Her chest tightened. Wilder. It had to be.
“Damn it,” she muttered. “He’s making his move.”
The last few Riders outside began to panic. Some were shouting to each other, while others were running toward the horses tied below. One mounted up, trying to spur away. She shot. The horse screamed, bolting riderless down the canyon.
Chambering another round, Marisol refused to take her eyes off the mine entrance.
There were so many bandits there. Where did Wilder find this many fools to fight his battles? In a way, it was kind of impressive.
One of them had spotted her again. A bullet tore past, smashing into the rock inches from her face. She gasped, her heart hammering.
“Persistent,” she breathed. “Let’s see how long you last.”
She slid sideways down the ridge, finding a new angle. The man was reloading, crouched behind a stump. She waited until he raised his rifle, then fired.
He didn’t get the chance to shoot.
She ducked again, rolling to the next boulder. Below, one of the last Riders yelled something she couldn’t make out. Maybe he was calling for help, maybe praying. She scanned the terrain. There was nothing but corpses, smoke, and the faint shimmer of sunlight over the dust.
Then she felt it. A tremor beneath her feet. A deep, echoing rumble from inside the mine.
Her stomach dropped.
“Blaze...” she whispered. “What are you doing in there?”
A flare of orange light burst from the tunnel. Gunfire or an explosion, she couldn’t tell. The noise shook the canyon. She steadied herself against the rock, her heart racing.
“Come on,” she said softly. “You’ve gotten out of worse.”
The remaining Riders began to pull back, one dragging another wounded man. They shouted orders she couldn’t fully hear, but one word came through clearly.
“Gold!”
They were trying to haul it away.
“Not a chance,” she muttered. She reloaded, took aim, and dropped the wounded one. The other bolted for cover, vanishing behind a rise.
The mine entrance flared again. Gunshots overlapped, echoing like thunder. She couldn’t see inside, couldn’t tell who was winning. Her throat tightened.
“Stay alive,” she whispered. “Just stay alive.”
The echo faded. Smoke rolled out from the tunnel mouth, curling upward. She squinted through the haze. Figures moved inside, shadows flickering against the firelight.
Then another shot rang out. This one was different. Closer.
She jerked around. One of the Riders she thought dead was crawling toward her from behind a rock with his pistol raised.
“Got you now,” he coughed.
“Not quite, you son of a bitch,” she said.
Her rifle was empty. She dropped it, drew her revolver again, and fired first. He toppled back, lifeless. The canyon went silent except for the distant echoes from the mine.
Marisol crouched, scanning every direction. Nothing moved now. Just the wind and the faint trickle of gravel down the slopes.
She exhaled, wiped her brow with the back of her hand, and reloaded in silence.
“Come on, Blaze,” she said. “What are you doing in there?”
