Page 3 of Anthony Hawk

They were wrong.

Anthony mounted Spirit. The mare shifted beneath him as if she could feel his resolve. The sun was sinking, bleeding red across the horizon, but the road ahead was clear in his mind.

He would follow the tracks. He would find them.

And they would pay.

Chapter 1

Silver Cross, Colorado, May 15, 1876

Anthony Hawk rode into Silver Cross just as the sun slipped behind the distant hills. The town was small. It was just a scattering of wooden buildings with false fronts, a saloon, a general store, and the sheriff’s office.

A few wagons creaked slowly along the dirt road. The air smelled of sweat, horse manure, and wood smoke.

Anthony sat stiff in the saddle. Spirit stepped quietly over loose stones. He kept his eyes forward but felt the weight of every glance that turned toward him as he passed.

The faces of his aunt, uncle, and young Eli clung to his thoughts like burrs he couldn’t pull free.

Their stillness, the smell of smoke in their hair, the way Eli’s small frame had been curled into his mother’s arms...it all pressed against his chest until each breath came sharp andshallow. It didn’t seem possible that only hours ago, they’d been alive somewhere in this world.

Now, the fact of their deaths was as heavy and cold as the iron spike in his saddlebag.

The townsfolk paused whatever they were doing to watch the stranger come in. Anthony wasn’t a stranger here; he’d been away, but no one forgot the man with sharp eyes and a faster hand. The kind of man who spoke little but said plenty when he did. The kind who wasn’t easily intimidated.

But today, his silence wasn’t just the quiet of a guarded man. It was the silence of someone carrying a wound too deep for words.

A few children stopped their game of marbles and whispered among themselves. An old prospector in a worn hat spat tobacco juice near the hitching post and squinted. A couple of women paused their chores, hands on their hips. Their faces were unreadable.

Anthony’s gaze flicked briefly toward the saloon. The creak of the swinging doors and muffled laughter made his jaw tighten. He didn’t want trouble, but trouble had a way of finding him.

He guided Spirit toward the general store. His boots hit the wooden planks with a dull thud as he dismounted. The mare’s reins looped loosely over a hitching post, and Spirit nickered softly.

“I won’t be long,” he said, tapping the mare’s neck gently.

The store was dim and cluttered inside. Barrels were stacked against the walls, and sacks of flour and coffee were piled in corners. A bell jingled overhead as Anthony pushed the door open.

Behind the counter, a young woman looked up. Sylvia. Her brown hair was tied back in a practical braid, and her cheeks flushed slightly when she saw him.

“Back so soon, Mr. Hawk?” she asked.

Anthony gave a curt nod.

“Two weeks,” he said, wiping dust from his hat. “Long enough to run out of supplies.”

She studied him for a moment, then leaned on the counter.

“Things’ve been shifting while you were gone,” she said. “The Silver Cross Railroad’s been creeping closer to the basin for months now. Folks say Vanburgh, the rail baron out of Chicago, found gold near the proposed line. Been offering pennies on the dollar for land, and those who say no either pack up in the night...or just stop being seen altogether.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.

“People around here been talking,” she said. “It ain’t wise to come poking around these parts these days.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “Why’s that?”

Sylvia glanced toward the window, where a couple of men were gathered on the street corner.

“Folks who stand up to the railroad don’t last long,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Best keep your head down.”