Wilder’s mind turned in circles as the hooves pounded. He pictured Thomas Buckeye’s face again. Thomas had been no ordinary ranch hand; he’d carried himself like a soldier and fought like one too.
That chest of gold—it hadn’t been by chance. Thomas had meant to take it, keep it, maybe buy himself a life far from the desert.
But he hadn’t lived long enough.
Now, Wilder carried that weight like a stone in his gut.
He wanted the gold not just for its shine, but because it was his. He’d led the raid, he’d spilled the blood, he’d paid the cost. Buckeye had stolen it from him, and the thought still made his teeth grind after all these years.
The children were only shadows of the man who’d wronged him. Killing them wouldn’t bring the chest back, but it would close the circle.
Behind him, Jeb called out, “Boss, you reckon maybe Buckeye left a map? Some sign hidin’ out there?”
“Buckeye weren’t the map-leavin’ kind,” Wilder said without turning.
“Then how are we supposed to find it?” Jeb pressed.
“We find it ’cause it’s ours,” Wilder snapped. “We ain’t stoppin’ till the desert gives it back. You want to quit, Jeb? Take your chances ridin’ alone in the dark?”
Jeb fell silent. None of the Riders wanted to test Wilder’s temper.
They rode until the moon sank lower and the stars wheeled overhead. Wilder finally drew up on a rise overlooking the flats and signaled the men to halt.
The Riders gathered, horses snorting, sweat streaking their flanks. Wilder scanned the land, his eyes sharp despite the hour.
“They’re close,” he said. “I can smell it.”
“Maybe bedded down,” Ike suggested.
“Maybe watchin’ us right now,” Clay muttered, shivering.
Wilder’s gaze cut to him. “Then let ’em watch. Let the boy see what’s comin’ for him.” He turned his horse to face the men. “Listen well,” he said. “We ride till sunup. If we don’t catch ’em tonight, we’ll smoke ’em out tomorrow. I want every arroyo checked, every dry wash turned over. No stone left unturned.” He leaned forward in the saddle, his voice dropping. “The Buckeyes think they can slip through my fingers just like Thomas did,” he added. “But there’s no runnin’ from me. Not in this desert. Not ever.”
His men nodded. Some were eager, some weary, but all were bound by his words.
Wilder drew his revolver, spinning the cylinder slowly, the metal clicking in the night. “They’ll bleed,” he said. “They’ll bleed just like their father. And when they do, the gold’ll be close behind.” He holstered the gun and jerked his chin. “Ride.”
The Riders spurred forward, hooves thundering across the flats. The sound rolled like distant thunder under the stars.
Wilder pushed his horse into the lead, his eyes burning with a fire older than the night. He could almost see it in the dark: the gleam of gold spilling from a chest, the weight of it in his hands, the proof that Thomas Buckeye’s ghost held no claim over him.
The desert would give up its secret. Wilder would see to it, even if he had to scour it clean with blood.
Chapter 6
“Blaze, do you see it?” Rachel’s voice was thin and ragged from the long night.
“Yeah,” Blaze said. “That’s Red Rock.”
The town shimmered in the first light of dawn, a cluster of wood and stone huddled at the bend of the dry riverbed. The air smelled of dust and smoke, and Blaze’s feet ached with every step. But he still held Rachel’s hand tightly.
“Are we safe?” Rachel asked, staring at the rooftops.
“As safe as we can be,” Blaze replied. “No Riders in sight. Just keep walking.”
Rachel’s eyes brimmed with exhaustion. “I can’t...I can’t go any further.”
“Yes, you can,” Blaze said. “One more step, Rachel. Just one more.”
