Silence stretched. The Riders shifted, boots scuffing in the dirt. Then Wilder chuckled lowly.
“I believe you, Tom,” he said. “I truly do. Problem is, belief don’t count for much. We can’t ride away empty-handed.”
Thomas’s heart thudded, but he kept his face calm. “You’ll ride away empty or not at all.”
That made a few of the Riders bark laughter.
“Hear that?” one called out to him. “Buckeye thinks he’s a gunslinger.”
“Maybe he is,” Wilder said, tilting his head. “Man’s got that Colt for a reason. But six against one? Odds ain’t in your favor.”
“I don’t run from odds,” Thomas said after taking a slow breath.
For a moment, no one moved. The only sound was the horses snorting and the desert wind brushing the grass.
Then Wilder’s hand dropped to his gun. “So be it.”
Steel flashed.
Thomas drew fast. His Colt roared, and one Rider spun back with a cry, blood spraying the dust. Another shot cracked from the gang, splintering the porch post near Thomas’s head.
He dove sideways and fired again. A second Rider pitched off his horse, clutching his chest.
“Kill him!” Wilder shouted.
Gunfire thundered. Bullets tore through the air, smashing glass and kicking up dirt. Thomas ducked behind the water trough, revolver smoking in his hand. He thumbed back thehammer, fired, and caught another Rider in the leg. The man went down screaming.
But they were too many.
“Flank him!” Wilder barked.
Thomas heard boots pounding on both sides. He rose, fired twice more, and dropped one man in the dust. His gun clicked empty. He cursed and reloaded fast.
A shadow loomed. One of the bandits rushed him with a knife. Thomas slammed his shoulder into the man, then drove the Colt into his gut and fired point-blank. The Rider sagged dead.
Pain exploded across Thomas’s side as a bullet tore into him. He staggered and clenched his teeth, blood soaking his shirt.
Wilder strode forward through the smoke, revolver steady in his hand.
“Stubborn bastard,” he said. “Should’ve just given it up.”
Thomas’s knees buckled, but he forced himself upright. He raised his Colt, arm trembling.
“Still standin’, huh?” Wilder asked, his eyes narrowing.
Thomas’s voice was rough but fierce. “My family ain’t here. You won’t touch them.”
“Didn’t ride for them,” Wilder replied. “Rode for the gold. But maybe we’ll find your pretty wife in town. Maybe your boy, too. Heard he’s a quick one.”
Rage flared hot in Thomas’s chest. With a roar, he fired. The shot grazed Wilder’s arm, spinning him back.
The Riders yelled and opened fire all at once. Bullets slammed into Thomas. He dropped to the dirt, gasping. The world was spinning red.
Above him, Wilder clutched his bleeding arm, face twisted in fury. He kicked Thomas’s gun from his hand.
“Dumb to the end,” Wilder hissed. He crouched close. “Your gold dies with you. And your boy...he’ll grow up hearin’ what a fool his father was.”
Thomas tried to speak, but blood filled his throat. His vision blurred.
