Clearly, the outlaw must have thought his men weren’t going to make it out of this situation. He wanted to use them while he could.
Wilder fired a single bullet toward him. It tore past Blaze’s cheek, hot and close. Blaze dropped, rolled, and returned fire. Dust exploded near Wilder’s boots.
When Marisol’s rifle barked from the ridge, one of Wilder’s men fell, clutching his chest. Graycloud’s arrow pinned another through the back.
“Get that chest out, Clay!” Wilder barked to his men.
Blaze looked and froze.
The Riders had unearthed a stone slab, half-buried beneath the sand. With a grunt, they heaved it aside, revealing a hollow beneath. Inside lay an old chest bound in rusted iron, its surface etched with strange, worn markings. He could see them from here.
“Boss!” one of the Riders shouted. “We got it!”
Wilder strode over, his boots sinking into the soft sand. “Open it.”
Blaze felt as if he were pinned in place. He couldn’t get a good angle on any of the bandits because of the wagons. Every time he tried to peek out, another bullet flew past his head.
It wasn’t worth the risk. He had to be patient.
Three bandits pried the lid loose. A dull, golden light spilled out. It wasn’t bright, but heavy and thick, as if the metal itself breathed.
The Riders stared in awe. One reached in and pulled out a fistful of coins. They shimmered oddly in the sunlight, edges dark with age and grit. Wilder laughed, tossing them from hand to hand.
“This is the rest of it,” Clay said, breathless. “It’s real, boss. Every damn piece.”
Wilder’s grin spread slowly and wide. “Told you. The land don’t lie.”
He reached in again, letting the coins slide through his gloved fingers. They made a low, rich sound—the weight of fortune.
“Load it up,” he ordered. “We’re done here. This was the last location.”
Blaze’s jaw clenched. “He’s takin’ it all.”
Marisol’s rifle cracked again. A man fell beside the wagon.
“Blaze, make sure he don’t get far!” she shouted.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He broke from cover, sprinting down the slope. A Rider saw him coming and swung his rifle up, but Blaze fired first. The man dropped where he stood.
Another came at him from the side. Blaze dove and fired again. The man’s shotgun boomed wide, pellets tearing up dust where Blaze had been a second before.
When Blaze rose, the man was down. It was hard for him to keep count of the bandits. There must have been close to fifteen here.
It was obvious they didn’t all belong to Wilder. His gang had been smaller when he arrived at Buckeye Ranch.
It took Blaze a second to realize what he’d done. His hands shook just a little. Then he shoved the feeling down and ran for the wagons.
“Wilder!” he shouted again.
The outlaw turned in the chaos, his Smith & Wesson Model 3 revolver drawn.
“You can’t stop what’s comin’, boy!” he shouted.
“Watch me.”
Blaze fired. The shot went wide and the dust burst at Wilder’s feet. He laughed, swinging into the saddle.
“Load it!” Wilder barked. His men hauled the chest into the nearest wagon. Blaze fired again, hitting a spoke. The wheel cracked but held.
