The agent is done. Gojo didn't care about the agent. He spurred his horse, driving the animals chest into Cal, knocking him down again. The horse's hooves flashed inches from Cal's skull. Gojo leaped from the saddle.
He landed on Cal like a mountain lion. They rolled in the dirt, a tangle of limbs and rage. Gojo was stronger, fueled by a lifetime of war and the bitter poison of humiliation. He dropped his gun and went for his knife. A heavy butcher blade that glinted in the sun.
I take your heart. Go screamed, pinning Cal's arm with his knee. I take it to the dogs. Cal struggled, gasping for air. His cracked ribs were screaming.
He caught Gajou
She had picked up a dropped shotgun. She had it leveled at them, but she couldn't shoot. They were too close. Go saw her, too. He laughed, a wet, choking sound.
Watch, woman. Watch him die. He put all his weight on the knife. The blade tip touched Cal's skin. A line of blood appeared on Cal's throat.
Cal looked into Goo's eyes. He saw no mercy. He saw a man who would rather burn the world down than live in it with shame. Cal freed his right hand. He couldn't reach his own gun.
But Gooo's revolver was lying in the dirt next to his head. Cal let go of the knife wrist with one hand and grabbed the heavy colt. He jammed the barrel into Gojo's side right below the ribs. "Don't make me, Cal gritted out." Gojo lunged, driving the knife down.
Cal pulled the trigger. The boom was muffled by Gojo's body. The impact lifted the Apache leader off Cal. Gojo froze. The knife slipped from his fingers.
He looked down at his stomach. Then at Cal, he did not look afraid. He looked surprised. He rolled off Cal, collapsing onto his back in the dirt. The chaos around them seemed to recede.
The sounds of the town fading into a dull roar. Cal scrambled up, coughing, clutching his throat where the knife had cut him. He looked down at the dying man. Na dropped the shotgun. She walked to her husband.
She knelt in the bloody dust. Gojo's eyes focused on her. His breath was coming in wet rattles. You, Gojo whispered. You are mine.
No, Naelli said softly. She reached out and closed his eyes even before the light left them. I was never yours. Gojo. I was just the shadow you cast.
He shuddered once and then he was gone. Cal stood there swaying. He felt sick. He had killed the man he had wronged. It didn't feel like victory.
It felt like another stain on a soul that was already dark. He looked at Naelli. She was staring at the body. Her face was unreadable. Not happy, not sad, but hollowed out by the complexity of a grief that had no name.
She had hated him. Yes, but he had been the shield of her people for 20 years. Reed. The shout came from Sheriff Miller. He's getting away.
Cal snapped his head up. Through the settling dust, he saw Silus Reed galloping out of the alley on a black mare, heading north toward the river crossing. Cal looked at Nielli. She stood up. She wiped her hands on her skirt.
"Finish it," she said. Cal grabbed the reins of Gojo's war pony which was standing nearby. Trembling, he swung into the saddle. The stirrups were too short. The saddle strange, but the horse was fast.
He spurred the animal. I'm coming with you, Na shouted. She grabbed the horse of the dead gunman and vaulted on. They rode out of the square, leaving the dead baker's wife, the dead chief, and the stunned town behind them. The chase was a blur of wind and grit.
Reed was riding a thoroughbred fast on the flat, but Cal and Nielli were riding with a desperation of people who had nothing left to lose. They pushed the horses hard across the scrubland, the hooves kicking up clouds of alkali. Reed was heading for the skeleton canyon crossing. If he made it across the river, he could lose himself in the bad lands. Maybe make it to a railhead.
Maybe disappear with his stolen money. They reached the canyon entrance as the sun began to dip, casting long, bruised shadows across the rock. Reed's horse was blowing hard. He whipped it mercilessly. Cal cut across a switchback, risking the horse's legs on the loose shale.
He gained ground. Reed looked back. His face was a pale oval of terror. He fired a wild shot over his shoulder. Cal didn't return fire.
He rode. They hit the riverbank. The water was low but fast, churning around black rocks. Reed forced his horse into the water. The animal stumbled.
Reed fell, splashing into the icy current. He scrambled up, clutching his saddle bags, dragging himself toward the far bank. Cal pulled his horse to a sliding stop. He jumped down. Naelli rained in beside him.
Reed was crawling up the muddy bank on the other side. He was wet, shivering, pathetic. "Stop!" Cal yelled. His voice echoed off the canyon walls.
Reed turned. He pulled a second gun, a small daringer from his boot. You can't touch me, Reed screamed. I have friends. I have money.
I will buy the judge. I will buy the governor. You are nobody. Hart, you are dirt. He raised the gun.
Cal stood on the bank. He raised his heavy Winchester rifle. He didn't aim for the leg. He didn't aim to wound. He remembered the starving children.
He remembered the boy Chaitton scalped for a headline. He remembered the baker's wife in the dust. The system would let Reed go. A lawyer would find a loophole. A bribe would find a pocket.
There was no court here. There was only the river and the wind. Reed fired. The small bullet hit the water 5 ft in front of Cal. Cal took a breath.
He squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked against his bruised shoulder. The bullet caught Silas Reed in the center of his chest. It knocked him backward as if he had been kicked by a mule. He slammed into the mud, slid down the bank, and came to rest with his boots in the water.
The saddle bags fell open. Greenback dollars spilled out, floating away on the current, dissolving like wet leaves. Cal lowered the rifle. The ringing in his ears was loud, a high-pitched whine that wouldn't stop. It was over.
He sat down heavily on a driftwood log. He put his head in his hands. He shook. The adrenaline was crashing, leaving him hollowed out and trembling. Naelli walked to the water's edge.
She watched the money float away. She watched the body of the man who had tried to erase her people. She did not cheer. She did not smile. She walked back to Cal and sat beside him.
She did not touch him at first. She just sat, letting her presence be the anchor. He is dead. she said. Cal nodded into his hands. And Gajjo is dead.
And the woman in the square and the truth is out, Naelli said. She reached out and took his hand. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was steady. Look at me, Cal. Cal raised his head.
His face was a map of violence, bruises, cuts, blood that wasn't his. We did not choose the war, Nile said. We only chose how to fight it. Cal looked at the river. Is it enough?