“You hear me, Blaze?” he whispered. “You finish this, and I’ll hold your door.”
He looked once more toward the cliffs and caught a glint of light from Marisol’s rifle barrel far above. She was watching. He gave the smallest nod.
Then he turned back to the tunnel and settled into position. He was a shadow against stone.
Every few seconds, a sound came from inside: the shuffle of boots, the sharp bark of another shot, a low murmur like men circling each other.
Chato’s fingers flexed around the bow grip. His heart thudded once, then steadied again. He was no stranger to waiting in places like this, between life and death.
He thought of Ike’s words, his uncle, all the blood and vengeance that never seemed to end.
He shifted his weight, feeling the ache in his shoulder from years of fights like this. The dawn light finally reached the canyon floor, spilling pale gold over the rocks and bodies.
“Almost over,” he said softly. “One more sunrise.”
Inside, a voice barked out. It belonged to Wilder. “You think you’re your father’s son, boy?” he asked.
Then Blaze’s voice answered, faint but firm. “I reckon I am.”
Chato’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t move.
“Then you’ll die like him,” Wilder snarled.
The Indian brought the bow closer to his shoulder, sights fixed on the tunnel mouth, waiting for whichever man came out first.
He didn’t blink. He didn’t even breathe.
The shadows inside shifted. The faint flicker of lamplight cast moving shapes on the rock walls. The sound of a revolver’s hammer being drawn back echoed faintly through the dust.
Chato stayed still, silent as stone.
“Patience,” he whispered. “Just like you taught him.”
The mine went quiet.
Chapter 37
“Well,” Wilder said softly, the words dripping with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Didn’t think you had the stones to come walkin’ in here.”
“Didn’t figure you’d still have a place to hide,” Blaze replied.
They had been in this mine for what felt like hours. As the chaos continued around them, Blaze and Wilder found themselves in a different part of the mine. It was difficult to navigate. It felt like they were lost.
Everywhere Blaze looked, he saw death. The faint popping of gunfire outside reminded him that more enemies were behind him.
For now, at least, he could take care of this one. The man who started it all.
Wilder chuckled. The sound was low and humorless.
“Reckon you think you’re brave...standin’ there all puffed up with dust on your coat and blood on your boots,” Wilder went on. “But brave ain’t what keeps a man alive, son. Smarts do. You didn’t get that from your old man, did you?”
“Don’t talk about him,” Blaze said.
“Why not?” Wilder’s grin widened. “He was a legend once. Least he thought he was. Funny thing about legends...they don’t last.”
“I said don’t,” Blaze repeated.
“Oh, but I will.” Wilder stepped closer, boots grinding against the rock dust. The lamplight caught the scar across his cheek, and his shadow loomed long on the wall. “You know what your pa was to me? A thief. A liar. A man too proud to share what he stole. You really don’t know, do you?”
