Abigail’s face softened. “Thank you, Brigg.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, standing and kicking dirt over the nearest corpse. “If Vanburgh don’t gut me on the trail, the marshals in Denver just might. But I’ll ride it.”
“Then it’s settled,” Anthony said, giving the deputy a curt nod.
After grabbing some papers and a quill from Abigail’s saddlebag, they worked by firelight. Abigail carefully transcribed the deeds while Anthony sharpened his knife and kept watch. Brigg smoked in silence, occasionally rising to pace the perimeter. His rifle was always cradled in his arms.
The forest around them seemed alive. The hush between owl calls and the rustle of leaves was a constant reminder that bounty hunters were never far behind.
Abigail paused in her writing, looking over at Anthony.
“Do you think the courts in Denver will really listen?” she asked. “Or will they see just another claim ripe for the taking?”
“Maybe they will, ma’am,” he said, leaning on his knee. “Maybe they won’t. But it’s the only chance we’ve got that don’t end in more blood. I’d rather fight in daylight with the law watching than die in the shadows where no one knows the truth.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Abigail replied, dipping her quill again. “My father always said the law was a tool, dull or sharp depending on who held it. We just have to sharpen it in the right place.”
“Law’s a tool, all right,” Brigg said, snorting. “Trouble is that most men wield it like a hammer, smashing whatever is in reach. Denver ain’t no promised land, Hawk. Don’t forget that.”
Anthony’s eyes flicked to the iron box. “I won’t.”
***
Dawn broke gray and cold. The fire was down to embers, and the last of the night’s quiet pressed close around them. Brigg saddled his horse, the fresh copies tucked safely in his saddlebag.
Abigail watched with her arms folded, her face tight with worry. “You’ll ride fast?” she asked.
“As fast as the horse will carry me,” the deputy replied. “Don’t waste prayers on me, Doc. I’ve dodged worse than bounty hunters.”
Anthony stepped forward, offering his hand. Brigg clasped it firmly. No words passed between them for a moment.
“Get it done, Brigg,” Anthony said. “Denver’s our only light.”
Brigg gave a single nod. “You hold the flame, Hawk. I’ll carry the spark.”
He swung into the saddle, the morning mist curling around him like smoke. For a moment, he looked down at them with an unreadable expression. Then, he turned his horse eastward.
The sound of hooves faded into the forest, leaving Anthony and Abigail alone beside the smoldering fire. She exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging.
“It feels like we’ve just torn the last thread holding us together,” she murmured.
Anthony bent, closing the iron box with a decisive click. “No. We’ve given ourselves a chance.”
He looked toward the mountains as the sky paled with the rising sun.
Chapter 28
Eagle Rock basin was quiet that day, and the air was crisp with the scent of cottonwoods and dust. The creek whispered nearby, its voice lost beneath the weight of silence pressing down from the ridges. Anthony led Spirit into the cover of the trees, scanning the folds of land the way a hawk scans the sky. His shoulders stayed tense, and his eyes were always restless.
“This’ll do,” he said finally, dropping the reins.
Abigail slipped from her mare with less ease, brushing dust from her pants as her boots found the soft earth by the water. Her arms folded tightly around herself, though it wasn’t yet cold.
“Feels strange,” she murmured. “Stopping when he’s so close.”
Anthony crouched to check the ground, testing the soil with his palm. He didn’t look at her when he answered.
“Strange, maybe,” he replied. “But stopping’s better than riding blind into his teeth.”
