He exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging as adrenaline finally faded away. He kept his gaze on the sheriff, who was fuming. Muldoon’s mouth opened and closed like he was trying to find words, but the words never came.
The town had gone quiet now, the tension heavy in the dusty air. Only the distant murmur of the Shoshone counting heads and tending to the wounded broke the silence.
Anthony stepped carefully out from behind the barrels, his eyes never leaving Muldoon. The sheriff’s hands twitched near his holster, but he didn’t move.
Not one step toward Anthony.
Anthony’s finger itched on the trigger, but he didn’t need to draw. Muldoon’s men were gone, and the threat had been neutralized.
“Not one step,” Anthony said, voice low and dangerous, but calm enough that the sheriff knew he meant every word.
Muldoon swallowed hard, his shoulders sagging slightly. His empire of fear had crumbled in the dust of the main street, and he was left impotent on his porch.
Anthony’s gaze swept the street. The townsfolk stared, half in fear, half in awe, as he stepped over the spent shells and fallen men.
“Stay there,” Anthony said, his tone carrying across the quiet street. “You don’t move, you don’t talk, and no one gets hurt. Understood?”
Muldoon’s lips parted, then closed again. He nodded once, sharply.
Anthony turned his gaze back to the Shoshone and Abigail, letting the tension drain from his shoulders slightly. The fight was over. The last of Vanburgh’s shadow had been extinguished.
But Anthony knew Muldoon would never forgive him. And the day wasn’t truly over. Not until every shred of Vanburgh’s corruption was rooted out and every legal claim secured.
For now, though, he allowed himself a slow breath, feeling the sun warm on his bloodied shoulders as he prepared to face whatever came next.
Chapter 43
Anthony stood in the dust-swept street of Silver Cross. The heat of the afternoon baked down on him. He had watched the last of Vanburgh’s men scatter or fall beneath the accurate fire of Red Hawk and Black Wolf, and he had seen the final, exhausted glance Sheriff Muldoon cast from his porch.
The man had seethed with impotent fury, but now he sat caged in the old jail cell, muttering threats and curses that were carried off by the wind.
The sounds of the ridge battle were long gone. The distant echo of rifle shots now belonged to bounty hunters and the few remaining stragglers who thought to capitalize on Vanburgh’s chaos.
Anthony wiped his hands across his pants, brushing away dirt and residual blood. He let out a breath that had been building since dawn. The relief was fragile. There were still too many questions, too many pieces that didn’t yet fit neatly into the fragile puzzle of law and order.
A thunder of hooves on the wooden boardwalk drew Anthony’s attention. A figure emerged from the south end of town, dust rolling behind him like a ghost. He dismounted smoothly. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a sun-creased face and eyes that missed nothing.
It was the sheriff from the next town over: Sheriff Caleb Trask. He had come. His presence alone was enough to shift the nervous tension in the street. Townsfolk whispered, nodding to themselves. They recognized that this man was not easily swayed by threats or bribes.
Anthony’s eyes narrowed slightly as Trask approached. “Sheriff,” he called, voice carrying across the street.
“Anthony Hawk,” Trask said, eyes flicking from Anthony to the Shoshone warriors, Abigail, and then to the sheriff’s office holding Muldoon. “Looks like you stirred up a hornet’s nest.”
“I suppose you could say that,” Anthony replied, gesturing lightly toward the jail. “Muldoon’s in custody for now. Though I doubt he’ll admit anything quietly.”
Trask’s gaze followed Anthony’s hand. “Corruption leaves a stench you can’t ignore,” Trask said, nodding once. “I got word from a messenger. Looks like I got here just in time.”
“You’ve got that right,” Anthony said. “That man’s been Vanburgh’s shadow for years. Silenced men for him, hid his deals, protected his operations. Corruption runs through him like blood through veins.”
Trask’s lips tightened. “I can believe it. I’ve heard stories. Still, doesn’t make him any less a man of the law, at least on paper.”
Anthony gave a short, humorless laugh. “On paper, maybe,” he said. “But the law didn’t touch Vanburgh while Muldoon was in charge here. He ensured it. He ensured Vanburgh’s reach stretched unchallenged, and anyone who tried to interfere was left to die. He’s a danger to this town, to this valley, to anyone who hopes for justice.”
Trask regarded him quietly for a moment. “So, you want him locked up until a trial?”
“Exactly,” Anthony said firmly. “He’s dangerous, and I want no one harmed further. But I don’t have the authority to hold him past today. That’s why I need someone neutral...someone who actually respects the law.”
Trask studied Anthony, noting the blood stains on his shirt, the dirt streaking his face, and the gun at his hip. “You went through hell to get this far, Hawk,” he said. “I can see why you’re so invested. But tell me exactly what happened.”
