Page 11 of Anthony Hawk

Abigail looked up briefly, catching his eye. “We need to act fast if we want to save any of them,” she said.

Anthony nodded, a cold resolve settling over him. He steadied the boy’s trembling shoulders as Abigail worked quickly.

“You mentioned the water samples earlier,” Anthony said quietly, glancing at the jar on the table. “You’ve been testing the wells near Eagle Rock Basin?”

Abigail nodded without looking up. “Yes. I’m trying to figure out what’s poisoning the children out there.”

Anthony kept his hold gentle but firm on the boy. “My family holds a small patch of land near Eagle Rock Basin,” he said. “It’s a claim passed down through blood, sacred ground to the Shoshone.” He paused for a moment. “I’ve never set foot on the claim itself,” Anthony continued. “I pan the rivers, climb the cliffs, take what I need to live...and leave the rest alone for the sake of peace.”

Abigail finally looked up, her eyes meeting his. “If the water’s poisoned, it’s more than just sickness,” she said. “It’s a way to drive folks off that land.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, ma’am,” he said. “Vanburgh clearly wants the claim and the gold underneath—no matter the cost.”

She wiped her hands and nodded slowly. “You’re right.”

Anthony glanced back at the boy, whose breathing was starting to even out. “We’ll need more than just tests to stop it,” he said.

Abigail’s gaze hardened. “Then we’ll find a way. Together.”

Chapter 5

Anthony stepped out of Abigail’s clinic, the scent of carbolic still clinging to him.

The late afternoon light slanted gold across the terrain, and dust motes swirled in the heat. He pulled his hat brim low and mounted Spirit. The familiar weight of the saddle settled beneath him.

He urged Spirit into a steady trot and rode toward town, eyes sharp as he scanned the main street for faces, movements, anything that didn’t fit.

That’s when he saw it—a freight wagon rolling slowly down the main road. Two chestnut-colored mules pulled steadily. The boards were stenciled with the black “V” brand he’d seen on Vanburgh’s ore haulers the day before. But this one wasn’t headed toward the rail spur.

A large man sat on the driver’s seat, reins loose in his hands. He looked like he had no authority but did whatever job was put in front of him.

A large neckerchief covered the lower region of his face. It wasn’t enough to rouse suspicion, but it was enough to make Anthony struggle with placing him.

He was sure he looked familiar.

On the other side of the seat, a tall man turned his head just enough to catch Anthony in his periphery. Sharp face, lean frame, and a Colt 1873 Single Action Army revolver on his hip.

The tall man gave a small nod, almost a challenge. “Name’s Bill. You?”

“Anthony Hawk,” Anthony replied.

The larger man grunted. “Ain’t seen you in these parts much.”

“Not lately.”

Anthony let his gaze drift to the tarp over the wagon bed. It was tied too neatly for loose ore sacks. The wind caught it just enough to flash the metallic glint of iron spikes and rail fittings.

“What’s under there?” Anthony asked.

“Freight,” Bill said flatly.

“Headed where?”

“West,” Bill said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Why? You lookin’ to buy something?”

“Just curious,” Anthony responded.

Bill’s tone turned casual, but his posture didn’t change. “Then do yourself a kindness, Hawk,” he said. “Turn that horse of yours around before curiosity makes trouble.”