He walked back toward the wagon, the other men watching him with that mix of loyalty and fear he liked so much. He climbed onto the seat and rapped his knuckles on the wooden lid of the chest.
“You know what this is, boys?” he said.
“The Riders’ fortune,” Jeb answered confidently.
“No,” Wilder said, shaking his head slowly. “This is our future. This is what that fool Buckeye died over. What his son thinks belongs to him. But it don’t. It belongs to the man strongenough to take it.” He patted the lid as if it were alive. “And that’s me.”
A murmur went through the gang. Someone whistled.
“Maybe we don’t have to run anymore,” O’Hara said.
“Damn right we don’t,” Wilder said. “We ride where we want. Take what we want. The frontier’s ours now.”
He pointed to the horizon where there was a faint line of smoke curling in the distance.
“That’s a settlement near Copper Ridge,” he said. “Families, farmers, some of them probably helped Buckeye when he passed through this way. We’ll pay them a visit. Remind them who’s in charge.”
O’Hara hesitated. “They ain’t fighters.”
“Neither were the ones before them,” Wilder said. “They learned.”
Wilder hopped off the wagon and climbed onto the saddle of his black Arabian mare. He spurred his horse forward. The Riders followed without a word.
***
By the time they reached Copper Ridge, the sky had begun to bruise toward dusk.
The town wasn’t much. It consisted of a few shacks, a stable, a trading post, and a small church that was half-built. Folks stopped what they were doing as the Riders appeared.
“Evening, folks!” Wilder called, tipping his hat. “We’re just passin’ through. Need food, water, and respect.”
A man stepped out from the stable, his eyes wary. “You can buy what you need same as anyone.”
“Oh, I plan to,” Wilder said, sliding off his horse. “Only, I’m paying in bullets and mercy.”
The man paled at his answer.
“Load the wagon,” Wilder said without looking back. “And make sure the good Reverend leaves the church doors open. Never know when we might need to confess our sins.”
Screams broke out as the Riders fanned across the town. Windows shattered. Chickens scattered. Wilder stood in the middle of the street, calm as a preacher, watching the chaos unfold.
“Reckless,” Ike muttered next to him. “We don’t need this kind of heat, boss.”
“Heat?” Wilder laughed. “You feeling it? That’s life, Ike. That’s what it means to stop hiding.”
He glanced toward the church. Nothing was going to stop him now. He felt invincible.
“Bring the preacher out,” he ordered his men.
Moments later, three of the bandits dragged the preacher into the street. He was an older man with a pale face and steady eyes.
“Son,” the preacher said quietly, “you can still turn back from whatever road you’re on.”
“I like this road,” Wilder said. “Got gold at one end and a grave for my enemies at the other.”
The preacher stared at him in disbelief. Wilder enjoyed seeing such an expression on his face.
“You think gold will fill the hole in your soul?” he asked after a second.
