One sat beside a wagon. Another sharpened a knife. Two were playing cards. A fifth stood watch near the canyon entrance.
The sixth man wore a black hat with a silver band.
Silas Crowe.
Elias retreated from the ridge.
"They're waiting for us," he whispered.
Whitaker went pale.
"How could they know?"
"Someone told them."
Anna looked toward the town.
"The sheriff?"
"Perhaps."
"Or someone at the boardinghouse?"
"Perhaps."
Elias checked the rifle.
There were six men below, and at least four more could be hidden among the rocks. The canyon was narrow, the trail exposed, and the darkness offered only limited protection.
They could attempt to slip past the camp.
They could retreat and look for another route.
Or they could make certain Crowe's men never reached the spring.
Elias considered the possibilities.
He had no desire to kill anyone.
But he had less desire to let another man die because he had been too afraid to act.
He turned to Anna.
"Take Whitaker east along the ridge. Follow the dry creek until you reach the cottonwoods. You'll find an old cattle trail there."
"What about you?"
"I'm going to make certain those men are looking in the wrong direction."
Anna's eyes widened.
"You're going to attack six men alone?"
"No."
He glanced toward Ranger.
"I'm going to give them something else to think about."
Before she could argue, he disappeared into the darkness.
And somewhere below the ridge, Silas Crowe lifted his head as a distant rifle shot echoed across the canyon.
The Canyon of Broken Promises
The first shot struck a rock twenty yards from the campfire.
It was not intended to hit a man.
Elias had aimed carefully, choosing a piece of stone that would throw sparks into the darkness. The sharp crack echoed between the canyon walls, followed by a shower of fragments that scattered across the ground.
The men around the fire sprang to their feet.
"Who's there?"
Another shot rang out.
This time, Elias fired into the wooden wheel of the wagon.
The wheel splintered.
A horse screamed and reared against its tether.
"Riders!" someone shouted.
The men scrambled for their rifles.
Crowe remained beside the fire, staring toward the ridge.
"Hold your fire!" he ordered.
Nobody listened.
Two men fired blindly into the darkness. Their shots struck the rocks high above Elias, sending dust and fragments raining down the slope.
Elias moved.
He had chosen his position carefully, using a narrow shelf of stone that led toward the eastern side of the canyon. He could see the camp, but the men below could not see him clearly.
He fired again.
A rifle flew from one man's hands.
The man cursed and dropped behind the wagon.
"He's on the ridge!" another shouted.
Crowe's voice cut through the confusion.
"Then get up there!"
Three men mounted their horses and rode toward the eastern trail.
Elias retreated before they reached the slope.
He moved quickly, keeping low, using the uneven ground to hide his position. He had no intention of fighting all six men at once. His purpose was to draw them away from the canyon entrance long enough for Anna and Whitaker to escape.
It was a simple plan.
Simple plans, he had learned, often became complicated when other people were involved.
As he reached the ridge, a rifle shot cracked behind him.
The bullet struck the ground near his boot.
Elias threw himself behind a boulder.
A man had climbed higher than expected and was firing from the opposite side of the ravine.
Elias returned one shot.
The man's hat flew from his head.
He dropped flat.
Elias moved again.
Below, Crowe was shouting orders. Two men had begun climbing the western slope, while another remained near the wagon, trying to calm the frightened horses.
Elias could hear Ranger stamping in the darkness behind him.
The stallion had broken the branch to which he was tied.
"Not now," Elias muttered.
He hurried back toward the horse.
Ranger stood beside the rocks, reins dragging along the ground, his ears pricked forward. When Elias approached, the stallion lowered his head as if apologizing.
Elias grabbed the reins.
"You couldn't wait five minutes?"
Ranger snorted.
A bullet struck the rock beside them.
Elias swung into the saddle.
"All right. Let's go."
He urged Ranger toward the eastern trail.
The stallion leaped forward, powerful muscles driving him across the uneven ground. They galloped along the ridge, moving away from the canyon and toward the open prairie.
Behind them, riders shouted.
Elias glanced back.
Three men had mounted and were following him.
Good.
That was what he wanted.
He rode hard for half a mile, then turned sharply toward a dry creek bed. Ranger dropped into the narrow channel, hooves striking loose stones. The creek bed curved through the hills, twisting beneath overhanging brush.
The pursuing riders followed.
Elias could hear them gaining.
He pulled Ranger to a halt beneath a rocky outcrop and dismounted. The stallion stood trembling with exertion, his sides heaving.
Elias pressed a hand against the horse's neck.
"Easy, boy."
He led Ranger behind a large boulder and waited.
The riders came around the bend at a gallop.
The first man passed within twenty feet.
Elias stepped out and struck the horse's bridle with the flat of his rifle. The animal veered sideways, throwing its rider into the dirt.
The second rider tried to turn, but his horse collided with the fallen animal. Both men went down in a tangle of legs and leather.
The third man pulled his rifle from its scabbard.
Elias fired first.
The bullet struck the man's shoulder.
He dropped the rifle and screamed.
Elias stood over him, breathing hard.
"Don't move."
The man clutched his shoulder.
"You son of a—"
"Don't."
There was something in Elias's voice that made the man fall silent.