“I think it’ll buy me enough land to bury anyone who says otherwise.”
He turned to Ike without waiting for a response from the preacher.
“We done here?” Wilder asked.
“Wagon is full,” the bandit shrugged.
“Then light the place.”
Ike hesitated, but the others didn’t.
Flames took the stable first, then the trading post. Wilder mounted his Arabian, looking back once at the rising smoke. The preacher was kneeling in the dirt, praying loud enough for the wind to carry.
“Save your breath, old man,” Wilder said. “Ain’t no God on this trail.”
They rode out before the roof of the trading post caved in behind them.
Night fell quickly across the desert. The fire glow faded to a distant flicker.
Wilder rode at the front, the others trailing silent. He liked the quiet after a burn. It felt like a heartbeat slowing down.
“Boss,” Ike said finally. “We got too many eyes on us. Word’s gonna spread fast.”
“Good,” Wilder said. “I want it to spread.” He looked back over his shoulder, his grin catching the moonlight. “I want Blaze to hear every word,” he continued. “I want him to know what happens when he plays lawman in a land with no law.”
“So, what’s next?” Clay spoke up hesitantly from his saddle.
“We send him a message,” Wilder said. He gestured to a man riding near the wagon. “Caleb! You can write, can’t you?”
“Some.”
Caleb had only been riding with Wilder for a month. He was one of the many men who only showed up when Wilder needed numbers.
He didn’t trust easily. To Wilder, it was pointless to have a lot of men surrounding him all the time.
The more men he had, the more betrayal could take place. At least, he saw it that way.
“Good. You’ll ride into every town from here to Red Rock Crossing,” he said. “Tell them Blaze Buckeye is chasing me for gold that ain’t his. Tell them he’s a thief’s son, chasing a thief’s legacy. Make sure the story spreads before he even gets there.”
Caleb frowned. “That’s a dangerous errand.”
“So’s breathing out here,” Wilder said. “You do it anyway.”
He pulled a few gold coins from his coat pocket and tossed them to the man.
“Buy yourself a new horse,” he said. “And if anyone asks where you heard it, you tell them Wilder himself said so.”
Caleb caught the coins, weighing them in his palm like they might bite. “You got it, boss.” He rode off into the night, hooves fading into silence.
Wilder leaned back in his saddle, the desert wind brushing against him. He listened to the rolling of the wagon full of gold behind him. The coins jingled, reminding him of the value of the wagon.
The stars came out slowly. He looked down at his gloved hand...the same hand that had pried open the chest.
Not cursed. Just earned.
“Boys,” he said, turning his horse toward the faint line of the mountains ahead, “we’re not just Hollow Creek Riders anymore. We’re kings of the dust.”
Chapter 23
