Page 58 of Anthony Hawk

“It’s like the forest is holding its breath,” he said.

Abigail’s voice dropped. “How many?”

“Too many if they’re smart,” Anthony said. “Vanburgh’s patience is running thin. Cheaper to send bounty hunters than to bribe another judge.”

Brigg gave a grim chuckle. “And a bullet costs less than both.”

They pressed forward, slower now. Anthony’s shoulders drew tight, and his instincts were burning. Then it came—a faint scrape of leather against bark.

Quickly, Anthony pulled on his reins. “Come out,” he said, trying to keep his voice firm. “You’ve got us. No use hiding.”

The woods came alive with the sound of rifles being cocked. Shadows shifted, and five men stepped from cover. They emerged from behind boulders, trees, and fallen logs, their guns leveled.

The one in front was tall and broad. He tugged at the brim of his hat.

“Hawk,” he drawled. “Never thought you’d be fool enough to ride these woods. Looks like it’s payday.”

Anthony’s eyes flicked over him. He recognized him immediately. “Krell.”

Behind him, another man spat into the dirt. “Sykes,” Anthony said.

“You won’t forget us once you’re in the ground,” Sykes replied with a grin.

He had run into these bounty hunters before. Now, they were back for more.

Two others flanked them. They were hard-eyed and rough. At the back, an unshaven young man held his Smith & Wesson Model 3 revolver with a tremor that ran all the way up his arm.

Krell spoke again, voice loud. “Vanburgh’s paying good coin,” he said. “Hundred dollars, dead or alive. That’s easy money for Boone’s killer.”

Anthony’s hand tightened on the reins. Boone. He remembered that hunt. His jaw hardened.

“Boone got what he earned,” Anthony said.

Sykes laughed, the sound harsh as gravel. “You’ll say the same when it’s your turn?”

“Try me,” Anthony replied.

Krell jerked his chin. “Boys—”

The word had barely left his lips before Anthony’s Colt 1851 Navy was whipped out of his holster. Thunder cracked through the trees. Krell jerked backward, his grin vanishing in a bloom of red as he collapsed into the needles.

Chaos broke loose.

“Down!” Anthony roared, spurring his mare aside and diving behind a thick pine.

Deputy Brigg grabbed the Winchester Model 1866 rifle from his saddle and fired once, the bark splintering off a log where one rifleman crouched. Abigail slid from her mare, dragging both herself and the animal behind the shelter of a boulder.

Bullets screamed through branches. Powder smoke bit the air.

Anthony fired again and clipped one man’s shoulder. “Brigg—left flank!”

“I see him!” Brigg barked back, crouching low, firing steadily as he advanced. His jaw was set, and his eyes were hard. Despite his earlier fear, the deputy’s aim was true.

The woods rang with gunfire. Abigail crouched behind the boulder, clutching her Colt Paterson revolver in both hands. It was small and underpowered compared to the rifles, but her gripwas steady. Her breath hissed through her teeth as she peeked out.

Anthony rolled across the dirt and reloaded.

“Abigail,” he called out. “Watch the right side!”