The Riders drew nearer, unaware of the death waiting above. Their laughter carried faintly on the wind. It was rough and careless—the sound of men who’d burned too many homes to fear retribution.
When the lead wagon rolled beneath the ridge, Blaze lifted his hand. “Wait...” he murmured.
The second wagon followed, then the third. Dust choked the air.
“Now,” Blaze said.
When Marisol fired first, it was evident that this ambush wasn’t going to be quiet.
The crack of her rifle shattered the stillness. The lead rider on the wagon dropped before the echo even faded. Graycloud loosed an arrow that found another man’s throat.
Then, chaos.
The Riders shouted, scrambling for cover. Bullets tore through the ridge, kicking up shards of stone. Blaze aimed and fired twice. One man fell, and another spun from his horse. The wagons lurched to a halt, mules screaming as reins snapped.
“Up the ridge!” Wilder’s voice cut through the din, sharp and commanding. “Find the bastards!”
Blaze ducked behind a boulder as rounds smacked into the rock.
“They’re spreading out!” he yelled.
Marisol reloaded. “Good. Easier to pick off!”
She fired again, dropping a man trying to flank them. Blaze shifted position, crawling through the dust to get a better angle. The heat burned through his shirt, sweat stinging his eyes.
Graycloud’s arrows whizzed through the air, swift and silent. He moved like a shadow, slipping from one patch of cover to another.
Then Blaze heard it. The creak of wagon wheels rolling again. He peeked over the rock.
Down below, Wilder had turned the wagons toward a cluster of stones—the half-buried mound they’d seen from the ridge the day before. Some of his men were shouting, hacking at the earth with shovels.
“They’re diggin’ again!” Blaze called.
Marisol cursed under her breath. “What in the hell is he after?”
“Gold,” Blaze said, voice low. “It’s gotta be.”
He fired at a Rider climbing the slope. The shot hit the man’s shoulder, spinning him backward. Blaze chambered another round and shouted, “Graycloud, we can’t let him finish that dig!”
Graycloud’s voice came back, calm amid the storm. “Then stop him.”
Blaze scrambled down the ridge, boots slipping on loose sand. Bullets whined past his ears. He hit the ground running, ducking behind a wagon wheel.
“Wilder!” he shouted.
The outlaw leader turned, face half-hidden beneath his hat brim. Even from here, Blaze could see the smirk tugging at the man’s lips.
“Well,” Wilder called, “if it ain’t the boy with his daddy’s eyes.”
Blaze’s blood ran cold. “You killed my family.”
“Didn’t kill them for fun,” Wilder said, stepping closer, his revolver glinting in the sun. “Did it ’cause they were sitting on what’s mine.”
“Yours?” Blaze spat. “You take what ain’t yours and call it law?”
Wilder smiled. “Law’s written by the man who lives longest.”
Blaze couldn’t understand why Wilder had to dig now. They were in the middle of a shootout, and he was more concerned with the alleged treasure.
