“And then?”
“Then we end it.”
He walked into the mine.
The air inside was damp and close. Torches flickered along the walls, their light glinting off streaks of silver ore. Men were busy, setting traps, laying lines of dynamite, and stacking crates into barricades. Wilder’s boots echoed down the tunnel as he moved deeper in.
“Make sure them vents stay open,” he said. “Don’t want to suffocate before we get to the fight.”
One of the younger Riders, Clay, looked up from his work. “You really think he’ll come all this way, Mr. Wilder?”
Wilder stopped. The boy’s eyes were wide, scared but curious.
“He’ll come,” Wilder said. “He’s the kind that can’t help himself. You kill his men, burn his town, and he’ll chase you till his boots fall apart.”
“Sounds kinda like you, boss,” another man muttered.
Wilder grinned thinly. “Maybe that’s why I respect him.”
He moved on, hand brushing the tunnel wall. The stone was cold and rough under his palm. He remembered the first time he’d found this place. It was years ago...before all of it. The miners had gone bust and left their tools behind. He’d thought about taking it then, making it his own. Now, he finally had.
O’Hara caught up to him. “What if he doesn’t come alone? What if the law’s ridin’ with him?”
“Then we kill them all.”
“You sure about that?”
Wilder stopped again. “You ask a lot of questions tonight, O’Hara.”
“I got a lot on my mind,” he replied.
“So does everyone,” Wilder said. “You want to live through this, stop thinking and keep working.”
He started back toward the entrance where the fading light spilled in. The sky outside had turned red, the sun bleeding into the ridges. Men were still hauling supplies, still sweating under the weight of gold. It all shimmered faintly in the last light.
“Bury the rest of that under the floor,” Wilder said, pointing at the sacks. “If we lose the mine, we don’t lose the fortune.”
“Boss,” Caleb called out. “What’s the point of hidin’ it if we all die here?”
“The point,” Wilder said, “is to die with something worth dying for.”
The man fell silent.
He turned again, scanning the horizon. The canyons stretched endless and empty, every shadow a threat. He thought he saw movement once, but it was gone before he could draw his gun.
“You see that?” he asked quietly.
O’Hara squinted. “I don’t see nothing.”
“That’s what worries me,” Wilder said.
He stood there a long moment, the wind tugging at his coat, the smell of powder thick around him. Somewhere in the valley below, animals were howling. The sound crawled up the cliffs like laughter.
Wilder rubbed his jaw. “Tell the boys to sleep in shifts. Double the guards.”
“Yes, boss.”
O’Hara started to leave, but Wilder called after him. “If you see Kane before I do, put a bullet in his leg,” he said. “I want him alive but limping.”
