Chapter 7 - A Choice of Weapons
"It represents evidence of murder and child trafficking," Nalin stepped out from behind Silas, her voice ringing clear against the canyon walls. "Every name in this book is a child stolen from San Carlos and sold to the Sonora syndicates."
Vance glanced at her, his expression shifting from mild amusement to cold indifference. "My dear young woman, the territorial government operates on contracts and supply chains. If a few families are displaced along the way to pacify the borderlands, that is the price of civilization. Now, hand over the calfskin pouch, and perhaps I'll let the old man walk away before I signal the troopers waiting at the lower ridge."
Silas felt the old familiar heat rising in his chest—the same cold, steady fury he had felt twenty years ago when Halloway gave the order to burn their own supply wagons.
"There aren't any troopers at the lower ridge, Vance," Silas said quietly, shifting his weight onto his left leg to ease the strain on his hip. "If you had a troop with you, you wouldn't be sitting here playing diplomat with a single carbine. You came up alone because Vain doesn't trust you, and you don't trust Vain."
Vance’s smile vanished. His hand tightened on the grip of his carbine. "You always were too smart for your own good, Sergeant. That's why your unit had to be left in the arroyo."
"You murdered twenty good men," Silas snarled, his voice dropping an octave. "And for what? A handful of silver from mining speculators?"
"For the future of this territory," Vance snapped back, bringing the barrel of his rifle up. "And yours ends right here."
Before Vance could squeeze the trigger, Silas didn't aim for the man's chest. With the speed born of a thousand frontier skirmishes, he swept his rifle sideways and fired into the loose shale bank directly above the lieutenant's horse.
The deafening roar of the Sharps echoed like thunder through the narrow gorge. Tons of wet gravel, rock, and slate broke loose from the cliff face, crashing down directly onto the bay gelding. The horse reared with a terrified squeal, bucking violently and throwing Vance hard against the jagged red stone wall before it bolted back down the trail in blind panic.
Vance hit the ground with a sickening thud, his carbine clattering across the rocks into the rushing creek.
Silas was already moving, his limp forgotten as he closed the distance between them, his boots crunching on the shale. He stood over the officer, the muzzle of his rifle pointed straight down at Vance's chest.
Vance groaned, clutching his ribs, blood trickling from a deep gash near his temple. "Shoot me, then," the lieutenant wheezed. "Halloway... Halloway will send a regiment after you before the week is out."
May you like
Silas lowered the hammer, but he didn't move the gun. "I'm not going to shoot you, Vance. You're going to walk ahead of us down to the mining camp. And you're going to tell us every name on Halloway's payroll between here and Prescott."
---
