“Is that what he wants from all this? Just gold?” Blaze asked.
The Indian gave a faint smile. “You think men kill this many just for blood?”
Blaze stared into the flames, the orange light flickering across his face.
“He killed my ma for nothing,” Blaze said. “Maybe that was blood enough.”
Marisol’s voice softened. “Maybe not. Maybe she had something he wanted.”
Blaze looked up sharply. “Like what? She told him everything she knew. He killed her anyway.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense,” she said. “But Wilder’s not random. He’s too organized. Too fast. He’s buildin’ toward somethin’.”
“The Riders follow him because he promises more than loot,” Graycloud added. “He promises fortune. Power. That’s how men like him build armies.”
Blaze threw a stick into the fire. He wasn’t sure he believed that logic.
The last time he saw Wilder, he was acting like a madman. How could a person kill another over something so minuscule?
The more Blaze thought about it, the more he realized that Wilder did not follow logic. He was ready to destroy everything in his path...even when he didn’t have to.
By morning, they were back on the trail. Blaze could see rolling hills of dust and rock before him, and the horizon shimmered with heat.
Hours passed before they saw the next sign of life. It was a lone figure walking crookedly along the road, a tattered coat hanging off his shoulders. He carried a stick and muttered to himself, stopping every few steps to look behind him.
“Traveler,” Graycloud said quietly.
“Or trouble,” Marisol replied.
Blaze slowed Shadow, keeping a hand near his revolver. “Let’s see what he’s about.”
As they drew closer, the man lifted his head. His beard was wild, and his skin burned raw by the sun. When he saw them, he waved his arms and laughed.
“You seen it!” he shouted. “You must’ve seen it too! The desert...it spit it right out of the ground!”
Blaze frowned. Marisol and Graycloud exchanged a glance beside him.
“What are you talking about, old-timer?” Blaze asked.
The man stumbled toward them, eyes wild. “Gold! Cursed gold! The kind that screams when you touch it!”
Marisol tightened her grip on her rifle. “You’re drunk.”
“I ain’t drunk!” the man said, staggering closer. “I saw him...the man with the black hat and the devil’s smile! He had men with him. He dug where no one should dig! The ground split open, and the earth spat treasure back at him!”
Blaze glanced toward Graycloud. His heart began to hammer in his chest.
“Black hat,” he said under his breath. “Could be Wilder.”
The Indian nodded slightly. Marisol bit her bottom lip.
Slowly, Blaze dismounted, holding up a hand to calm the man. “Easy now, sir,” he said. “You said he was digging? Where?”
The old man’s eyes darted between them. “Out past Dead Rock Canyon. You’ll find the scars still bleeding in the sand.”
“Bleeding?” Marisol asked.
“The ground don’t forget what it gives up,” the man whispered. “And the gold...it ain’t gold no more. It’s cursed. Mark my words, the desert don’t give gifts. It takes payment.”
