“Barely,” Blaze added.
He sat up slowly. His hands trembled as he wiped the grime from his face. The mine entrance was gone. Now, it was just a heap of rock and splintered timber. Whatever gold or men had still been inside were buried forever.
“Well,” Graycloud said quietly, “that’s the end of that.”
“Not yet,” Blaze said.
Marisol turned toward him. “Blaze—”
He raised a hand, cutting her off. “I know what you’re gonna say. But Rachel’s still out there. Wilder or no Wilder, that don’t change nothing.”
Graycloud’s dark eyes studied him. “Wilder’s dead?”
“Yeah,” Blaze said. “Dead.”
Neither spoke for a while. The wind tugged at the edges of Blaze’s torn coat, whistling through the crags.
“Was it clean?” Marisol asked at last.
Blaze looked away. “As clean as it could be.”
She nodded, understanding what he didn’t say.
“Then we finish what’s left,” Graycloud said, glancing down at the nearest body.
Blaze said nothing. He just stared at the ruins of the mine. The dust had begun to settle, turning the morning light hazy and golden.
Marisol touched his arm. “You look like a man with ghosts on his back.”
“Maybe I am,” Blaze replied.
“Talk, then,” she said. “Let them go.”
He hesitated, then reached inside his coat. The paper was crumpled from the fall, its edges torn and blackened with soot. He held it out silently.
“What’s that?” Marisol asked.
“Wilder showed me before he died,” Blaze said. “Said I oughta know the truth.” Graycloud took the paper carefully. He unfolded it and frowned. “A wanted poster,” he said.
“Read the name,” Blaze murmured.
Graycloud squinted at the faded ink. “‘Jack Carrow...wanted for robbery and murder, Red Rock Territory.’”
When he looked back at Blaze, he shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“It was a fake name,” Blaze replied. “Fake name for Thomas Buckeye.”
Marisol’s brows knitted. “Thomas . . . your father.”
“He said Pa was a thief,” Blaze replied. “A bandit. Said he ran with Wilder back in the day...till they turned on each other.”
“That’s a lie,” Marisol said quickly.
“I thought so too,” Blaze said. “But look at it. Same face, near enough. Same scar above the brow. Same name.”
Graycloud passed the poster back. “Could be forged.”
“Could be,” Blaze said. “But Wilder had no reason to forge it. He was proud of it. Said Pa tried to cheat the Riders out of gold...that he wasn’t no hero, just another outlaw with fancy talk.”
