The fight below was bigger than him, bigger than the three men he had just dealt with. And yet he couldn’t stop himself.
The bad feeling that had gnawed at him before had sharpened into something he could no longer ignore. He had to see. He had to be certain.
He glanced at the trail stretching northward, where the documents would keep him alive. Then he cast his eyes back toward the smoke and movement below. He cursed under his breath, feeling the weight of his oath battling against the raw instinct to intervene.
The documents were safe, but the ridge, the men, Hawk...he couldn’t just leave them. His boots dug into the stirrups. He gritted his teeth.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
He spurred the horse slightly, letting it pivot and giving him a better angle on the ridge.
A rifle cracked from below, sending a spray of gravel past him. Brigg ducked instinctively, hearing the shout of one of Hawk’s men, then the shrill whistle of another rifle. The canyon had come alive with noise.
Gunfire echoed and ricocheted, the reports of weapons bouncing between rock faces.
Brigg’s heart raced, hammering against his ribs. The horse snorted, waiting for him to act. He knew he was risking everything. He could still die here...but he had to see.
He gritted his teeth and leaned into the slope. The three Vanburgh men’s ambush had been only a fraction of the danger that waited, but it had reminded him of one thing. Survival required vigilance, awareness, and the willingness to act when hesitation could cost everything.
And Brigg knew hesitation was a luxury he could no longer afford.
He made sure his Colt was in his holster before reaching for his Winchester instead.
Another pair of men could be lying in wait. Another mistake could be his last. The wind shifted, carrying the scent of gunpowder from Eagle Rock.
He tightened his grip on the reins, glanced down at the saddlebag once more, and then back toward the chaos below. His pulse screamed in his ears.
The ridge was alive with movement now. Anthony Hawk, Black Wolf, Red Hawk. He saw the flashes and heard the shouts. His chest tightened.
Brigg swallowed hard, muscles coiled. He had come this far. He had survived the ambush. And now...he was going to see it through.
The canyon was a living thing, breathing gunpowder and fear. Now, Deputy Thomas Brigg was riding straight into the teeth of it.
The first gunfire had erupted, and Brigg’s ride was far from over.
Chapter 35
Anthony’s finger tightened on the trigger of his Colt Navy revolver, and every muscle in his body was coiled like a spring. The crack of rifles echoed across the ridge. It was a violent drumbeat that made the rocks vibrate beneath his boots. Smoke and dust rolled through the canyon like a living thing.
“Now!” Anthony barked, his voice sharp, cutting through the chaos.
Black Wolf answered immediately, moving down the southern slope with his warriors and sliding between boulders and sage. From Anthony’s vantage point, he could see the horses bolting, hooves kicking up dirt as the Shoshone struck first. Riders scrambled, shouting curses. Some fired wildly over the panicked animals’ heads.
Red Hawk’s sharp, low whistle carried through the smoke. It was both a warning and a rallying cry. Anthony pivoted, taking the western flank. The north ridge was clear for now, and his revolver spurted flame with each squeeze of the trigger.
One of Vanburgh’s men went down behind a wagon, his rifle skittering across the dirt. Anthony’s eyes never left the powder stores at the center. He knew the slightest misstep could trigger a chain reaction that would level the ridge.
“Keep your heads down!” he yelled to his men, though they could hardly hear him over the noise.
A figure emerged from the haze, stepping out of the central tent. It was Vanburgh.
Anthony froze for a fraction of a second, catching the arrogance in the man’s posture. The rail baron’s chest puffed out. His hands were on his hips, and his 1860 Colt Army revolver was holstered, as if daring anyone to touch him.
“Well, well,” Vanburgh called across the chaos, his voice dripping with contempt. “Anthony Hawk—the mountain rat thinks he can play hero. You and your little savages will be nothing more than dust by the time I’m finished!”
Anthony’s teeth clenched. He leaned low behind a boulder, sliding a round into his revolver.
“Haven’t you got a mansion to ruin, Vanburgh?” he asked. “Or did your greed run out of rooftops to poke?”
