Brigg’s breathing was shallow, but his eyes flicked up. “Wouldn’t have...sat right,” Brigg replied. “Knowing you all were down here. Fighting without me.”
Anthony shook his head, lips pressed thin. “You almost got yourself killed.”
The deputy’s laugh was weak, more breath than sound. “Almost.”
Abigail tied off the thread, wiping her brow with the back of her arm. Her hands were shaking now, though she fought to keep them steady as she packed cloth against the stitched wound and wrapped it tight with strips of linen.
“That’s as good as it’s going to get until we get him back to town,” she said. “But he’ll live...if he doesn’t start bleeding again.”
Anthony exhaled, relief washing over him like a tide. He adjusted his grip, lowering Brigg gently against the boulder again.
The deputy let out a weak groan, then looked between the two of them. “Didn’t think...I’d end up in your care, ma’am,” he said. “Always figured I’d die in some dusty street with no one bothering to notice.”
“You’re not dying,” Abigail said firmly, her hands still pressing the bandage. “Not if I can help it.”
Brigg’s eyes softened, gratitude flickering there, though his voice stayed rough. “Then I owe you one.”
Anthony sat back on his heels, wiping blood from his hands onto his pants. His chest felt heavy, like the weight of everything had finally come crashing down now that Vanburgh was dead.
But looking at Brigg, Anthony couldn’t shake the fear that it wasn’t over. That death was still circling, waiting for one of them to slip.
“You stay awake, you hear me?” Anthony said, his tone firm. “Don’t you go fading on us now.”
Brigg’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a grin. “Bossy as ever.”
Anthony leaned back, pulling the Winchester closer to his side. His eyes swept the ridge below, where fires still smoldered and Shoshone voices carried.
“We’ll move you soon,” Anthony said. “Once we know the ground’s secure.”
Abigail finished tying off the last strip of cloth, then sat back. She let out a long breath, exhaustion plain on her face.
“Will he make it?” Anthony asked, his voice quieter now.
“If he rests,” Abigail confirmed. “If he doesn’t tear the stitches. If he’s lucky.”
Anthony met her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Then we’ll make sure he’s lucky.”
Brigg closed his eyes briefly, then forced them open again. “Don’t count me out yet, Hawk,” he said. “Got more fight in me.”
Anthony’s mouth tightened into something like a smile. “Then hang onto it. We’ll need you yet.”
The three of them sat in the shadow of the shack as the wind carried the distant sound of voices and the last echoes of battle.
Anthony pushed himself to his feet, the weight of exhaustion dragging at his limbs. He adjusted the Winchesteron his shoulder, eyes narrowing toward the smoke-drifted slope below.
“I’ll bring the horses,” he said, his voice steady though his chest still burned from the climb. “We’ll ride to town straight away. No more waiting here.”
Brigg stirred weakly, his head turning toward him. His face was pale, and his lips were dry, but his eyes still held their stubborn fire. “Hawk...” his voice rasped, each word clawing its way out. “Vanburgh...he’s dead for sure?”
Anthony met his gaze without flinching. “I shot him. Saw him drop. He won’t be crawling back from it.”
Brigg’s shoulders sagged, the smallest flicker of relief ghosting over his features. His hand fumbled weakly at his blood-soaked coat, patting at an inside pocket until his fingers hooked around something stiff.
“Good,” he muttered, drawing out a folded sheaf of parchment stained at the edges. His hand trembled as he held it out, the movement slow and deliberate. “Don’t want...to get blood on them.”
Anthony stepped forward, but Brigg shook his head, forcing the papers toward Abigail instead. “Take ’em, ma’am,” Brigg said, his voice rough but insistent. “Original deeds. Everything Vanburgh wanted. Don’t belong in my hands anymore.”
Abigail hesitated only a heartbeat before accepting them. Her fingers brushed the rough parchment as she tucked the bundle carefully into her bag, safe among her instruments and bandages.
