Anthony didn’t lower his Colt. His finger stayed steady on the trigger. “Where’s Vanburgh?”
Tate’s grin widened, though his lip split and bled with the stretch.
“Vanburgh?” he asked. “He’s smarter than you give him credit for. While you’re playing house with me, he’s got bigger fires to light.”
Anthony’s pulse hammered. He tried to shift left, but Tate mirrored the move, rifle barrel swinging lazily toward him.
“Move, Hawk,” Brigg growled. “He’s stalling.”
“Of course I’m stalling,” Tate laughed, though it turned into a cough. “That’s what you don’t get. This ain’t about winning a fight. It’s about making you bleed slow enough for the real man to finish the job.”
“Why crawl back to help him, Tate?” Anthony asked. “You look half-dead already.”
“’Cause Vanburgh ain’t just pay,” he replied. “He’s order. He’s a man who knows what to do with savages and strays like you. You’re a mistake he means to erase.”
“You talk too damn much,” Brigg said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
But Tate’s eyes flicked toward him, and his grin sharpened. “And you, Deputy,” Tate said. “You rode with him, didn’t you? Think that makes you clean? Think it makes you one of the good ones? Let me tell you what it makes you...a dog running with wolves. Ain’t no badge shiny enough to change that.”
Anthony’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t let Tate’s words burrow too deep. He kept his voice even. “Where’s Vanburgh?”
“Don’t you worry your half-breed head about it,” Tate sneered suddenly, his tone cutting. “By the time you find him, your precious Shoshone friends will be gutted. You think they care about you? You think they ain’t laughing behind your backevery time you call yourself their brother? They’ll leave you in the dirt same as I would.”
Anthony’s grip on his Colt tightened, but he kept his face hard as stone. He wouldn’t let Tate see the jab land. Not here, not now.
“Shut your mouth,” Brigg snapped, voice sharp with fury.
Tate’s grin only widened. “Ah, struck a nerve, did I? The redskins mean nothing. They’re tools. Same as you, Deputy. Same as her—” He jerked his chin toward the ridge where Abigail had vanished earlier.
“What was it...Abigail?” he asked. “That little doll you keep dragging into the fire? You think Vanburgh won’t string her up just to make you howl?”
Anthony moved first. His Colt barked, the bullet whistling past Tate’s head and kicking dust behind him.
“Enough,” Anthony growled. “You want me? Then quit talking and pull the trigger.”
Tate’s eye gleamed with cruel amusement. “Gladly.” He swung the Sharps rifle up, and the canyon seemed to tighten around them.
Anthony’s heart hammered. He could almost feel Vanburgh slipping farther into the smoke with every passing second. Tatewasn’t just an obstacle. He was the wedge that might tear their whole chance apart.
Brigg’s voice cut low beside him, steady and grim. “We take him fast. Then we find Vanburgh.”
Anthony nodded once, never taking his eyes off Tate. “Fast,” he agreed.
Tate’s laugh rasped through the powder haze. “Come on then, boys. Let’s see who bleeds first.”
The Sharps rifle kicked, flame spitting from the muzzle. The bullet tore past Anthony’s ear and split the wagon plank behind him. Anthony dropped, his Colt Navy revolver barking twice in answer.
One round clipped Tate’s shoulder, spinning him a step sideways.
Brigg surged forward, Winchester booming. The shot slammed into Tate’s thigh, dropping him to one knee, but the outlaw still grinned through his blood.
“You’ll have to do better!” Tate roared, shoving himself upright. He swung the rifle one-handed and fired again.
Deputy Brigg cried out, stumbling back as the round carved a line across his ribs.
Blood darkened his shirt as quickly as spilled ink. He hit the dirt hard, rifle clattering from his grip.
“Brigg!” Anthony shouted, firing again to cover him. His last shot went wide, the Colt clicking empty.
