“Too late,” Tate muttered, ducking behind a boulder. He counted four pursuers. The rest were too far to reach him quickly.
A spear grazed his arm, burning through his sleeve. Another club whistled past. Tate rolled like his life depended on it. And it did.
Two guards tried to flank him. Tate dove into a narrow gap between rocks, crawling low. One knife cut shallow into his leg. He rolled again and reached for the nearest weapon.
When he found some loose debris on the ground, he sent it into their faces. They staggered. He darted into thicker underbrush.
“Where is he?” a warrior shouted. “He cannot—”
“He moves like the wind!” another cried.
Tate pressed deeper into the trees. His shackle was dragging. Every branch and root was a threat he dodged.
Another tribe member lunged from the shadows. Tate sidestepped and used all his strength to send his shoulder into the man’s stomach. The momentum pushed him forward through the trees. He sprinted the last stretch to a ridge opening onto scrubland beyond.
Tate looked back once. The camp behind him swarmed with shouts and curses. Firelight flickered.
He dropped into the shadows beyond the ridge. The shackle dug into his ankle with every step. Then he vanished into the trees.
Chapter 18
The sun was still low when Anthony left the clearing where he had left Tate. There was no time to dwell. Every minute mattered. He needed Abigail’s mind as much as his own for what came next.
After finding Spirit on the outskirts of the woods, he mounted the mare and urged her onto the trail. The road back to the clinic wound past ridges and groves. It was familiar ground but dangerous now.
Silver Cross was a mess, and Vanburgh’s men would be combing the countryside.
By midmorning, he reached Abigail’s clinic. She was already tending to patients who had limped in before sunrise. Relief and surprise lit her eyes when she looked up.
“Anthony, you’re back early. I thought—”
“Not a moment to waste, ma’am,” he cut in gently. “Tate’s in the tribe’s hands. He won’t trouble us there. But Vanburgh won’t wait. We need to see Eagle Rock before it’s too late. You’re coming.”
Abigail’s brow furrowed. “We can’t just ride in blind. The last thing—”
“No blind moves,” Anthony said. “We scout first. We watch, we plan. But we have to move now.”
She hesitated, then grabbed her satchel. “All right. But, Anthony...evidence. Proof. Not just guns.”
“I know,” he said, shoulders easing. “Observation first. Then action.”
Minutes later, they were riding through the forest trail together. The air was sharp with pine and damp earth. Anthony scanned ridges and hollows as they went, noting vantage points and cover.
Days were starting to merge. It felt like a lifetime since he had left Tate with the rest of the Shoshone.
He hadn’t even had a chance to process seeing them again. Black Wolf. Red Hawk. They were alive.
Some of the others had survived the attack. It was good news.
But now, there was another matter to deal with. Vanburgh was close to destroying Eagle Rock. Anthony might not have known the exact time, but he knew that the plan was in motion.
“Eagle Rock isn’t far, ma’am,” he murmured. “If Vanburgh’s moving dynamite, the crates will be obvious. We need eyes on them before he brings in more men.”
“I just hope what we find doesn’t make all the planning useless,” Abigail replied.
Anthony allowed himself a brief grin. “Then we adapt. Always do.”
The canyon mouth opened before them. Anthony dismounted and patted Spirit’s neck.
