The rope snapped taut against Red’s wrists, biting into the skin right as the first ice fell.
Gideon pulled the hemp rope tight. It made a dry, cracking sound.
"You always tied knots like a sailor with broken thumbs," Red said.
Gideon did not look up. He looped the excess rope around his own left hand. The skin on his knuckles was split and peeling. The wind bit at the raw patches. He pulled again.
"Seriously," Red said. "You pull that any tighter, my hands are going to pop right off."
"That would make the walk easier," Gideon said.
"You don't mean that."
"I do."
Gideon checked the cylinder of his revolver. The iron was freezing. The cold metal sucked the heat right out of his bare fingers. He snapped the cylinder shut. The sharp click echoed against the jagged rocks. Yellow leaves, dead and curled like old paper, spun around their boots. The ground was hard. It was only autumn, but the dirt felt like iron.
"You aren't going to turn me in," Red said.
"Keep walking," Gideon said. He shoved Red’s shoulder.
Red stumbled. His boots scraped over a patch of frozen mud. He caught his balance. He turned back, his bright blue eyes entirely too calm for a man wearing heavy iron cuffs under thick rope.
"It’s a three-day hike over Reaper's Pass," Red said. "You really think you can stare at the back of my head for three days?"
"I can stare at a rock for three days if it pays five hundred dollars."
"I’m worth five hundred now?" Red grinned. His teeth were crooked. "I should be insulted. I robbed the Union Pacific. That’s at least an eight-hundred-dollar job."
"Walk."
Gideon gave the rope a sharp tug. Red started up the incline. The mountain loomed above them. It was a massive wall of gray stone and dead pine trees. The sky above the peaks was an ugly bruised purple. The clouds were moving fast. Too fast.
Gideon’s jaw was tight. His back teeth ground together. He could feel a pulse ticking in his neck. He hated this mountain. He hated the color of the sky. Most of all, he hated the sound of Red’s voice.
"You still have that twitch," Red called back over his shoulder.
"Shut your mouth."
"Right there. Under your left eye. It jumps when you're lying."
"I'm not lying about anything."
"You're lying to yourself," Red said. He kicked a loose rock. It tumbled down the steep path, clattering into the silence. "You think bringing me in fixes it? You think the law cares about what we did at Fort Garrison?"
Gideon stopped. The rope went rigid. He yanked it so hard Red was pulled backward a half-step.
"We do not talk about Fort Garrison," Gideon said. His voice was low. It scraped in his throat.
"Why? Because it makes your tummy hurt?" Red laughed, but the sound was thin and brittle. "We burned it down, Gid. We followed the orders. We lit the matches. You think pinning a tin star to your chest and hunting me down washes the soot off your hands?"
"I am not a lawman," Gideon said. "I am a bounty hunter. There is a difference."
"Yeah. The lawman gets a pension. You just get cold."
The wind hit them again. This time, it had teeth. Gideon felt a sharp, tiny sting on his cheek. He wiped it with the back of his thumb. A tiny crystal of ice. He looked up.
The purple clouds had swallowed the sun. The shadows on the mountain stretched out, long and sharp.
"Move," Gideon ordered. "Faster."
"What's the rush?"
"Look up, idiot."
Red tilted his head back. A second later, a dozen white flakes hit his face. They weren't the soft, fluffy snow of winter. They were hard, dense pellets of ice. They bounced off his hat brim with tiny tapping sounds.
"Ah," Red said. "Well. That's not ideal."
"If we don't clear the tree line by noon, we are going to freeze to death."
"We?" Red smirked. "You have a coat. I have a torn flannel shirt. I am going to freeze to death. You are just going to be very uncomfortable."
"I will drag your frozen body by the ankles if I have to. The bounty says dead or alive. Walk."
They climbed. The incline grew steeper. The rocks were jagged and loose. Every step required focus. Gideon’s boots slipped twice. His knees slammed into the dirt. He felt the bruises forming immediately. His breath was coming shorter now. The air was thin. It tasted like cold pennies.
The ice pellets turned into a wall of white. It happened in minutes. One second, Gideon could see the dead pines a hundred yards away. The next second, he could barely see the back of Red’s head.
The wind howled. It was a loud, shrieking sound that drowned out the crunch of their boots.
Gideon wrapped the rope twice around his wrist. He pulled himself up over a massive boulder. His fingers were completely numb. They felt like blocks of wood. He looked down at Red.
Red’s face was pale. His lips were turning a faint shade of blue. He was shivering violently.
"I can't see the trail!" Red shouted. He had to scream to be heard over the wind.
"Keep going up!" Gideon screamed back.
"Up is just more cold!"
"There is a mining camp! Over the ridge!"
Gideon pushed past Red. He took the lead, dragging the rope over his shoulder. The snow was accumulating fast. It was already up to his ankles. It was heavy, wet snow that clung to his boots and soaked through the leather.
His thighs burned. His chest heaved. He focused entirely on the ground right in front of his boots. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot.
He bumped into something hard.
He blinked through the ice sticking to his eyelashes. It was a wall. Rusted corrugated iron and rotted wood.
"Here!" Gideon yelled.
He traced the wall with his hand until he found a gap. A door frame with no door. He grabbed Red by the collar and shoved him inside.
Gideon stumbled in after him and collapsed against the wall.
The inside of the cabin was pitch black. The wind screamed through the open doorway, throwing handfuls of snow across the dirt floor.
Gideon scrambled to his feet. He felt around in the dark. His hands hit a heavy wooden table, then a broken chair. He grabbed the chair, hauled it over to the doorway, and wedged it against a massive sheet of loose tin leaning against the wall. The tin screeched against the floorboards, but it covered the gap. The wind was instantly muffled.
The silence in the room was heavy. It was broken only by the sound of Red’s teeth chattering.
"I can't feel my fingers," Red whispered. His voice was shaking.
Gideon ignored him. He dropped to his knees. He patted the floor until he found a pile of dry pine needles and broken twigs. A rat's nest. Perfect.
He fumbled in his coat pocket. His fingers were clumsy. They refused to bend. He finally managed to fish out a small brass matchbox. He pushed the little slider open. Three matches left.
He struck the first match against the floor. It snapped in half.
Gideon cursed. His jaw ached from clenching it so hard. He took a deep breath. The air in the cabin was freezing and stale. He struck the second match. It flared to life.
The sudden yellow light revealed the cabin. It was small. The walls were covered in deep scratch marks. An old iron stove sat in the corner, its pipe entirely rusted through.
Gideon cupped the tiny flame. He lowered it to the rat's nest. The dry needles caught immediately. They flared up with a bright, popping sound. Gideon quickly fed the fire with splinters of wood from a smashed crate. Within minutes, he had a fire the size of a dinner plate burning in the center of the dirt floor.
He slumped back against the wall. He rubbed his hands together furiously.
Red shuffled closer to the fire. He held his tied hands out toward the flames. He was shaking so hard the rope vibrated.
"Untie me," Red said.
"No."
"Gid, my hands are blue. I can't feel them. I'm going to lose my fingers."
"Keep them near the fire. They'll thaw."
Gideon reached into his saddlebag, which he had hauled over his shoulder. He pulled out a single tin can. Beans. He stared at it. He pulled his hunting knife from his belt and jammed the heavy blade into the top of the can. He sawed a jagged circle around the rim, prying the lid up with his thumb. He placed the can directly into the edge of the fire.
They sat in silence for a long time. The tin roof rattled above them. The wind outside sounded like a train roaring past.
"You should have left me down in the valley," Red said quietly. The shivering was starting to subside.
"The valley is full of marsh. We would have drowned in the mud."
"Better than freezing in a box."
"You aren't freezing. You're whining."
Red let out a short, hollow laugh. He looked across the fire at Gideon. The orange light danced across Red’s face. It made him look older. The lines around his eyes were deep.
"You haven't changed," Red said. "You still think you can muscle your way through everything. You think if you just grit your teeth hard enough, the world will stop pushing back."
"It usually does."
"Not this time. You know who else is out there?"
Gideon looked up. He didn't say anything.
"Alex," Red said.
Gideon’s eye twitched. The tiny muscle under his left lid jumped.
"Alex The Tracker," Red continued. He leaned forward. "You think you're the only guy with a badge hunting me? Alex has a crew of five guys. They've been on my tail since Denver. They don't care about taking me alive, Gid. They just want the proof of kill. And they don't care who gets in the way."
"Alex is a coward. He won't track in a blizzard."
"He tracked me through the desert for three weeks. He’ll track me through this."
Gideon grabbed a rag from his pocket. He wrapped it around his hand and pulled the hot bean can from the fire. The metal hissed. He pulled a wooden spoon from his bag. He took a bite. The beans were scalding hot on the edges and ice cold in the middle. He didn't care. He swallowed them whole.
He tossed the spoon onto Red's lap. He slid the can across the dirt.
"Eat," Gideon said.
Red struggled to pick up the can with his bound hands. He had to press his palms together to clamp the hot metal. He clumsily scooped the beans into his mouth.
"You remember the last time we shared a can of beans?" Red asked. His mouth was full.
"Shut up and eat."
"It was the night before we rode into Fort Garrison. We split a can of peaches, too. You were so nervous you threw up behind the supply wagon."
"I said shut up."
Gideon stood up. He walked over to the sheet of tin blocking the door. He peered through a tiny crack. It was completely white outside. The snow was falling so fast it looked solid.
"We didn't know there were families inside," Red said softly. His voice cut right through the noise of the storm. "We didn't know, Gid. The Captain said it was just a rebel armory."
Gideon turned around. His hand rested on the grip of his revolver. His knuckles were white.
"Stop talking about it."
"You have nightmares," Red said. "I know you do. Because I do. I wake up screaming. I see the fire. I hear the shouting."
"I sleep fine."
"Liar. Your eye is twitching again."
Gideon crossed the room in two strides. He grabbed Red by the collar of his flannel shirt and hauled him upward. The empty bean can clattered to the dirt. Red didn't fight back. He just stared right into Gideon’s eyes.
"I am taking you to the magistrate in Red Rock," Gideon whispered. His face was inches from Red’s. "I am taking the five hundred dollars. I am buying a horse, and I am riding to California. I am never looking back. Do you understand me?"
Red smiled sadly. "You can ride all the way to the ocean, buddy. You'll still see the smoke."
Gideon shoved him backward. Red hit the wall and slid down to the floor.
Gideon turned his back. He stared into the fire. He hated the way his hands were shaking. It wasn't the cold.
Then, a sound cut through the howl of the wind.
It was a low, guttural scraping sound. It came from the back wall of the cabin.
Gideon froze. He stopped breathing.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Wood splintering. Claws on rotted pine.
Gideon slowly drew his revolver. He thumbed the hammer back. The double click was incredibly loud in the small room.
"Gid?" Red whispered. He was staring at the back wall.
Two small, bright yellow circles appeared in the darkness between the broken planks. They were perfectly round. They did not blink.
"Wolves," Gideon said. His voice was completely flat.
The wall exploded inward.
Rotted wood shattered like glass. A massive gray blur crashed through the gap, bringing a wave of freezing snow with it.
Gideon didn't think. He fired.
The gunshot was deafening inside the tin box. The flash illuminated the room in a blinding strobe of yellow light. The bullet slammed into the dirt floor, missing the creature entirely.
The wolf was gigantic. It was the size of a mountain lion, its fur matted with ice and burrs. It hit the ground, scrambled its back legs against the dirt, and lunged straight for Red.
Red kicked out with his heavy boots. The heel struck the wolf squarely in the jaw. The animal snapped its head back, its teeth clicking together with a sound like a steel trap snapping shut. It snarled, a wet, rattling sound deep in its chest.
Crash.
A second wolf tore through the tin blocking the doorway. It knocked the wooden chair aside as if it weighed nothing.
"Gideon!" Red screamed. He was backed against the wall, trying to pull his tied hands up to protect his face.
Gideon spun around. The second wolf launched itself at him. Gideon swung his revolver like a club. The heavy iron barrel smashed into the side of the wolf’s head. The animal yelped and hit the floor, sliding across the dirt.
More shadows moved outside the broken walls. Three more sets of yellow eyes.
They were starving. The blizzard had driven them mad with hunger. They weren't going to stop.
Gideon holstered his gun. He drew his hunting knife. He dove across the floor, sliding on his knees through the dirt and snow. He grabbed Red’s bound wrists.
"Hold still!" Gideon yelled.
"Cut it! Cut it!"
Gideon jammed the blade between Red’s wrists and sawed upward. The thick hemp resisted, then snapped. Red’s arms flew apart.
"Take this!" Gideon shoved the heavy piece of firewood he had used earlier into Red’s hand.
The first wolf recovered from the kick. It lunged again. Red swung the wood like a baseball bat. The log connected with a dull thud against the wolf’s ribs. The beast spun sideways, crashing into the rusted iron stove. The stove toppled over, sending a cloud of orange sparks and ash into the air.
Gideon stood up, his knife in his right hand, pulling his revolver again with his left. The second wolf leaped at his back.
He felt the heavy weight hit his shoulders. Claws dug through his heavy canvas coat, tearing into the skin of his back. Gideon roared. He twisted violently, throwing himself backward against the wall. The wolf was crushed between Gideon and the wood. It let go.
Gideon spun and pointed the gun downward. He fired.
The wolf went limp.
Through the haze of gun smoke and ash, a third wolf—the alpha—stepped through the doorway. It was pure black. Its eyes were fixed entirely on Gideon. It didn't rush. It stepped slowly, its muscles coiled tight under its thick coat.
Gideon aimed the revolver. He pulled the trigger.
Click.
A misfire. The cold had jammed the cylinder.
Gideon frantically tried to thumb the hammer back again. His freezing thumb slipped off the metal.
The black wolf leaped. Its jaws opened wide, aiming straight for Gideon’s throat.
Gideon raised his left arm to block it, bracing for the tearing of teeth.
A body slammed into him from the side.
Red tackled Gideon to the dirt. The black wolf sailed over them, its jaws snapping on empty air. It hit the back wall and instantly spun around, its claws tearing up the dirt.
Red didn't hesitate. He scrambled to his knees, grabbed the heavy iron door of the broken stove from the ground, and hurled it with both hands. The solid iron plate struck the black wolf right between the eyes.
The alpha dropped instantly. It didn't move.
The sudden silence in the cabin was terrifying. The remaining wolves outside stopped scratching. They peered through the broken doorway, saw the alpha lying dead in the dirt, and scattered back into the howling storm.
Gideon lay on his back. His chest was heaving. He stared up at the rusted tin roof. His left arm was throbbing where the claws had scraped him.
Red slumped against the wall. He dropped his head between his knees. He was gasping for air.
"You okay?" Red asked between breaths.
Gideon didn't answer right away. He looked at Red. Red had just thrown away his only chance to escape. He could have let the alpha tear Gideon’s throat out. He could have walked out the door a free man.
"Why did you do that?" Gideon asked. His voice was hoarse.
Red looked up. He wiped a streak of soot off his forehead. "Because I don't want to watch another guy die in a burning room. Even you."
Gideon sat up. He grabbed his dropped revolver. He broke the cylinder open, shaking out the jammed cartridge. He loaded a fresh round. His hands were completely steady now. The adrenaline had burned away the cold.
He looked at Red. He looked at the broken rope on the floor.
He opened his mouth to speak.
CRACK.
A bullet tore through the tin wall. It zipped past Gideon’s ear, inches from his head, and buried itself in the dirt.
Wood splinters rained down on them.
Gideon instantly flattened himself against the floor. Red dove behind the overturned iron stove.
"Wolves don't shoot rifles!" Red shouted over the storm.
"I know!" Gideon yelled back.
A voice drifted in through the broken walls. It was barely audible over the screaming wind, but the tone was perfectly clear. It was mocking. It was slow.
"Gideon Parsons!" the voice called out. "I know you're in there, buddy! Throw out the fugitive, and you can keep your fingers!"
Gideon gritted his teeth. His eye twitched violently.
"Alex," Red whispered from behind the stove.
"I'm not giving him my bounty," Gideon said.
"He has five guys out there, Gid! They have rifles! We have one revolver and a pocket knife!"
"I am not giving him my bounty."
Gideon crawled over to the door frame. He peered around the edge of the rusted tin. Through the blinding curtain of white snow, he could make out four dark shapes spread out in a semi-circle around the front of the cabin. They were moving slowly, using the thick pine trunks for cover.
Alex The Tracker was standing right in the open. He wore a heavy buffalo coat. He held a Winchester rifle casually across his chest.
"I'm going to count to ten, Parsons!" Alex yelled. "Then we shoot the cabin to pieces. You know how thin that tin is!"
Gideon looked back at Red. Red was staring at him. There was no fear in Red’s eyes. Just a quiet, tired acceptance.
"You want the bounty that bad?" Red asked.
"It's not about the money anymore," Gideon said. He checked the cylinder of his gun one last time. Six rounds.
"What is it about, then?"
Gideon looked at the broken rope. He looked at the dead wolf. He looked at the man he used to call his brother.
"It's about finishing what we started," Gideon said. He tossed the hunting knife across the dirt. It landed right at Red’s boots. "Pick it up. We're going out the back."
"One!" Alex shouted from the storm.
Gideon pointed to the hole the wolves had torn in the back wall of the cabin. It was small, but large enough for a man to squeeze through.
"Two!"
"You go first," Gideon whispered. "Stay low. The snow is deep enough to hide your tracks if you slide on your stomach."
"Three!"
Red grabbed the hunting knife. He didn't argue. He dove headfirst through the jagged hole, his boots disappearing into the blinding white.
"Four!"
Gideon followed. He squeezed through the broken wood, the splinters catching on his heavy coat. He hit the snow. It was freezing, wet, and incredibly deep. It immediately soaked through his trousers, chilling his skin like a physical blow.
"Five!"
They were behind the cabin. The wind was whipping around the corners of the structure, creating a massive snowdrift. Gideon crawled forward, dragging his body through the powder. Red was right beside him.
"Six!"
"We flank them," Gideon whispered, his mouth practically touching the snow. "Circle around the right side. The wind is blowing from the left. It will carry our noise away."
"Seven!"
Red nodded. They began to crawl. The physical exertion was immense. Every foot forward required dragging their dead weight through a wall of ice. Gideon’s fingers were completely numb again, but he kept his grip locked on his revolver.
"Eight!"
They reached the edge of the tree line. The massive trunks of the dead pines offered solid cover. Gideon pulled himself up behind a tree. Red crouched beside him.
"Nine!"
Gideon peeked around the bark. He could see the backs of two of Alex's men. They were focused entirely on the front of the cabin. Their rifles were raised.
"Ten! Light it up!"
The air tore apart. Five rifles fired simultaneously. The sound was a continuous, rolling thunderclap. Wood splintered. Tin shrieked and folded. The cabin was shredded. Bullets punched through the thin walls as if they were paper.
Gideon didn't wait for them to stop firing. He stepped out from behind the tree.
He raised his revolver. He didn't aim with his eye. He aimed with his arm, the way he was taught in the cavalry.
Bang.
The man on the far right dropped his rifle and pitched forward into the snow.
Bang.
The second man spun around, a hole appearing in his heavy wool coat. He collapsed backward.
The remaining three men, including Alex, instantly stopped firing at the cabin. They whirled around, searching the blinding white storm for the source of the shots.
"In the trees!" Alex screamed.
Gideon ducked back behind the pine trunk just as a volley of bullets chipped the bark inches from his face. Wood shards showered his hat.
"Move!" Gideon yelled at Red.
They broke cover and ran. The snow made running almost impossible. It was a clumsy, desperate stumble through knee-deep drifts.
Gideon fired twice more over his shoulder, blindly, just to keep their heads down.
He threw himself behind a massive granite boulder. Red slid in right behind him.
"I'm out of bullets," Gideon said. He popped the cylinder open. Empty brass casings tumbled into the snow. He reached into his coat pocket. His fingers were so cold they wouldn't bend. He fumbled with the spare rounds, dropping two into the snow before finally shoving four into the cylinder.
Footsteps. Crunching in the snow. Close.
Gideon snapped the cylinder shut. He spun around the edge of the boulder.
One of Alex's men was right there, his rifle raised.
Gideon fired. The man fell backward, his rifle discharging into the sky.
Three down. Two left.
"Where is Alex?" Gideon shouted.
He didn't get an answer. Instead, a heavy weight slammed into his back.
It was the fourth man. He had circled the boulder from the other side. He tackled Gideon to the ground. The revolver flew out of Gideon’s hand, disappearing into a snowbank.
The man was huge. He pinned Gideon to the dirt, driving a heavy fist into Gideon’s jaw. The world flashed bright white. Gideon tasted blood. The man reached for a knife on his belt.
Red appeared from the blind spot. He lunged forward, driving Gideon’s hunting knife deep into the man’s shoulder.
The man screamed, rolling off Gideon and clutching his arm. Red kicked him hard in the head, knocking him unconscious into the drift.
Gideon spat blood into the snow. He scrambled to his knees, frantically digging in the white powder for his gun. His fingers brushed cold iron. He grabbed it.
He looked up.
Alex The Tracker was standing ten feet away.
The wind had momentarily died down. The snow stopped swirling. For a split second, the air was perfectly clear.
Alex had his Winchester raised, sighted directly at Gideon’s chest.
"Too slow, Parsons," Alex said. His finger tightened on the trigger.
Gideon knew he couldn't raise his revolver in time. He froze, bracing for the impact.
A blur of red flannel moved across his vision.
Red threw himself directly between Gideon and the rifle.
CRACK.
The sound was flat and final.
Red jerked violently. He stopped moving completely for a fraction of a second, suspended in the air, before collapsing straight down into the snow.
Gideon roared. He raised his revolver and fired three times in rapid succession.
Click. Click. Click.
Alex dropped his rifle. He stumbled backward, his hands clutching his chest. He looked down at his coat, looked back at Gideon with an expression of absolute shock, and fell over backward. He didn't move again.
The silence returned. The wind picked up, howling through the trees, blowing a fresh layer of snow over the bodies.
Gideon dropped the gun. He fell to his knees next to Red.
Red was lying on his back. A dark, ugly stain was spreading rapidly across his chest, turning the white snow crimson. His breathing was shallow and wet.
"Red," Gideon whispered. He pressed his hands hard against the wound. The blood was warm. It slipped right through his fingers. "Hold on. Just hold on."
Red looked up at him. His blue eyes were cloudy. He smiled, a weak, crooked expression.
"Told you... I'm not freezing to death," Red wheezed.
"Shut up. Keep pressure on it."
"Gid." Red reached up with a bloody, freezing hand. He grabbed the lapel of Gideon’s coat. His grip was surprisingly strong. "It's okay."
"No, it's not. You idiot. Why did you jump?"
"I couldn't fix... the fort," Red whispered. His voice was fading fast. It was barely a breath. "But I can fix this. You're free, buddy. Let it go."
Red’s hand went slack. It slipped off Gideon’s coat and dropped into the snow. His eyes stared straight up at the bruised purple sky, unblinking.
Gideon sat there. He didn't move for a long time. The snow fell, covering Red’s boots, covering the blood, covering everything.
Gideon finally stood up. His knees popped. His jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached.
He walked back to the ruined cabin. The fire had burned down to a few glowing embers. Gideon reached into his inner coat pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of heavy paper. The bounty poster.
WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE: THOMAS 'RED' LANGE. $500.
Gideon stared at the drawing. He stared at the price.
He dropped the paper onto the embers. The edges curled, turned black, and burst into bright yellow flames. He watched until the paper was nothing but gray ash, entirely indistinguishable from the dirt.
Gideon picked up his saddlebag, turned his back to the burning embers, and walked alone into the freezing white oblivion.
“Gideon picked up his saddlebag, turned his back to the burning embers, and walked alone into the freezing white oblivion.”
