He crouched, scooped a handful of dust, and let it slip through his fingers. The wind took it fast, scattering it into the canyon below.
“See that valley, O’Hara?” he asked. “That’s where half our men are buried now. Buckeye did that.”
“He’s just a kid,” O’Hara said. “And we still got twenty.”
“Twenty,” Wilder repeated softly. “You think twenty will stand against him? Against his Indian friend and that woman with the long rifle?”
He spat in the dirt. “No. But twenty men with high ground, good aim, and enough lead to shake the earth—that’s a different story.”
Behind them, the clang of metal echoed through the mine. Clay and Jeb were unloading crates of dynamite near the entrance.
“Careful with that powder!” Wilder barked. “You blow us to hell before Buckeye even gets here, I’ll make sure your ghosts don’t rest easy.”
The men slowed, muttering apologies.
O’Hara crossed his arms. “You think he’ll come this way?”
“He’ll come,” Wilder said. “He’s been following blood and smoke all this time. Can’t stop now. He’ll climb right into his grave thinking he’s marching toward glory.”
He started pacing, long strides crunching over gravel. His mind wouldn’t rest. He could see it all: the ranch, the town, the men he’d lost...Kane’s promises that never quite held true. He’d trusted too many fools already.
There wouldn’t be any more mistakes.
“You ever wonder,” O’Hara said carefully, “why you let Kane hang around so long? He’s been feedin’ you stories that don’t always add up.”
Wilder shot him a cold glance. “You think I don’t know that snake’s playing his own hand?”
“Then why keep him close?”
“Because snakes bite the ones who forget they’re there,” Wilder said. “And I ain’t forgotten.”
O’Hara grunted. “You sure he won’t turn on you?”
“I’m countin’ on it.”
For a moment, neither man spoke. The wind howled through the ridges, carrying the smell of gun oil and mule sweat. Wilder felt the mountain vibrating faintly beneath him, like it remembered the miners who’d once hollowed it out. It was a good place for a last stand.
A shout broke the silence.
“Boss! Wagon coming up the trail!”
Wilder strode to the edge. Below, a pair of his hired guns struggled to haul a broken wagon wheel over the rocks. The mules were skittish, their eyes rolling white.
“What in hell are they bringing now?” he called down.
“Provisions, sir! And the rest of the gold!”
“Get it inside! Now!”
As they obeyed, Wilder felt something crawl up the back of his neck. A thought he couldn’t shake. The more gold he stacked in that mine, the heavier it felt on his conscience. Not guilt, but weight. The kind that pressed on a man’s chest when he tried to sleep.
“Looks like they’ve figured out how to get it up the road after all,” Wilder said. He tore his eyes away from the wagon.
“Leave a crew at the mouth,” he added. “Once we’re sealed in, nobody leaves without my word.”
“You mean to hole up here, boss?” O’Hara asked.
“For now,” Wilder said. “Till Buckeye shows himself.”
