Vanburgh laughed. It was a harsh, grating sound.
“Bold words for someone hiding behind rocks and bowstrings,” he replied. “Let me guess...you think your little stunt here matters? That you’ve got the numbers to scare me?”
Anthony adjusted his stance, eyeing the ridge. Three men who had been Vanburgh’s enforcers had once been a constant threat. Not anymore.
“Some of your boys are already dead,” Anthony said, his voice calm but cutting. “The ones you sent to keep me pinned? They’re feeding the dirt.”
Vanburgh’s grin vanished. His eyes flicked toward the southern slope where Black Wolf’s men were already wreaking havoc. Then, a low growl formed in his throat.
“Dead? Those were my best! My finest! You’ll pay for this insolence!”
Anthony didn’t flinch. He glanced to Red Hawk signaling from the west ridge. “Keep your heads down! Don’t let them pin us!”
Two men rounded the corner of a canvas tent, rifles leveled toward him. Anthony rolled forward, sliding behind a jagged boulder. He fired twice in rapid succession.
Both men crumpled, shouting curses that were swallowed by the roar of gunfire.
The ridge had erupted into a maelstrom. Smoke curled around the tents, mingling with dust and the acrid tang of spent gunpowder. Horses screamed and bolted in every direction. Riders tried to regain control as arrows streaked from the rocks above.
Anthony rose slightly, scanning for Vanburgh again. The man had vanished into the central tent, but Anthony could hear the shuffle of boots and the clatter of weapons. Every second counted.
From the south, Black Wolf shouted, “Horses are down! Riders are scrambling! Now’s the time!”
Anthony sprinted along the ridge with his bow notched, picking his targets with deadly precision. A man stepped into view near the powder crates with his Winchester rifle raised.
In less than a split second, Anthony’s arrow struck true in the shoulder. The man dropped his rifle and fell to the dirt with a scream.
A soldier to his right fired at him, sending a spray of gravel across Anthony’s boots. He rolled behind cover, slamming his palm against the ground to steady himself. Then, he fired twice, the Colt’s report cutting through the noise. Both rounds found their mark.
The central ridge trembled as explosions of gunfire rocked the tents. Anthony ducked behind a boulder as a volley of bullets struck, sending splinters of wood and canvas into the air.
He caught sight of Vanburgh’s shadow moving behind one of the wagons, his revolver raised. Anthony’s pulse hammered.
Every instinct screamed to charge, but he knew the ridge was a trap. One wrong move and the powder crates would go up.
“Vanburgh!” Anthony yelled across the chaos. “You sent men to kill me. They’re all dead. Your plan’s crumbling, and you’re standing there!”
At that, he stepped partially into the sun, his teeth flashing.
“You think this ridge belongs to you, Hawk?” he asked. “That your little band of savages can dictate terms to me? I own this land, these men, this line of steel! You’ll regret this!”
“I don’t negotiate with thieves,” Anthony replied. “Your men are falling. Your explosives won’t fire unless you want to bury yourself in them.”
Vanburgh’s hand twitched toward his holster. Anthony fired an arrow high, startling a nearby soldier and breaking the man’s aim. Another flash from his Colt sent a man behind a barrel to the dirt.
“Look around, Vanburgh!” Anthony shouted. “Your bounty hunters? Gone. Your guards? Scattered. Your horses? Dead. Your men’s loyalty? Broken. And yet here I am, still standing. Still breathing.”
The rail baron’s face twisted in rage. He cursed under his breath, then fired his revolver at a shadow flitting along the rocks. Anthony ducked behind his cover, rolling as the bullet tore into stone beside him.
Red Hawk appeared at Anthony’s side.
“They push too far!” he shouted, firing again and cutting down a man who had tried to flank them from the west.
“Keep them off the powder!” Anthony said. “I’ll draw Vanburgh’s attention!” He rose slightly, allowing himself to be seen with his revolver leveled.
Vanburgh’s grin snapped into a sneer. “Finally! Come out and play, Hawk! You’ll be the first to die!”
Anthony didn’t flinch. He fired a round over Vanburgh’s shoulder, forcing him to duck behind a crate. Then another. Each shot was deliberate, meant to provoke and keep Vanburgh exposed.
