“You’ve lost more than half your men already,” Anthony said, his voice carrying over the roar. “Lyle Tate, the enforcers you boasted about? Vanburgh, your empire on this ridge is crumbling. You’re out of options.”
Vanburgh’s eyes blazed with fury, teeth clenched. He fired again, a shot that tore through a wagon and sent splinters flying. Anthony rolled, taking cover behind another boulder.
Black Wolf’s warriors were screaming war cries from the south, moving like shadows. They were unseen until they struck. A man tried to rise from behind a downed wagon to get a clear shot at Anthony. The arrow from Anthony’s bow found the man’s chest before he could fire, knocking him to the dirt with a grunt.
The shootout had become a storm. Bullets and arrows flew, men screamed and fell, and horses screamed as their hooves tore up the ground. Anthony’s voice rose above it all as he barked orders and drew lines of sight for his men.
One of Vanburgh’s soldiers tried to sneak along a ridge behind Anthony’s position. A round from the Colt found his leg, and he tumbled down the slope, screaming.
Anthony’s mind ran like clockwork:Powder stores. Neutralize threat. Guards. Draw fire. Vanburgh. Keep him exposed. Men. Cover and flank.
Every shot, every shout, every breath measured.
“Vanburgh!” he shouted again, his voice carrying rage and authority. “You thought you could crush Eagle Rock and walk away rich. You thought you could touch my people, my land, my family...and still live!”
The baron fired back. His revolver cracked against the rocks, narrowly missing Anthony’s shoulder. Anthony leaned forward, letting a spent bullet rattle past before firing his revolver, aiming for Vanburgh’s hand as he drew again.
A man beside Vanburgh went down screaming. Another staggered. Vanburgh himself ducked behind a crate, fury radiating from every movement. He bellowed, cursing Hawk’s name over and over.
The valley around Eagle Rock was alive with motion. Anthony rolled behind a boulder and reloaded as fast as he could. He fired, then leapt up again before sliding down the slope.
Black Wolf’s warriors were hitting the south ridge. Red Hawk and Anthony’s men pinned the western approaches. Anthony could see smoke curling from the north as shots rang out from unseen positions.
Vanburgh peeked from behind a crate again, firing wildly as if trying to catch Anthony off guard. Anthony’s revolver cracked twice, and Vanburgh flinched, ducking back again.
“You’re not invincible, Vanburgh!” Anthony yelled, moving closer. “Your greed will be your ruin.”
The rail baron’s face was red with fury. “I’ll kill you! I’ll—”
Another round from Hawk’s Colt cut off his words, and the man nearest Vanburgh fell, screaming in pain. Anthony slid behind a jagged rock with his arrow notched, bowstring pulled taut.
Anthony took a breath, letting his eyes sweep the battlefield. His Colt was empty again. He reached into his pocket to pull out a handful of bullets. He reloaded, fingers steady despite the adrenaline.
His bow rested across his back, quiver in place. He moved along the ridge, ducking, firing, sliding, repositioning. He had committed every move to memory.
Vanburgh cursed, firing at every shadow. Anthony dodged behind a boulder, feeling the heat of the shot pass too close.
Chapter 36
Abigail sat crouched on the northern ridge, one hand tight on the reins of the spare horses and the other brushing against the worn grip of her Colt Paterson revolver. The morning sun was higher now, and the nervous stamping of hooves behind her made her chest tighten.
The horses knew what was coming. She did too.
Tilly tossed her head and snorted, ears twitching toward the basin. Abigail reached up and patted her neck, fingers tracing the familiar line of muscle under the hide.
“Easy, girl,” she whispered. “You’ll hold steady, won’t you?”
The mare whinnied, ready to bolt at the next crack of thunder from below.
And then it came.
The first gunshots broke like lightning. Sharp, echoing cracks bounced against the canyon walls, each one louder than the last. The sound rippled through the ground beneath her boots.
The other horses shifted and stamped. Abigail tugged hard on the reins, pulling them tight and whispering harsh words she hoped would settle them. Her jaw clenched.
Her job was clear. Anthony’s words were still ringing in her head. If it goes wrong, take the deed from Brigg. Ride hard. Don’t stop until Denver.
But she couldn’t just sit here. Not when the air itself was splitting with violence. Not when Anthony, Black Wolf, Red Hawk, and the others were down there fighting for their lives.
