The one thing that hadn’t failed him . . . yet.
Graycloud knelt nearby, running a hand along the dirt.
“They came through fast,” he pointed out. “Hooves dug deep. You can tell.”
Blaze glanced down at the ground. The Indian was right. The hoofprints looked like craters.
“How long ago?” Blaze asked.
“Hour, maybe less.”
Blaze’s eyes narrowed. “Then they’re close.”
“Closer than you think,” came a voice.
The crack of a rifle split the air. A bullet hissed past Blaze’s head, snapping a twig behind him.
Horses screamed. Dust exploded from the rocks.
“Down!” Blaze shouted.
He dove behind a boulder as another shot rang out. Marisol hit the ground, rolling for cover. Graycloud crouched lower, pulling his knife.
Everything happened all at once. It was so fast that Blaze could not figure out who was attacking him.
But it was obvious. There was only one group in Nevada as ruthless as the devil himself.
The Hollow Creek Riders burst from the ridge. They were dark shapes against the sun, guns flashing. The roar of hooves thundered through the canyon.
“Marisol, left ridge!” Blaze shouted.
“Already on it!” she yelled back. Her Hawken Plains rifle barked, the sharp crack echoing through the hills. One Rider toppled from his horse, tumbling down the slope.
Graycloud sprang from cover, hurling his knife. It spun once, twice, and buried itself deep in a man’s chest. The Rider gasped, clutching at the handle as he fell.
Another bullet slammed into the boulder near Blaze’s head, showering him with stone fragments. He ducked, teeth gritted. Then, he leaned out and fired twice.
One shot missed. The second hit a bandit square in the gut.
“Keep moving!” Blaze called. “Don’t give them a clean shot!”
Marisol dropped another man. “Running low on bullets!”
“How low?”
“Three shots!”
There must have been around six men attacking them. It was hard for Blaze to count; all he could see were shadows. He had to rely on his peripheral vision.
Blaze’s revolver barked again . . . and then jammed. The hammer clicked uselessly.
He did not have time to figure out what was happening. He was in the line of fire and had to move.
“Stupid thing!” Blaze said.
He ducked back as bullets ripped through the rocks. He hit the gun against his boot, trying to free the cylinder, but it wouldn’t budge.
Graycloud was already moving, charging at a Rider who’d dismounted to flank them. The two men crashed together in ablur of motion and grit. Graycloud’s blade flashed once, then again. The Rider went down.
