Their horses had started to approach them again. Every single one had been spooked by the gunfire. Now, they were regaining confidence.
Even Shadow was walking back to Blaze instead of fleeing. Even he knew that he did not belong with the Riders.
Blaze crouched beside another corpse, studying the man’s face. He was young—couldn’t have been more than twenty. His fingers still clutched a scrap of paper.
Carefully, Blaze pried it loose. It was a piece of a wanted poster, its edges torn and the ink smudged...but the face printed on it was his own.
Marisol froze. “That’s—”
“Yeah,” Blaze said quietly. “That’s me.”
“I can’t believe Wilder’s put a price on our heads,” Graycloud said. “We need to watch our backs.”
With a sigh, Blaze folded the paper and shoved it into his coat. It wasn’t his first time seeing his face on a wanted poster.
It wasn’t going to be his last.
He didn’t know how much effort Wilder had put into this ridiculous campaign. He must have had a lot of men at his disposal.
These posters could be spreading outside the county. One thing was for sure: it was going to be almost impossible to show his face out in the open soon.
“How much was that one for?” Marisol asked. “Is he changing the price?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Blaze said. “It was enough to turn folks against us, I’d bet.”
“We should burn the bodies,” the Indian added. “Send a message.”
Blaze shook his head. “No time. The smoke will bring more. Besides, it won’t do any good. Wilder doesn’t care about his men.”
He looked east as the sun slipped behind the ridge, painting the desert in bruised gold.
“We move at dusk,” Blaze said quietly. “If Wilder’s men know this route, we’re already behind.”
Marisol stood beside her horse, one hand resting on the saddle horn, the other holding her rifle across her arm. “You think he’s coming himself? Or is he just gonna send his hounds to do his job?”
Blaze’s eyes traced the bloody trail ahead, jaw set hard.
“If he’s not here yet, he will be,” Blaze replied.
Graycloud tightened a strap on his saddlebag and adjusted the reins. “Then we’d best be ready.”
They stood there a long while, the silence pressing close. The horses shifted uneasily among the corpses, snorting at the smell of death. Every creak of leather and every buzz of a fly seemed too loud.
Finally, Marisol broke it. “You ever think about what happens if we run out of luck, Blaze?” she asked.
He didn’t look at her. “Luck’s for men without plans.”
“Then what’s ours?”
“To live long enough to make Wilder regret breathing,” Blaze said.
Marisol grinned faintly. “Sounds like a plan I can ride behind.”
“The spirits favor those who endure,” Graycloud added.
Blaze said nothing.
His gaze remained fixed on the sinking sun. His mind was racing. He could feel it...the storm building ahead, the trap tightening. Wilder’s reach stretched farther every day, and now the whole frontier thought Blaze Buckeye was the villain.
