"Then ride."
The horse surged forward.
They disappeared into the darkness.
Behind them, Abigail stood beneath the fading stars, watching until the sound of hoofbeats vanished.
Then she turned toward the church.
There was work to do.
And this time, she would not wait helplessly for a man to return.
She would fight for the future they were all trying to build.
Far to the east, beyond the hills, a locomotive whistle sounded.
Long.
Low.
Unaware of the danger waiting ahead.
And beneath the railroad bridge, Wade Briggs struck a match.
He watched the flame dance in the darkness.
Then he touched it to a length of fuse.
"Let's see you stop this one, Mercer," he whispered.
The fuse began to burn.
And the first light of dawn spread across Silver Creek.
CHAPTER TEN: THE BRIDGE AT SUNRISE
The match burned between Wade Briggs's fingers for only a moment before the flame reached the fuse.
A thin orange spark raced into the darkness beneath the railroad bridge.
Briggs watched it with a satisfaction that bordered on delight.
Above him, the enormous wooden trestle stretched across Blackwater Gorge, its weathered beams rising nearly eighty feet above the river. The bridge had been built seven years earlier, when the railroad first reached Silver Creek, and it had transformed the isolated settlement into a thriving frontier town.
Every week, trains carried cattle, grain, lumber, passengers, and mail across the gorge.
Every week, merchants depended on those trains to keep their businesses alive.
And every week, Caleb Voss collected a portion of the profits.
Now the same bridge that had helped make Voss wealthy was about to become the instrument of his desperation.
Briggs stepped backward, watching the fuse disappear beneath a cluster of support beams.
The explosive charges had been placed near the western end of the trestle, where the wooden structure rested against a narrow shelf of rock. The blast would not necessarily destroy the entire bridge, but it would damage the supports badly enough to make the crossing impossible.
That was all Ashcroft required.
The morning train had to be stopped before it carried evidence of the Blackstone conspiracy to Denver.
Briggs understood the order perfectly.
He simply did not care how many people might die in the process.
"How long?" asked one of his men.
The gunman was a narrow-faced fellow named Amos Rusk, who had spent most of his life working as a hired guard for mining companies.
Briggs glanced at the burning fuse.
"Long enough."
Rusk shifted uneasily.
"There's passengers on that train."
Briggs looked at him.
"Then they'd better hope the engineer has good brakes."
Rusk swallowed.
"I thought we were only supposed to stop the mail."
"We are."
"By blowing up the bridge?"
Briggs smiled.
"You got a better idea?"
The younger man looked toward the distant tracks.
"No."
"Then keep your mouth shut."
A third gunman stood on the ridge above them, watching the eastern approach.
His name was Jonas Pike, and unlike Rusk, he had no visible objections to the plan.
He carried a long rifle and wore a black scarf around his neck.
Suddenly, he raised one hand.
"Riders!"
Briggs turned sharply.
"How many?"
"Two on one horse!"
"From where?"
"West trail!"
Briggs cursed.
"Mercer."
He drew his revolver.
"Get up there!"
The three men scrambled toward the embankment.
Above them, the railroad tracks curved around a rocky hillside before crossing the gorge. The narrow maintenance road ran beside the tracks for nearly half a mile.
That was where Daniel Mercer and Peter Bellamy were approaching at a dangerous speed.
The horse's hooves struck the hard ground in rapid succession.
Cold morning air whipped against Daniel's face.
The eastern sky had begun to brighten, turning the distant mountains pale blue.
Peter leaned forward in the saddle.
"Mr. Mercer, I don't think she's got much more in her!"
Daniel glanced at the horse's heaving sides.
The animal was exhausted.
They had ridden nearly six miles without slowing.
"Another quarter mile," Daniel said.
Peter shook his head.
"She'll drop!"
Daniel looked ahead.
The bridge was visible now, a dark skeleton of timber stretching across the gorge.
Beyond it, the tracks disappeared into a narrow cut between two hills.
He could not see the train.
But he could hear it.
A distant whistle echoed through the valley.
Daniel felt his stomach tighten.
"Stop here!"
Peter pulled hard on the reins.
The horse skidded to a halt.
Daniel jumped down.
"Take her back to the trees."
"What about you?"
"Get out of sight."
Peter looked toward the bridge.
"Mr. Mercer—"
"Peter."
The boy fell silent.
Daniel placed a hand on his shoulder.
"You've done enough. Now do one more thing for me."
"What?"
"If I don't come back, ride to Silver Creek. Tell the sheriff exactly what happened here."
Peter's eyes widened.
"You're not going to die."
Daniel smiled faintly.
"That's the plan."
He turned and ran toward the bridge.
Behind him, Peter hesitated.
Then he led the exhausted horse into the trees.
Daniel reached the edge of the maintenance road just as a rifle shot cracked from the ridge.
The bullet struck the dirt beside his boot.
He threw himself behind a boulder.
Another shot followed.
Stone fragments scattered across his coat.
Daniel drew his revolver.
"Briggs!" he shouted.
A familiar voice answered from above.
"Morning, Danny!"
Daniel glanced toward the ridge.
Wade Briggs stood behind a cluster of rocks, his revolver in hand.
Two other men crouched nearby.
"You're up early," Daniel called.
"Got business to attend to."
"Funny. So do I."
Briggs laughed.
"Then I reckon we're both having a busy morning."
Daniel looked toward the bridge.
A thin trail of smoke rose from beneath the western supports.
His heart sank.
The fuse was already burning.
He needed to reach it.
But the gunmen controlled the approach.
Daniel studied the terrain.
The ridge rose sharply to his left.
To his right, the ground dropped toward the river.
The only direct route to the bridge was exposed.
Briggs knew it.
"Come on out, Mercer!" he shouted. "You ain't getting past us!"
Daniel checked his revolver.
Four cartridges remained.
His rifle had been lost during the escape from Blackstone Ridge, and he had no time to retrieve another weapon.
He looked toward the trees where Peter had disappeared.
Then he made a decision.
"Briggs!"
"What?"
"You ever tell your men what happened in Kansas?"
The gunman's laughter stopped.
Daniel continued.
"About Marshal Pike?"
Silence.
"About the families you helped drive off their land?"
Briggs appeared above the rocks.
"Shut your mouth."
Daniel smiled grimly.
"Or about Eleanor?"
Briggs fired.
The bullet struck the boulder inches from Daniel's head.
Daniel ducked.
Then he shouted again.
"She begged you to let her live, didn't she?"
Briggs's face twisted.
"Shut up!"
"She was unarmed!"
Another shot.
Daniel pressed himself against the rock.
"She was a schoolteacher, Wade!"
Briggs rose higher.
"She should've minded her business!"
Daniel fired.
The bullet struck Briggs's revolver, knocking it from his hand.
The gunman screamed and stumbled backward.
Daniel sprang from behind the boulder.
He ran toward the bridge.
Rusk raised his rifle.
"Stop!"
Daniel fired once into the dirt near his feet.
Rusk flinched.
Daniel kept running.
Jonas Pike fired from the ridge.
The bullet tore through Daniel's coat.
He felt a sharp sting along his ribs.
But he did not stop.
He reached the first support beam and dropped beneath the tracks.
The smell of burning powder filled the air.
He saw the fuse.
A thin orange line crept toward a dark bundle fastened against the timber.
Daniel scrambled across the rocky ground.
Above him, footsteps thundered along the bridge.
Briggs was coming.
Daniel reached for the fuse.
It was shorter than he had hoped.
Far shorter.
He pulled his knife.
The blade slipped against the damp cord.
He tried again.
A spark jumped.
The fuse continued burning.
Daniel swore.
He grabbed the cord with his left hand and pulled.
It resisted.
He braced his boot against the beam.
Then yanked with all his strength.
The cord tore free from the fastening that held it against the wood.
But the burning end remained connected to the explosive bundle.
Daniel had only seconds.