Page 15 of Anthony Hawk

“Eagle Rock,” he said. “By the end of the week, it’s mine.”

***

Neither Lyle nor Bill replied. They both knew when the meeting was over. Vanburgh’s tone left no doubt. Lyle tipped his head once and turned for the door. Bill pushed himself off the wall, the boards creaking faintly under his weight.

The hallway outside was dim and smelled faintly of coal smoke from the kitchen stove downstairs. Their boots clicked on the floorboards as they walked, Lyle leading the way without looking back.

Once they stepped out into the street, they both let out a big sigh. The sky was a black dome overhead, scattered with only a handful of dull stars.

Lyle pulled his coat tighter and glanced sideways at Bill. “Well,” he said, “you heard the man. Hawk has got to disappear.”

“You got a preference how?” Bill asked.

“Quick is fine,” Lyle said. “Messy is fine too. As long as it don’t come back to us.”

Bill grunted. “You think he’s armed?”

“Most likely,” Lyle said. “Fella rides alone out here. He’s carryin’ something. But that don’t mean he’s ready to use it.”

Bill’s mouth curved in a humorless half-smile. “I hope he tries,” he said. “Gives me a reason.”

Lyle chuckled, low and mean. “Reason or not, Vanburgh wants it done,” he replied. “I say we catch him between towns...make it look like road agents hit him. Take what we can, leave the rest.”

“You gonna be the one doing the talking if we catch him alive?”

“Maybe,” Lyle said. “Depends on my mood. Could be I don’t say a word...just let him see what’s coming.”

They reached the hitch rail outside the saloon, where Lyle’s chestnut mustang and Bill’s big sorrel stood blowing steam into the night. Lyle rested a gloved hand on the saddle horn but didn’t mount up yet.

“Vanburgh’s right about one thing,” he said. “This ain’t just about a scrap of land. That rail spur’s worth more than gold. Means steady work, steady pay...for us, for the boys. Hawk gets in the way of that. He’s as good as digging his own grave.”

Bill nodded slowly. “Shame, though. Sounds like his old man worked that land himself.”

“Lots of men work land, Bill,” Lyle said, swinging into the saddle. “Most of ’em end up feeding the worms all the same.”

Bill mounted up beside him. “You want all the boys for this?”

“Not at first,” Lyle replied. “Joel and Max will ride with us. They’re quick. Dilan and Troy can watch the east road. Wesley and Silas can wait near the canyon in case Hawk slips past.”

Bill adjusted the reins. “And if we don’t find him?”

“We’ll find him,” Lyle said, giving him a flat look.

They started down the street. The town’s lamps cast small, lonely circles of light, and beyond them, the darkness seemed to press in.

After a while, Bill broke the silence. “You ever kill a man who didn’t deserve it?” he asked.

Lyle’s laugh was a dry rasp. “Every man deserves it to somebody. That’s all that matters.”

Bill didn’t answer, and they rode on in silence.

Chapter 7

The late light turned the Colorado hills into layers of molten gold and shadow.

Anthony was riding back along the ridge toward Silver Cross when movement in the valley caught his eye. A wagon was lumbering west along a narrow trail.

Normally, he wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But something inside him stirred.