The town shrank behind them, a smudge of dust and smoke under the wide blue sky. The wind carried faint church bells, or maybe it was just the creak of the saddle leather. Blaze didn’t look back. Not at first.
But after a mile or so, he reined Shadow to a slow stop and turned in the saddle. Marisol and Graycloud paused beside him.
“You sayin’ goodbye?” Marisol asked.
“Just making sure it’s real,” Blaze replied, clenching his jaw.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
He looked at the town—the bullet holes, the rooftops, and the quiet.
“Every time we stop, I think maybe we can rest,” he said. “Maybe it’s done. But it never is. Wilder keeps moving, and we keep following. Feels like we’re chasing smoke.”
Graycloud’s eyes remained on the horizon. “Smoke leads to fire. You’ll find him soon enough.”
“And when we do?” Marisol asked.
Blaze met her gaze. “Then I’ll finish what I started.”
She looked at him for a long time, something like pity crossing her face.
“Just try not to burn yourself out before you ever reach him,” she warned.
He smiled faintly. “I’ll make sure I take him with me.”
They started forward again. The sound of the horses’ hooves blended with the wind, fading into the empty desert.
Behind them, the church bell tolled once—a final echo across the flats.
Chapter 20
The wind carried the smell of smoke long before they saw the flames.
“Another one,” Blaze said.
Shadow slowed beneath him, his ears flicking forward. Across the open plain, the remnants of a homestead sat twisted and blackened against the sky. Fences were half-burned, and cattle lay sprawled like broken toys.
Graycloud rode ahead, his sharp eyes scanning the ground. Marisol trailed slightly behind, her rifle resting across the saddle horn. The expression on her face was tight.
“They’ve been through here,” Graycloud said.
“How long?” Blaze asked.
Once they all pulled their horses to a stop, Graycloud hopped down from his saddle.
He walked a few paces forward and crouched beside a set of hoofprints near the road, pressing his fingers into the dust.
“A day,” he said. “Maybe less. Ten to twelve horses, moving fast.”
It always amazed Blaze how the Indian could tell so much from tracks. He thought he would get used to it, but he couldn’t.
“Wilder’s crew,” Blaze said quietly. “No doubt about it.”
He always knew Dean Wilder had plenty of people at his disposal, but riding around with at least ten men was an understatement.
Marisol reined in beside them. “They’re not even hidin’ anymore. Just ridin’ through and burnin’ what’s left.”
“Fear works faster than bullets,” Graycloud said. “He wants word to spread.”
