Chapter 5 - Turning the Tables
The gunman in the buffalo-hide coat was so focused on laying down suppressing fire toward the mine entrance below that he didn't hear the soft crunch of gravel behind him.
"Don't move," Nathaniel said, his voice cutting through the night air like a razor blade.
The man froze instantly, his finger hovering over the trigger of his Winchester. He started to turn his head, but Nathaniel stepped forward with blinding speed, bringing the heavy steel barrel of his revolver down hard across the back of the man's skull. The gunman collapsed into the dirt without a sound, pitching forward toward the edge of the cliff.
The second man whipped around, his eyes widening in sheer terror as he scrambled for a sidearm tucked into his belt.
"Reach for it," Nathaniel whispered coldly, leveling his revolver straight at the man's chest, "and you won't live to cash the London syndicate's check."
The gunman froze, his hands slowly rising into the air, trembling violently as he stared into the cold, merciless eyes of the railroad magnate.
Down below, the heavy gunfire suddenly ceased. A tense, echoing silence fell over the canyon, broken only by the crackle of the campfire and the heavy breathing of the horses.
"Vance! Miller!" Deputy Briggs's voice shouted up from the trail, breathless and laced with tension. "You boys alright up there?"
"The ridge is clear, Thomas!" Nathaniel called back, stepping to the edge of the rock shelf and looking down at the smoking battlefield below. "Bring the horses around!"
Elena climbed out of the ventilation shaft a moment later, brushing the dirt and cobwebs from her shoulders. She stepped up beside Nathaniel, looking down at the two captured gunmen tied securely with their own saddle ropes.
"You handled that like a man who's spent more time in gunfights than boardrooms," Elena remarked softly, a faint, wry smile touching her lips for the first time in twenty-three years.
Nathaniel holstered his weapon and turned to look at her, the harsh amber glow of the distant campfire reflecting in his eyes. He reached out slowly, his calloused fingertips brushing against her weathered cheek, tracing the familiar contour of her jawline as if he needed physical proof that she wasn't just a hallucination born of moonlight and exhaustion.
"I spent twenty-three years looking for a ghost, Elena," Nathaniel whispered, his voice thick with a raw, overwhelming emotion that he made no effort to hide. "I'm not about to let anyone take you away again."
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Elena leaned into his touch, her eyes closing for a brief second as a single tear escaped down her cheek. "They won't, Nathaniel. Because we're going to finish what my father started. We're going to take back every mile of the Glorieta line, and then we're going to tear the Iron Crown down to the foundations."
Nathaniel’s jaw set into an expression of absolute, unyielding iron. "Tomorrow morning, the board of directors is holding its quarterly meeting in Santa Fe. They think they're meeting to finalize the takeover of my railway." He looked down at the sapphire ring gleaming on his finger, then back at the woman he had never stopped loving. "They're going to find out what happens when you corner a wolf in his own territory."
