“Already have,” Blaze said. “Every mile, every grave. You just don’t know the cost yet.”
Wilder’s eyes burned in the dim light. “You think you can outgun me, boy?”
“I don’t have to,” Blaze said. “You already outnumbered yourself.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Men follow fear only so long,” Blaze replied. “You made them scared. Now they’re just looking for a way out.”
“You shut your mouth!” Wilder snarled, spinning toward his men. “You hear him? He’s lyin’ through his teeth! You ride with me, or you die with him!”
The Riders hesitated. It was just a flicker, but Blaze saw it. He used it.
He rolled from cover, firing twice in quick succession. One man dropped, and another stumbled back, clutching his arm. The rest dove for the shadows, returning fire wild and blind.
“Hold your ground!” Wilder barked. “He’s only one person!”
Blaze reloaded behind a boulder, listening to the metallic echoes fade and surge again. His hands were steady now. His breathing even.
He’d been here before. Gun smoke, echoing chambers, the world shrinking down to sound and light and instinct.
“Graycloud,” he muttered under his breath, “I hope you’re in place.”
A bullet shattered the lantern nearest him, plunging half the chamber into flickering darkness.
“Got him cornered!” a Rider shouted.
“No, you don’t,” Blaze whispered.
He swung out from behind the rock, firing low. The Rider screamed, dropped his gun, and fell against the mine wall.
The chamber fell quiet for half a second.
“Where is he?” another voice called, nervous.
Blaze waited. The dust hung like fog. It was thick and suffocating.
“He’s movin’ left!” someone shouted.
“Shoot both ways!” Wilder yelled. “I want him down!”
Gunfire erupted again. It was wild and uncontrolled. The ricochets screamed like banshees.
Blaze darted toward the fallen chest and stayed low to the ground. He grabbed a spare revolver from one of the dead men and checked the cylinder. It was half full.
“That’ll do,” he said to himself.
He wasn’t about to swap out his father’s Colt. Not when he could use it to put an end to Dean Wilder.
So, Blaze began taking the bullets out of the spare gun and shoving them into his own Navy.
“Boys!” Wilder’s voice carried through the haze. “Get that damn gold moving. I said move!”
Two Riders broke from cover, rushing toward the rear. Blaze fired, hitting one square in the back. The other ducked behind a crate, dragging the sack like a lifeline.
“Cover him!” Wilder said.
“No one’s left to cover him,” Blaze replied.
