“They were hiding in there!” Anthony growled.
He spun, ducking low as pistols barked. Bullets kicked dust up where he had just stood, slamming into the wood of the boardwalk with jagged cracks.
Instinct took over. Anthony sprinted toward the general store at the corner, weaving through the crowd. The glass windows rattled, shutters splintering as the outlaws fired blindly. Panic and rage fueled their aim.
“Cover!” Anthony shouted to the Shoshone members still standing on the undertaker’s porch.
Red Hawk and Black Wolf slid behind barrels and crates, rifles rising to fire. Abigail was there too. She crouched low with her revolver in hand and grit etched on her face.
Anthony reached the corner of the general store, diving behind a stack of sacks and barrels. Dust rose with each bullet that spat past him, and the acrid smell of gunpowder burned in his nose.
He peered around the edge of the stack. The outlaws were moving quickly, forming into a rough line. They hadn’t expected him to survive the ridge. Now, they were making the mistake of thinking they could finish him off in the street.
Anthony squeezed the trigger of the Winchester. The kick of the rifle bit into his shoulder, and he felt the recoil as the bullet slammed into a wooden post where one of the outlaws had been leaning. The man yelped and staggered back, tripping over a broken crate.
More shots cracked around him. Anthony ducked lower, pulling another round into the chamber. He could see Black Wolf’s rifle bark from behind the general store, cutting downanother approaching gunman. Red Hawk fired as well, taking precise shots that forced two men behind barrels.
“Abigail, cover the rear!” Anthony shouted.
She didn’t hesitate, pivoting and firing a round at a man who had tried to flank them. The bullet struck his shoulder, and he tumbled to the dirt with a grunt.
Anthony’s heart hammered in his chest. The town’s main street had turned into a chaos of dust, gunfire, and shouts. He could hear Muldoon yelling from the porch, shouting orders, but the sheriff was doing nothing more than watching now.
The man wasn’t going to draw.
“Of course,” Anthony muttered. He sighted along the rifle, steadying it on the barrel of a broken cart for support.
Another outlaw peeked from behind a post, pistol trembling in his hand.
One careful squeeze.Bang!He dropped the man before the shot even rang out.
The rest of Vanburgh’s men hesitated, exchanging confused looks. They hadn’t counted on Anthony’s ferocity, nor the quiet efficiency of the Shoshone warriors.
“Push them back!” Anthony shouted, moving a step along the edge of the barrels, bringing another man into his sights. He felt the wind kick up from the other side of the street. Dust, debris, and gun smoke swirled into his eyes.
Red Hawk leaned forward, sending another outlaw sprawling with a clean shot. Black Wolf let loose from behind the crates, the hammer snapping on his rifle with deadly precision.
Anthony’s pulse thrummed with every breath. He could hear Muldoon still shouting. He was angry and useless, but the real fight was now against the remaining men of Vanburgh. They had cornered themselves by stepping out of the sheriff’s office. Now, they were paying the price.
He popped up again, firing over the stack of barrels. One man fell sideways, clutching his chest. Another scrambled, trying to reach the safety of a wagon, but Anthony’s shot caught him in the shoulder, sending him sprawling.
“Abigail, keep your head down!” Anthony barked.
She ducked behind the general store’s doorway, moving with the grace of someone who had learned to survive under fire.
The Shoshone were relentless. Red Hawk and Black Wolf coordinated silently, sweeping the street with deadly accuracy, forcing the remaining outlaws to retreat toward the sheriff’s office porch.
Muldoon’s face had gone red, veins standing out on his neck. “I said, get him! Get him now!” he bellowed, but the sheriff stayed on the porch, paralyzed by something: fear, greed, or a lifetime of relying on others to do his dirty work. Anthony couldn’t tell, and he didn’t care.
The last of Vanburgh’s men bolted for the door of the office, but Anthony’s Winchester barked again. Another fell, hands clutching air, dust rising around him.
Anthony crouched behind the barrels, scanning the street. Only a few remained now, pressed against the office porch and too afraid to step forward.
“Red Hawk!” Anthony called. “Move left! Cut them off!”
Red Hawk obeyed, sliding silently across the street. Black Wolf covered him from the other side. The outlaws were trapped, unable to advance or retreat.
Anthony rose slightly and fired once more. The last man tumbled down the office steps. Silence fell over the street.
