Black Wolf and Red Hawk were beside him, squatting low. Their eyes were scanning the same scene with uncanny patience. The Shoshone warriors’ presence steadied Anthony in a way he hadn’t expected. He had counted on them and hoped they’d come...but seeing them ready and alert made the stakes feel both real and achievable.
Anthony’s gaze swept to Brigg. The deputy’s bound arm made him look half-melted into the saddle, stubborn and unwilling. Hawk’s mind ticked over what Brigg’s role must be.
The originals of the deed needed to get out of this canyon alive. That was more important than any rifle shot tonight.
“You know what you’re doing?” Brigg asked quietly. “Leaving me to ride off while you start a firefight.”
“Every second you’re out there, alive, the judge has proof we didn’t fail,” Anthony replied, glancing at him. “That’s worth more than any swing of a Winchester tonight.”
“Worth more, maybe, but it feels like running from the fight,” the deputy said.
“It’s not running,” Anthony said, his voice low and steady. “It’s surviving. Without you in Denver, all we do here counts for nothing. You’re the key, Brigg. That’s the truth.”
Brigg stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled hard. “Hell.” He rubbed his stubbled chin. “Feels like hell either way.”
Anthony nodded once. He couldn’t argue further.
Abigail touched his sleeve.
“We’ll hold the canyon,” she said. “We must. But he’s right...the deed matters more than one life tonight. Even mine.”
Anthony glanced at her, catching the edge of fear in her eyes—the raw calculation of survival beneath the courage she showed the men. He gave a small nod, keeping silent. Words wouldn’t help her now.
The warriors had spread slightly, brushing dust from their clothes. They were checking their rifles and scanning the valley below. Black Wolf gestured with a hand, moving them closer to a small outcrop that offered cover and a clear view of the powder stores.
Anthony followed the motion, settling just behind them. He was mapless now, and the lines were drawn in his mind.
“Wagons along the south ridge,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tents near the creek. Powder crates at the center. Corral and stables south. Guards posted every forty paces along the perimeter. Three patrolling pairs moving clockwise. They’re predictable.”
Red Hawk tilted his head. “We take positions first?”
“Yes,” Anthony said, nodding. “Black Wolf, you scatter your men along the south slope. Take the horses before anyone notices. The rest of us will approach from the north and west. When the signal comes, we strike fast.”
Black Wolf’s face tightened. “Coyote’s cry.”
“Twice,” Anthony recalled. “Not before. Once, they’ll think it’s the wind. Twice, they’ll know it’s coming from all sides.”
Abigail shifted slightly. “What am I doing again?”
“You stay here with the spare horses,” Anthony said. “If it goes wrong, take the documents from Brigg. You ride hard to Silver Cross. Then on to Denver. Carry word. Keep moving until the originals are safe.”
She clenched her jaw, but she didn’t argue. Anthony knew better than to push further.
Brigg adjusted his mount, his good hand flexing on the reins. “I know my job,” he said. “But damn it, Hawk. Feels wrong to ride away while you lot get shot at.”
“Then do your job, Brigg,” Anthony said. “You make it to Denver. That’s the fight you’re winning.”
Brigg shifted, eyes narrowing on the camp below. “I’ll do it.” He slapped the flank of his horse, and the animal moved, tense but obedient.
Anthony watched him ride off along the narrow northern trail, disappearing into the dust and scrub. The sun had climbed a few degrees by now, catching the tips of the ridges and turning the shadows of the basin pale. The deputy’s horse moved fast, leaving only a whisper behind.
At that point, Anthony crouched behind a boulder. Each cylinder click of his Colt 1851 Navy echoed faintly in the still morning. He ran a hand over the smooth metal, checking the weight of the rounds and feeling the cool bite of steel beneath his fingers.
Then he reached for his bow, stringing it carefully until the arrow was notched and ready. He shifted the quiver onto his back, making sure it wouldn’t snag as he moved along the ridge.
Abigail adjusted the reins on the spare horses behind the ridge, her hands tight on the leather. She glanced at Anthony, eyes hard but calm. He gave a subtle nod, signaling that all was as it should be.
Black Wolf and Red Hawk crouched near the edges, their faces set. The other warriors moved silently into their assigned positions, sliding into natural folds in the rock. Each step was measured, and every hand steady.
