She could smell the dust. The acrid smoke drifted up the canyon like a ghost.
“Come on, Blaze,” she whispered to herself. “Give me something to work with.”
A Rider darted into view. He was lean, fast, and shouting to someone in the shadows.
“Got you,” she breathed.
The rifle boomed. The man spun backward, crumpling into the dust below.
Another figure broke from the rocks, crouched low and firing wildly toward the mine.
“Stay still,” she hissed.
She squeezed the trigger again. The echo rolled through the gorge. The second Rider tumbled into the ravine, his rifle clattering beside him.
“Two,” she murmured.
The mine roared again, gunfire like thunder in a storm. Sparks flashed in the darkness of the tunnel. She saw movement—figures were hauling sacks. Maybe it was gold. Maybe tools. She steadied her breathing, tracking the next target.
“Come on, fool,” she said. “Just a little closer.”
A man stumbled into view, clutching his shoulder. He was dragging a crate, cursing between gasps.
“Put that down,” she said softly.
She fired. The shot struck the ground just shy of her target, kicking up dust and forcing him to dive for cover.
“Damn it,” she whispered, chambering another round. “Get yourself together, Marisol.” Her hands shook as she reloaded. She had to remember why she was doing any of this.
For her brother.
Dean Wilder and the Hollow Creek Riders were the reason he was dead. This was her chance. This was what she had been chasing with Blaze and Chato.
She might not have been down there to face the devil himself, but she knew she was helping Blaze complete the same job.
None of this could work if they didn’t trust each other.
Blaze was relying on her protection. She was relying on his accuracy.
Below, the survivors scrambled. Some were firing up toward the cliffs. Bullets whined past her position, chewing stone near her boots. Chips of granite stung her face.
There were more than ten men here. It was like they were fighting an army.
The only good thing was that these were bound to be the last of Wilder’s men. He had gathered them all in the same place.
It had been a mistake on his part.
“Found me already,” she muttered. She ducked behind a boulder, checked her cartridges, and reloaded slowly. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s do this.”
She popped up and fired once. Then twice. Another Rider fell. The rest retreated toward the mine mouth, shouting for orders. They were too disorganized to push forward.
Then she heard a voice below. It was gruff and close.
“Up there!” somebody shouted. “I saw her! On the ridge!”
Her pulse spiked.
“Too close,” she breathed. She shifted position, crawling along the rocky shelf, her boots scraping grit. The man’s voice came again, louder now, echoing up through the canyon wall.
