Page 69 of Anthony Hawk

“Fight?” Brigg barked out a short laugh. “We’re three souls against thirty rifles.”

“Three souls,” Anthony said, “and more if the Shoshone stand. The council split, remember? Most turned us down, too fearful of a massacre. But some pledged. Enough to matter.”

“Maybe,” Brigg muttered. “But if Vanburgh lights that powder before the judge arrives, none of this matters.”

“If the originals are destroyed, the judge has nothing to uphold,” Abigail sighed.

Brigg studied her. “You want me to carry them again?”

Anthony stayed silent.

“That’s it, ain’t it?” Brigg said. “You want me gone from the fight, riding east, while you two hold the fort.”

“You’re the only one who can swear to the judge you kept the deed safe,” Abigail said firmly. “If you fall here, we lose everything.”

“You reckon you can hold Vanburgh off tomorrow?” Brigg asked Anthony.

“We’ll hold as long as it takes,” Anthony replied, voice like stone.

Brigg let out a long whistle. “Damn stubborn man.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Brigg closed his eyes, head against the tree. “All right, I’ll ride. Though my bones curse me for it.”

“It’s not retreat,” Abigail said softly. “It’s survival.”

He cracked one eye open. “Survival don’t make it easier.”

Anthony stepped away, gaze fixed on the mountains. “Nothing about this will be easy. Not for any of us.”

“You got a plan?” Brigg called after him.

“Not yet,” Anthony said, half-turned. “But I will.”

***

The fire hissed down to coals as Abigail bound Brigg’s arm with torn cloth. He endured the touch with grit, sweat streaking his face.

“Bullet grazed the bone,” she murmured. “You’re lucky.”

“Never figured luck for my partner,” Brigg said.

“You need rest.”

“What I need is a fresh horse and to keep moving,” he said.

Anthony returned with his bow in hand, eyes scanning the ridges. “He’s right. Vanburgh won’t let him ride free a second time. He’ll throw more men on the road.”

“Then I’ll ride light,” Brigg said. “Change trails often. I know these hills better than they do.”

“Not better than his men,” Anthony warned.

Brigg’s mouth twisted. “I put a hole through Silas’s side. He won’t be chasing quick.”

“Wounded men hate deepest,” Anthony said.

Brigg chuckled dryly. “Then I reckon he’ll remember my name.”