pistol.
“It ain’t a wildfire!” Pike shouted, drawing his revolver, his eyes searching the blinded smoke. “It’s an ambush! Get to
the rocks! Get to the—”
CRACK!
A single high-caliber rifle shot echoed through the gorge like a thunderclap. The heavy bearded thug standing near the
mine entrance dropped his rifle, clutched his shoulder with a howl of rage, and tumbled into the gravel. From the high
ridge above, Lozen had opened fire.
The battle for Red Mesa had begun.
The canyon floor exploded into chaos. Thick, choking grey smoke swirled through the camp, turning men into
shadowed ghosts screaming orders into the blinding haze. Gunfire erupted in jagged, erratic bursts—pistols barking,
rifles cracking, the heavy thud of shotgun blasts echoing off the sheer sandstone walls.
Calder came down the steep east chute like a landslide of iron and muscle. He burst through the cloud of smoke near
the rusted ore cars, his Sharps rifle held at the hip. Delgado, the heavy-set renegade, emerged from the haze ten feet away,
spinning around with his double-barreled shotgun raised.
Calder didn’t hesitate. He pulled the heavy trigger of the Sharps. The massive .50-90 round struck Delgado squarely in
the chest with the force of a locomotive. The renegade was lifted clean off his feet, his shotgun discharging harmlessly into
the sky as he slammed backward into the iron ore car and lay still.
Calder dropped the empty single-shot Sharps, drew his navy Colt revolver with his right hand, and snatched a heavy
iron smithing hammer he had tucked into his belt with his left. He leaped over Delgado’s body and sprinted toward the
powder house door.
Through the swirling smoke, Miller appeared, his face wild with panic, firing his two nickel-plated revolvers blindly
into the haze. “Vann!” he screamed, spotting the blacksmith through the gray gloom. “You traitorous bastard!”
Miller raised his pistol to fire, but before his finger could squeeze the trigger, a sharp lever-action shot cracked from
the high ridge above. A bullet from Lozen’s Winchester tore through Miller’s gun hand, shattering his wrist. Miller
shrieked in agony, dropping his weapon and tumbling into the dirt, clutching his ruined arm.
“Cover the tunnel!” Pike’s voice roared from the shadows near the headframe. “Kill him! Kill the blacksmith!”
The remaining mercenary fired a wild volley from behind a stack of timber, the bullets whistling past Calder’s ears
and splintering the wooden door of the powder house behind him. Calder ducked behind a heavy iron water barrel, leveled
his Colt revolver, and fired twice. The first bullet struck the timber post above the mercenary’s head; the second found its
The Edge of Copper Bend • Novelization Page 11 of 15
mark in the man’s throat. The mercenary fell forward into the dirt, coughing blood, his rifle slipping from his lifeless
fingers.
Calder didn’t waste a second. He charged out from behind the barrel and reached the heavy iron door of the explosives
bunker. Inside, he could hear the terrified, muffled crying of young children, huddled together in the dark stone vault.
“Stand back from the door!” Calder shouted in a booming voice, holding the iron smithing hammer high over his
head. “Stand back!”
He brought the heavy steel hammer down upon the iron padlock with all the strength in his massive blacksmith
shoulders. Sparks flew into the gloom with a deafening *CLANG!* The lock groaned, but held. Calder raised the hammer
again, his muscles straining, and brought it down a second time with thunderous force. The iron shackle snapped like dry
wood, and the heavy padlock shattered into pieces on the gravel floor.
Calder threw open the heavy oak door. Inside, huddled on a bed of dirty straw, were five small children—their faces
pale, their eyes wide with terrifying shock, their hands bound with rough twine.
“It’s alright,” Calder said softly, dropping his hammer and kneeling before them, his rough voice instantly softening
into a tone of gentle warmth. “You’re safe now. Lozen is here.”
A little Apache girl with large dark eyes—Magdalena—gasped, pointing a trembling finger toward the smoky
doorway behind Calder. “Watch out!” she cried in her native tongue.
Calder spun around, his hand reaching for his Colt, but a heavy leather boot struck him squarely in the chest with
brutal force. The blow knocked the wind out of Calder, sending him tumbling backward onto the rocky floor of the bunker.
His revolver slipped from his fingers, skittering out into the dust of the yard.
Silas Pike stepped into the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light. His face was blackened with pine soot, his
eyes red and insane with fury. In his right hand, he held a massive, double-action .45 caliber army revolver, aimed directly
at Calder’s heart.
“End of the line, blacksmith,” Pike spat, his voice a ragged raspy whisper of pure hatred. “I told you... squaw-lovers
die in the dust.”
Calder lay on his back, his lungs gasping for air, his eyes staring straight into the dark barrel of Pike’s gun. He was
completely disarmed, trapped against the stone wall of the bunker, with five helpless children cowering behind him. There
was no cover, no weapon, no escape.
Pike’s finger tightened slowly on the heavy trigger.
THWACK!
A sudden, horrifying sound echoed through the bunker. Silas Pike’s eyes widened in shocked, disbelief. His mouth
opened, but no words came out—only a dark stream of blood. He slowly lowered his gaze to his own chest.
Protruding from the left side of his throat was six inches of dark oak wood and gleaming forged steel. Lozen had come
down from the ridge like an avenging spirit, sliding through the smoke undetected, and had thrown Calder’s heavy iron
hunting knife with terrifying, lethal precision from twenty feet away.
Pike staggered backward out of the doorway, his pistol firing harmlessly into the stone ceiling. He collapsed into the
dirt yard, twitching violently for a few short seconds, before his eyes rolled back and his body went stone cold silent.
The Edge of Copper Bend • Novelization Page 12 of 15
T
The canyon fell instantly quiet. The wall of smoke was beginning to thin, blown away by the clean mountain breeze.
The fire on the ridge was burning itself out against the barren granite cliffs.
Lozen walked slowly into the doorway of the bunker. She stepped over Pike’s body, her face pale, her breathing
heavy, but her head held high with untamed dignity. She looked at Calder, who was slowly sitting up, rubbing his chest
where Pike’s boot had struck him.
She extended her hand down to him.
Calder took her hand—a strong, warm, calloused hand—and let her pull him up to his feet. They stood together in the