He turned to the chief. "We cannot fight them on the open plain. They have the range. We need to bring them close. We need a place where their numbers mean nothing.
The chief looked at Elias. The Narrows? The Narrows? Elias nodded. The plan was set.
The Narrows was a box canyon five miles north where the river cut through a sheer wall of granite. The only way through was a shallow ford that forced riders to cross single file. They moved the women and children to the high caves above the canyon. Camouflaged behind brush and stone. The warriors took their positions along the ridge lines and behind the boulders at the canyon floor.
They waited. The day dragged on. The sun moved across the sky, indifferent to the violence, preparing to unleash itself below. Elias lay behind a fallen log near the ford. His Henry rifle resting on the wood.
Winona lay beside him. She had refused to go to the caves. She had a Winchester across her lap, her braids tied back, her face smeared with mud to cut the glare. "You should be with your father," Elias whispered. "My father is leading the center," she said, her eyes fixed on the bend in the river.
"My place is with my husband." Elias looked at her in the harsh light. She was beautiful and terrifying. The girl he had woken up next to was gone. In her place was a warrior born of necessity.
I love you, he said. It was the first time he had said it without fear attached to it. Winona looked at him. She reached out and squeezed his hand. Live to tell me that tomorrow.
Elias at dusk. They arrived. It started with the sound of jingling tack and the heavy rumble of wagons. Then the column appeared around the bend. It was a motley force.
At the front rode the militia, rough men in dusters, mercenaries paid in gold and whiskey. Behind them were the traitors, Vain's personal enforcers, and scattered among them were blue uniforms, soldiers who had either been lied to or had lost their moral compass in the vastness of the territory. Vain was there. Elias saw him through the sights of his rifle. The agent was riding in a carriage near the rear, wrapped in a fur coat, looking like a king surveying his domain.
They saw the empty canyon. They saw the river ford. It's quiet. A militia captain shouted. Too quiet.
Push forward. Vain's voice drifted over the water. Flush them out. The lead riders entered the water. The horses splashed through the icy current.
As waited. He watched the lead rider reached the halfway point. He watched the second and the third. He waited until the river was full of men. Now, screamed.
He squeezed the trigger. The lead rider fell from his saddle from the ridges above. 321 rifles opened fire at once. The sound was apocalyptic. The canyon walls magnified the report into a continuous rolling thunder that shook the ground.
The river erupted in splashes and screams. The militia caught in the open water panicked. Horses reared, throwing their riders into the freezing current. Men scrambled for the far bank only to be met by Iron Dog and his flankers emerging from the rocks. It was not a battle.
It was a meat grinder. The militia tried to retreat, but the wagons in the rear had jammed the narrow trail. Chaos consumed the column. Elias fired, worked the lever, and fired again. He did not aim for faces.
He aimed for shapes. He was a machine again, but this time the machine was fighting for something real. Winona was firing beside him. She was calm, methodical. She did not waste ammunition.
"They are breaking," she shouted over the roar. "Look!" The rear of the column was turning. Vain's carriage was trying to wheel around. The driver whipping the horses in a frenzy.
"He's running!" Elias yelled. "Vain is running!" The chief saw it, too. From his position on the lower slope, Standing Elk rose.
He signaled to a group of young warriors. They mounted their ponies, which had been hidden in a draw, and charged. The charge hit the rear of the retreating column like a hammer. The carriage was overturned. The firing began to sputter out as the militia scattered, running for the tree line, abandoning the fight.
They were mercenaries. They were not willing to die for Vain's greed. Elias and Winona ran down the slope toward the overturned carriage. Smoke drifted across the battlefield, stinging their eyes. In the mud near the riverbank, the chief had cornered vain.
The agent was crawling on his hands and knees, clutching a satchel. Gold coins spilled from it into the bloody snow. He looked up, his face a mask of terror, mud plastering his expensive hair to his skull. Standing elk stood over him. The chief held a war club, but he did not strike.
He just looked at the man who had starved his grandchildren. Please, Vain gibbered, holding up a hand. I can pay you. I have money. Government gold.
Take it. Take it all. You stole the land, the chief said, his voice heavy with exhaustion. You stole the food. And now you try to buy your life with what you stole.
Vain's eyes darted to the side. Look out, Elias screamed. He saw the movement in the brush. A wounded militia man propped against a wheel raising a pistol. Elias lunged, but he was too far away.
The pistol cracked. Standing Elk jerked. A red bloom appeared on his chest, shattering the quill work of his shirt. No. Winona screamed, a sound that tore her throat raw.
The chief fell. Elias raised his rifle and shot the militia man, but the damage was done. Vain scrambled to his feet, trying to run while everyone was frozen in horror. Iron Dog appeared out of the smoke. He did not use a gun.
He swung his tomahawk. Vain collapsed. The silence of his end sudden and absolute. But Elias wasn't watching Vain. He was running to the chief.