The Shoshone warriors hadn’t spared him a glance after dragging him to the center of their makeshift camp. Children stared as if he were some coyote caught in a trap. Now the fire crackled, sparks flicking into the darkening sky. Tate sat chained, bruised, and already plotting.
His lips were dry, split from earlier blows. He worked his tongue over the cuts, then spat into the dust, glaring at the figures across the fire.
“You think this’ll hold me?” he rasped. “I’ve chewed through tighter binds than this. You all act like you’ve won something.”
Black Wolf stepped closer, crouching until Tate could see the paint across his cheekbones and the glint of a bone knife athis belt. His voice was deep when he spoke to him. “You speak too much,” he said. “Better save breath. You will need it.”
Tate forced a smirk despite the swelling in his jaw. “Is that right? And what’s the plan? Beat me until I confess something? Kill me outright? You think that makes you better than Vanburgh?”
Red Hawk emerged from the shadows behind the fire. He was older, and his eyes were unforgiving. “No,” he said. “Not better. But not less, either. You brought poison to our water, fire to our hunting grounds, made our children sick. You are alive only because Hawk said so.”
Tate spat again, straining against the ropes. “Hawk’s a fool,” Tate replied. “He thinks he’s clever, dragging me out here. Just buying time before Vanburgh crushes him. And you? You’re wasting your chance. I’ve got information...plans, names. I could help you.”
Black Wolf’s gaze narrowed. “Help? Your tongue is a snake. Always moving. Always lying.”
A woman stepped into the firelight, her long braid tied with red cloth. She jabbed a finger toward him. “Kill him now,” she said. “Why wait? Why let his lies spread?”
Tate barked a laugh, leaning back against the post. “See? You’re scared. You wouldn’t be shouting for my blood if you weren’t.”
Her hand snapped across his cheek, sending his head reeling. Blood sprayed from his lip. Tate groaned, tasting grit.
“You hit like a mule,” he muttered.
Black Wolf seized his hair, jerking his head back to the sky. “Better than a bullet in the back,” he said. “We take time. You suffer. Then you tell truth.”
Tate forced another grin, though his jaw ached.
“Truth?” he asked. “You couldn’t handle the truth. Vanburgh’s coming, with more men than you can count. And when he does, you’ll wish you’d listened to me.”
Black Wolf shoved him away, and Tate sagged against the post.
Red Hawk stepped forward with his arms crossed. “Let him live,” he said. “For now. Poison in words, yes. But poison can teach. We will hear him. Then decide.”
“See?” Tate chuckled quietly. “Finally, someone who gets it. You keep me alive, I’ll tell you what you need.”
The woman hissed. “He lies.”
Black Wolf’s gaze flicked toward her. “Maybe. But lies show us who he is. Let him speak. Then, chains or fire...that is our way.”
“Keep me breathing, and I can tell you when Vanburgh’s men move,” Tate said, leaning forward despite the ropes. “Where they hide dynamite, how they plan to take Eagle Rock.”
“He will not save you,” the warrior said, glaring down at him. “No one saves you.”
“Maybe not,” Tate said, licking blood from his lip. “But if I go down, I’ll take every one of you with me. Kill me, and Vanburgh wipes this camp. Let me live, and maybe you get a chance to fight back.”
The woman struck him again, harder. His head snapped sideways.
“You think we fear death?” she asked. “We have already lost. My brother drank your poisoned water. He died with black lips. And you laugh.”
“I didn’t—”
“You did,” she spat. “You carried barrels. You took gold. You made choice.”
Red Hawk lifted a hand, silencing the camp. His gaze fixed on Tate, unreadable.
“You will speak,” he said. “Tomorrow, before sun. False words, and your blood feeds earth. True words, and maybe you live longer. That is all.”
Chains rattled as a warrior knelt, tightening the bonds around Tate’s ankle and fixing a heavy iron shackle to a post driven deep into the dirt. Tate cursed, thrashing.
