“Keep talking,” Chato said. “Makes you easier to find.”
The man fired. Sparks flew from the rock inches from Chato’s head.
Chato shifted position, rolled into the shadows, and fired back twice. The first shot missed. The second didn’t.
The man spun backward, screaming and clutching his arm. The other turned to run, but Chato was already moving. He sprang from cover, closed the distance in three strides, and slammed him into the cliff wall. The carbine fell.
“Where’s your boss?” Chato demanded.
“Inside! He’s . . . he’s with the gold!”
Chato pressed the knife against the man’s throat. “How many with him?”
“Six . . . no, maybe five! Please—”
“You brought more than that,” Chato said. “That means you lie.”
“No! Two went after the girl on the ridge! The rest are inside!”
Chato studied him, eyes hard as flint. Then he let go. The man slumped to the ground, coughing.
“Go,” Chato said. “Run.”
The man blinked, stunned.
“You ain’t gonna—”
“I said go.”
The bandit scrambled away, stumbling down the rocks until he vanished into the haze. The elements were going to take him anyway...if Marisol didn’t get her sights on him first.
Chato turned back to the entrance. Smoke billowed out now, thick and dark. The gunfire inside had slowed. It was no longer wild. Just sharp, deliberate exchanges.
“Patience,” he murmured. “Finish what you came for.”
He crouched and raised his bow, watching for movement. The canyon floor was littered with the fallen. The air stank of powder and death. Above, Marisol’s rifle cracked once more. She was farther away now, but still alive.
Then came the shuffling from the tunnel mouth.
A wounded Rider staggered out, bleeding from his shoulder, his eyes wide with fear.
“Help!” he gasped. “He’s killin’ everybody—”
Chato stepped forward, bow still in hand.
“Who?” he asked.
The man looked up, trembling. “Your friend. That bastard in the coat. He ain’t human.”
“He’s human,” Chato said quietly. “He’s just done holding back.”
The man tried to raise his gun. Chato shot him once through the chest with an arrow. The man fell face-first into the dirt.
Chato exhaled, lowering the weapon. His hands were steady.
He crouched beside the mine mouth, listening. Faint voices echoed within. He heard Blaze’s voice, sharp with anger, and another, colder one. It must have been Wilder.
His jaw tightened.
