Seeing the distraction, Corvin kicked open the heavy front door of the cabin, stepping out onto the porch into the blinding sunlight with a Winchester in each hand.

Caught in a deadly crossfire between the former cavalry scout on the porch and the giant warrior on the high ridge, Brant's men broke into absolute chaos.

The battle devolved into a brutal, close-quarters slaughter among the red rocks and thorny brush of Cold Springs.

Panic seized Brant's remaining mercenaries. They were tough border killers used to terrorizing unarmed homesteaders and desperate refugees, but they had never faced a force like the one now tearing through their ranks.

Two riders tried to break for the western gate, but Corvin met them at the corner of the barn, firing his Winchester point-blank through the dust and smoke, dropping both men into the dry dirt.

Meanwhile, on the high ridge, the giant Apache woman ran out of ammunition for her stolen carbine. She discarded the hot rifle without a second thought, picked up a massive fifty-pound limestone boulder from the cliff edge, and hurled it down the steep slope with terrifying strength.

The boulder crashed down the rocks like a cannonball, smashing through the mesquite brush and striking two dismounted gunmen who were trying to climb the ridge. The impact shattered their legs and hurled them ten feet into the dry wash below.

She leaped down the steep crags, sliding ten feet down the sheer rock face, landing heavily in the dirt near the sinkhole on all fours like a mountain lion.

Silo Brant saw her land.

His face was contorted in a mask of pure, murderous hatred. He knew his men were routed, his syndicate's plan destroyed, and his life forfeit if he stayed in the valley. But his rage overcame his instinct for self-preservation.

He pulled both his ivory-handled Colt .44s from his leather holsters, cocking the hammers with a sharp double-click as he spurred his bay horse straight toward the woman.

"You red beast!" Brant screamed, firing both revolvers as he closed the thirty yards between them.

The first heavy lead bullet slammed into the giant woman's ribs, tearing through her buckskin dress and drawing a bright spur of red blood. The second shot grazed her thigh, but her massive frame barely registered the impacts.

She did not attempt to dodge. She charged straight toward the galloping bay horse, her broad chest heaving, her cracked lips parted in a silent, terrifying snarl.

As Brant pulled the triggers for a third time, the woman reached out with both hands, grabbing the bay horse by its leather bridle and iron bit.

With a superhuman surge of broad-shouldered strength, she twisted the horse's head violently to the side, using her immense body weight and momentum to throw the six-hundred-pound animal completely off balance.

The horse let out a terrified scream as its legs crumpled beneath it. The bay slammed sideways into the dirt with a bone-shattering crash, rolling over its rider.

Brant was thrown five yards across the hard-packed clay, his ivory-handled revolvers spinning out of his hands into the dust. He lay on his back, his breath knocked completely out of his lungs, his ribs broken under the weight of his fallen horse.

He looked up through a haze of pain and yellow dust.

The giant Apache woman stood towering over him, framed against the blazing sun. Her buckskin dress was soaked in blood—her own and that of her enemies. Her sky-blue turquoise necklace swung gently against her broad collarbone.

She reached down into her belt, pulling out a heavy, ten-inch forged iron skinning knife.

Brant's eyes went wide with pure, pathetic terror. He tried to crawl backward, his hands digging frantically into the hot dirt, his face pale as a sheet.

"No... please..." Brant choked out, his voice reduced to a high-pitched, sobbing whimpering. "I have gold... I have land... I'll give you anything..."

The giant woman did not offer a word. She stepped forward, her broad foot coming down heavy on Brant's chest, pinning him to the earth like an insect under a rock.

She raised the heavy iron blade into the bright sunlight.

Corvin ran around the corner of the barn, his Winchester lowered, his face covered in gunsmoke soot and sweat. He reached the sinkhole, stopping ten feet away as he witnessed the final scene.

"Wait!" Corvin called out, his voice raspy from the smoke.