She crawled forward along the ridge until she had a full view of the mine entrance again. The sun had crested the eastern rim now, bathing the canyon in a red-gold glow. Smoke drifted from the tunnel like breath from a wounded beast.
“End this, Blaze,” she said softly. “End it and come back to me.”
Chapter 36
The desert had not yet woken.
A gray stillness hung over the broken hills. Chato moved through it like smoke, each step placed with care among the rocks. His bow was slung across his back, but his hand rested on the knife at his belt. He trusted the blade more.
The air was sharp with the smell of old ore and dust. In the distance, the mine rose out of the earth like the mouth of some buried beast.
That was where Blaze had gone. The memory of their gunfire still rolled in Chato’s skull, dull and echoing. He had seen too much of this kind of fight. Too many men trying to dig gold out of graves.
He paused on the ridge above the mine, eyes narrowing against the faint light. The horizon burned pale behind him. Somewhere below, a horse whinnied. Somewhere else, a man cursed.
Chato breathed in deeply. The smell of gunpowder carried on the morning wind. His heartbeat slowed, steadying itself to the rhythm of what he knew was coming. He had followed Wilder’s trail for a while—long enough to know his voice, his men, and the way they laughed before they killed.
He crouched lower, fingers brushing the ground. The sand was still cool.
Then, from below came a sound. “You think you can hide behind them rocks forever, half-breed?” a voice shouted.
Chato’s eyes narrowed.
The Rider’s voice carried down the narrow slope toward the mine entrance. It was rough, mocking, and familiar all at once.
“Come out and finish what your people started,” the man called again. “Ain’t no spirits gonna save you this time.”
“You talk too much,” Chato said softly.
The wind whistled through the ravine. The dawn light hadn’t yet reached this far down, leaving the mine’s mouth wrapped in shadow. From inside came the rolling crack of gunfire. It was Blaze’s fight echoing through the tunnels.
Chato crouched behind a slab of stone, his knife glinting faintly in the dim light. His breath was calm, as always. He couldfeel the beat of his heart in his fingertips. The scent of iron and smoke hung thick.
The Rider stepped into view with a Winchester rifle in hand. His face was lean and pale under the dirt. His eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s.
“You remember me?” he said.
“Maybe,” Chato replied.
“Name’s Ike! You remember me, don’t you?” he asked. “You should. We took your kin down by the Brazos. Old man with the beads. Screamed like a woman when we lit the fire!”
Something in Chato’s face changed. His hand tightened around the hilt of his knife.
“You should’ve kept that to yourself,” he said.
Ike laughed. “Oh, I remember him fine. Took his scalp for luck...though it didn’t do me much good, seeing as it’s you down there now!”
“You killed my uncle,” Chato said, his voice quiet but shaking with heat underneath. “He was peaceful. He taught your people how to track water, and you burned him for it.”
Ike spat in the dust. “He was in the way. Just like you.”
Chato’s jaw locked. “Then I reckon I’ll show you what ‘in the way’ looks like.”
Ike raised his rifle. “You son of a—”
“Don’t,” Chato said.
The shot cracked the silence anyway. Dust sprayed over the rocks where Chato had been a moment before. He moved fast, slipping between boulders like smoke. The man cursed, fumbling to reload.
