“That’s comforting,” he replied.
“It better be.”
He wanted to say something else, but the words stuck.
Instead, he settled for the most obvious response. “Thank you.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.
Graycloud’s low voice came from the other side of the camp. “Sleep now. Dawn waits for no one.”
That was when Blaze shut his eyes.
When morning came, the light crept slowly over the peaks, gold bleeding into gray. The air was colder than before, sharp enough to sting his lungs. He rose quietly, made sure he looked the part of a drifter, and adjusted the brim of his hat.
Marisol was already awake, crouched by the rifle. She looked at him, her face unreadable. “You ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Blaze said.
Graycloud stepped forward and pressed a small feather into Blaze’s palm.
“From the hawk that circled us yesterday,” he said. “For sight and for strength.”
Blaze closed his fingers around it. “I’ll bring it back.”
“Or you’ll bring yourself,” Graycloud replied.
Marisol reached out, gripping Blaze’s arm tightly. “Don’t play the hero. Just be smart.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said.
“Your best gets people shot,” she joked.
He smiled crookedly. “Then I’ll aim lower.”
She almost laughed, but it came out as a sigh. “Go.”
Blaze turned toward the canyon. The slope ahead was narrow, winding between jagged rocks and thornbush.
He moved slowly, each step careful and quiet. Behind him, he could feel their eyes on his back—both their faith and their fear.
The sun crept higher, catching the metal edge of his revolver as he hid it beneath his coat. His heartbeat matched the rhythm of his boots on stone.
He didn’t look back.
By the time he reached the lower trail, the mine entrance loomed ahead—a dark mouth in the mountain’s face, torches flickering like eyes.
He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin just enough to look tired but not dangerous, and started down the path like a man who’d been walking too long and didn’t care where he ended up.
“Easy now,” Blaze muttered under his breath. “Just another lost soul looking for work.”
He kept walking, straight toward the lion’s den.
Chapter 33
Blaze could feel the soot on his face itching where sweat had gathered. It stung when he wiped it away, leaving streaks of black on his sleeve. He smelled like smoke and mule dust. He hoped it was good enough to pass for one of Wilder’s potential hires.
The plan had sounded simple back at camp: go in quietly, find the mine, see how many men Wilder had left. But now, with the mountain looming ahead, its weight pressed hard against his ribs.
