re there. They’re careful. Vanburgh trusts no one but a few of his own.”
“Enough,” he said, letting the rope relax slightly. “I’ve got what I need.”
Tate blinked, confused. “You . . . you’re letting me go? I thought—”
“You’re not for me,” Anthony said. “You’re for them.”
He gestured at the tribe.
“They’ll handle it,” he continued. “Your hands, your deeds. You made this mess. Let them take what’s theirs.”
Red Hawk stepped forward, his gaze sharp. “And you? You just hand him over?”
“He’s yours,” Anthony replied. “I need him only for the truth. That’s done. The rest...let it be your justice.”
Tate’s lips twisted in panic. “You can’t! You don’t know what they’ll do!”
“Then it’s your problem now.”
Black Wolf moved in carefully, taking the rope from Anthony’s hand. He let the slack remain just long enough to keep control but not enough for escape.
“You’ll answer for everything,” he said to Tate. “Every lie, every death, every fire. You brought this on yourself.”
Tate swallowed, looking around at the faces of the tribe. Anthony watched quietly. For once, the rope wasn’t his tool of control. The tribe’s presence was enough.
“You think I’m scared of you?” Tate said weakly. “You can’t stop Vanburgh. The railroad . . . Eagle Rock . . . It’s coming anyway!”
Anthony said nothing. He let the words hang. Let the tribe hear them. Let them decide what mattered.
Black Wolf’s hand went to Tate’s shoulder, firm and unyielding. “Then you’ll tell us,” he said. “Every word. Every detail. If you think we’re scared, you’ve already lost.”
“I . . . I can tell you more,” Tate said, his voice shaking. “The blasting . . . they’ll place it near the west wall . . . charges set for sunrise . . .”
Anthony’s eyes narrowed. The information was everything he needed. He memorized it, running it over in his mind. Abigail needed to know. He could relay the exact timing, the site, the guards. That was leverage. That was survival.
“You’re done with me,” Tate said nervously. “I’m . . . I’m done.”
Red Hawk’s gaze softened slightly, though the anger still burned in his eyes. “We’ll handle it,” he said. “Justice for the fires. Justice for the dead.”
Tate swallowed again. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and his smirk had completely vanished. For the first time, he realizedhe wasn’t in control. The weight of what he had done pressed down on him.
Chapter 17
Lyle Tate’s world narrowed to the biting pain of hemp rope around his wrists. His arms throbbed from being pulled behind a wooden post. His shoulders were screaming, and his muscles were quivering with every shift.
