“There’s no excuse,” Anthony continued. “No reason. You wanted power. You wanted gold. And for it, you murdered them. My family. My blood.” He stepped closer, moving faster thanVanburgh could follow with the Winchester trained on the man who had taken everything from him. “Do you hear me? You took everything.”
Vanburgh’s hand twitched toward the fuse again, but Anthony’s boot kicked a crate, forcing him back. Sparks hissed as the metal switch broke free in a sharp, echoing snap. The fuse dangled harmlessly. Anthony didn’t give him a chance to recover.
“You won’t touch anyone else!” Anthony raised his voice over the gunfire in the background. “I won’t let you!”
Vanburgh drew his revolver with shaking hands, eyes blazing with fear and fury at the same time.
Anthony’s reflexes fired on instinct. “You should’ve died the moment you took their lives,” he said, his voice low and merciless. The Winchester rose and cracked. The bullet slammed into Vanburgh’s chest with unerring precision.
The rail baron stumbled backward, mouth opening in a strangled scream. He crashed to the floorboards of the shack, sliding into the dust. Lifeless.
Anthony let out a ragged breath, his chest heaving. The silence inside the shack was a stark contrast to the distant chaos still raging on the ridge. Smoke filtered through the cracks in the walls. Dust and ash clung to his hair and clothes.
The ridge was saved. For now, the threat had ended. Anthony dropped to one knee, glancing at the broken switch still clutched in his hand, then toward the smoke-filled valley.
Somewhere below, the shouts and gunfire continued, but the largest threat was gone. Anthony’s hands shook slightly, but his mind was clear.
He swung the Winchester over his shoulder and leaned against the shack wall, his eyes scanning the horizon. The ridge, the horses, the men and women fighting below...they would live because he had acted.
The victory was quiet, but it was real. In that moment, Anthony allowed himself a breath. The mountain was still alive, but the nightmare of Vanburgh’s greed and cruelty was over.
Yet even as he exhaled, Anthony knew the fight wasn’t fully done. The ridge still needed defending, and the wounded still needed tending. For now, he had saved it from complete annihilation.
Anthony pushed himself off the shack wall, every muscle heavy with the weight of what he had just done. Vanburgh’s lifeless body lay crumpled in the dust, but there was no time to linger.
There was even less time to think.
The gunfire from the ridge rolled down like thunder, a brutal reminder that the fight below was far from finished.
He gripped the Winchester tightly, checked the chamber, and started down the hill at a run. Dust kicked up beneath his boots. Smoke curled upward, stinging his eyes. Every step pulled him back into the heart of the battle.
As he neared the slope, he saw Red Hawk stumble against a boulder, clutching his side. Blood streaked his shirt. Black Wolf was crouched nearby, firing careful shots at two of Vanburgh’s men who were still trying to push them back.
Abigail knelt in the dirt with her revolver drawn in one hand, the other steadying Red Hawk as best she could.
Anthony raised the Winchester and fired. One of Vanburgh’s men pitched backward, tumbling into the dust. He racked the lever and fired again.
Another shot struck home, and the second man fell silent.
The sudden quiet was jarring.
Anthony slid down the last few feet of rock, landing beside them. “It’s over,” he said, his voice low but certain.
His gaze flicked to Abigail, whose face was pale and streaked with grit. She nodded, still steadying Red Hawk.
Black Wolf straightened, his bow still clutched in his hand. “Not over,” he muttered, scanning the battlefield.
A few scattered cries echoed in the distance, but no more shots came. Slowly, the silence spread, seeping into the rocks and the smoke until only the wind carried sound.
Abigail exhaled shakily, finally holstering her revolver. “It’s done,” she whispered. “It has to be.”
Anthony gave a short nod. He crouched beside Red Hawk, checking the already bandaged wound. The Shoshone warrior met his eyes, pain etched deep into his face.
“I’ll live,” Red Hawk said through clenched teeth.
Anthony pressed a steadying hand to his shoulder. “You fought well. All of you did.”
He looked from Red Hawk to Black Wolf, then to Abigail. Some of the other Shoshone members began to emerge from behind cover. They had stood their ground against impossible odds.
