Anthony crouched beside him as if he wanted to make sure that Brigg’s wound wasn’t as bad as it looked.
A second later, he rose to his feet and pulled a half-burned stick from the fire. He crouched again in the dirt and dragged a sharp line through the dust, steady and deliberate.
“Here’s Vanburgh’s camp,” he said, marking an oval. “Canvas tents here, wagons along the ridge. His horses are stabled on the south end.” He stabbed the stick into the line. “They’ll post guards along the high rock and at the water trough,” he said.
The men gathered closer, faces tight with the weight of what lay ahead. The Shoshone crouched silently, watching every mark he carved.
Anthony drew another line, curving north. “Brigg rides here,” he continued. “When you’re past the cut, you swing wide and don’t stop.” He didn’t look up as he spoke. His voice was even, but there was no mistaking the command in it.
“You make it sound easy,” Deputy Brigg said.
“It won’t be,” Anthony said flatly. “But we’ll pull their eyes east. That’s our job.” He slashed a jagged line along the canyon rim. “I’ll take three men here with rifles. When the first shots sound, they’ll think it’s an ambush from the cliffs.”
Black Wolf touched the dirt with his hand. “My brothers will strike here,” he said, pointing to the south end. “Horses first. Take the legs from his army, and his men scatter.”
“Good,” Anthony replied, nodding. “You run them off, we hold the high ground.” He turned to the other Indians. “You two...take the east ridge.” He pointed at the makeshift map. “Fire down into the camp when you hear Black Wolf’s signal. No sooner.”
“What’s the signal?” one of the Indians asked.
Anthony looked to Black Wolf. The Shoshone warrior’s face didn’t change as he replied. “Coyote’s cry. Twice.”
The men exchanged uneasy glances, but they nodded.
Anthony turned back to the map, dragging another line. “Abigail, you stay with the spare horses here, under the ridge,” he said. “If we’re forced back, you ride hard to Eagle Rock and you don’t stop.”
“No. I’m not running while you—”
He cut her off with a sharp look. “I need you alive. If this falls apart, someone must carry word back. That’s not Brigg’s road anymore...that’s yours.”
She clenched her jaw, but she didn’t argue further.
Anthony stabbed the stick into the dirt once more, then threw it into the fire. The sparks leapt, and the men’s faces flickered red and gold.
“We don’t fight them head-on,” he said. “We strike hard, we vanish, we bleed them where they can’t see us. Vanburgh wants this land so bad...he can choke on the dust of it.”
Black Wolf’s voice rumbled low. “Then tonight, he learns the land is not his.”
A murmur of assent rolled through the circle. Nervous, but strong. Men adjusted their belts, checked the locks on their rifles, touched their blades. The camp smelled of smoke, gun oil, and sweat.
Anthony straightened, scanning the faces one last time. “You know your places,” he said. “You know what’s at stake. If you see dawn, you see it standing.”
Chapter 33
The first thin light of dawn touched the ridges, turning stone and sage to silver. Anthony squinted into the haze. The horizon was sharp and cold, every detail of the basin below revealing itself slowly.
Below them, Vanburgh’s camp sprawled across the flatland like a careless scatter of bones. Canvas tents gleamed in the rising sun, and the wagons were parked along the ridges. Guards were already patrolling the area. Some were pacing, some were slouched, and others were leaning over the edge of the corral.
Anthony’s stomach tightened. Every patrol, every careless stance, was a mistake they could exploit...but it was a dangerous calculus. He swept his gaze over the camp, memorizing positions and entrances.
Abigail leaned close, hand resting on her Colt Paterson revolver.
“They’re awake,” she said softly, nodding toward a pair of guards moving along the ridge. Her voice was calm, but Anthony could see the tension coiled in her jaw.
“They’re just waking,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Every one of them half-blind with sleep. That’s our chance.”
Brigg shifted his weight, wincing against the bandage. “Chance,” he muttered. “Don’t make it feel much better.”
Anthony didn’t answer immediately. He was thinking and tracing lines through the basin in his mind. The slope below their ridge was steep and broken with boulders, offering cover to anyone willing to move fast and carefully.
