Throw down your guns and come out. Wyatt looked at "Ayla." Her face was stre with soot and sweat, her hands shaking as she reloaded the rifle. But her eyes were clear, determined. "I'm not giving up," she said.
"Me neither." "Then I guess we die together." Wyatt reached out and took her hand, squeezing at once. "There's worse ways to go." She smiled, sad and small.
"Yeah, there are." "All right!" Wyatt shouted through the broken window. "You want us? Come and get us."
More gunfire erupted, and Wyatt fired back. But even as he did, he knew this was the end. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and running out of ammunition. Any moment now, one of those bullets would find its mark, and that would be it. Then something changed.
A new sound cut through the gunfire. Hoofbeats fast and getting closer and voices shouting orders. The shooting from outside faltered, then stopped. Wyatt risked a glance through the window and saw riders pouring into the yard. Six of them.
No, Eight. All armed, all moving with military precision. And in the lead was a man Wyatt recognized. Marshal Hendricks. "Drop your weapons," Hendricks roared.
"You're all under arrest." Chaos erupted outside. Some of Harlo's men tried to run. Others tried to fight. But Hendricks and his deputies were ready.
Gunshots rang out, brief and decisive. Within minutes, it was over. Wyatt lowered his gun, disbelief washing over him. "How the girl?" Ayla said, her voice stunned.
When I rode west, I passed a camp. Hunters, I thought, but one of them. He asked if I was in trouble. I told him what was happening. He must have ridden for help.
Wyatt let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob. "You beautiful, stubborn woman." The cabin door burst open, and Hendricks stepped inside, his gun drawn. He looked around at the destruction, then at Wyatt and "Ayla." "Mercer," he said.
"You look like hell." "Feel like it too," Wyatt said, leaning heavily against the wall. "Glad you showed up when you did." "Got word there was trouble out here. Came as fast as we could."
He holstered his gun. "You two all right?" "We'll live." Hendricks nodded, then stepped back outside. Through the broken window, Wyatt could see Harlo and his men being herded into a line, their hands bound.
Harlo's face was a mask of rage, but there was fear there, too. the kind that came from knowing the game was over and you'd lost. Ayla slumped against the wall, the rifle slipping from her hands. "Is it really over?" "Yeah," Wyatt said, moving to sit beside her. "It's over."
She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. "I thought we were going to die." "So did I." They sat there together in the wreckage of the cabin, too exhausted to move, as the deputies outside finished securing the prisoners. After a few minutes, Hendricks came back in.