Chapter 6 - The Price of the Claim
The dust kicked up by Rowan’s boots settled slowly over the sun-bleached planks of the main street in Dead Man’s Creek.
The two card players sitting near the barrel fire froze. One of them, a heavy-set man with a greasy vest and a star badge pinned crookedly to his chest that looked like it had never seen a federal office, slowly pushed himself up from his crate. His hand hovered over the butt of an old Remington revolver.
“You’ve got a short memory, stranger,” the man spat, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the bruised jaw and steady stance of the man Vance had dragged in only days before. “And you’ve got a remarkably short lifespan if you think you can just saunter into this basin asking for the boss.”
Rowan didn't flinch. He kept his weight balanced evenly on the balls of his feet, his hands hanging loose and open at his sides. He wasn't armed with a gun—only the bone-handled knife hidden beneath his coat—and he knew these men knew it. But the sheer audacity of a lone, beaten man walking openly into their camp without hesitation created a momentary pause in their calculations.
“I didn’t say I wanted the boss,” Rowan said, his voice carrying clearly across the silent clearing. “I said I have an offer about the Duskwind claim. And if your employers are the ones paying the bounty on that land, they’re going to want to hear what I found on the north ridge before the federal surveyors do.”
The card player’s hand twitched over his holster. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the survey markers,” Rowan lied with absolute, unblinking conviction, feeding them a hook they couldn't afford to ignore. “The ones your syndicate planted outside the legal boundary. If a federal judge sees those stakes, your entire land patent becomes invalid before the ink is dry on the title.”
The man hesitated, glancing back toward the main office cabin where the local syndicate manager, a man named Halloway, usually conducted business. The door remained shut, but a shadow shifted behind the oiled-paper window.
While the men at the fire were transfixed by Rowan’s deliberate provocation, a shadow moved swiftly and silently behind the weathered timber rails of the corral at the far end of the yard.
Elira dropped low against the rough fencing, her eyes locked on the familiar bay mare standing nervously near the back gate. Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her hands were steady. She didn't waste a second. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she pulled out a short piece of braided leather, looped it quickly around the mare’s halter, and pulled the wooden latch pin free.
The gate swung open with a dry, protesting squeak.
A sharp shout rang out from the side of the corral. “Hey! Someone’s at the horses!”
The illusion Rowan had built shattered instantly. The card players spun around, cursing loudly as they realized they had been played. The heavy-set man drew his pistol, leveling it directly at Rowan’s chest.
“You son of a bitch—”
Rowan didn't wait to hear the rest. He dove sideways behind a rusted, abandoned ore cart just as a bullet sparked off the iron wheel with a deafening crack.
At the far end of the camp, Elira leaped onto the bay mare’s bare back, her heels digging into the horse’s flanks. The animal surged forward, kicking up a storm of dust as it broke through the open corral gate and thundered straight down the side alley toward the old water tower where they had agreed to rendezvous.
Shouts erupted from every corner of the camp. Rifles clicked, and boots pounded against the boardwalks.
Rowan scrambled out from behind the ore cart, keeping low as he bolted toward the narrow gap between the smithy and the storage shed, his bruised ribs screaming with every stride. He could hear Halloway’s men scrambling to mount their horses, their angry voices echoing off the canyon walls.
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He had drawn their fire and bought Elira the time she needed, but as he reached the cover of the cedar trees beyond the water tower, he realized a grim new reality: they were no longer just running from bounty hunters. They had declared open war on the most powerful men in the territory.
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