"Heir Unrivaled"
Chapter Six: The Chief's Bargain
The Montana sun hung low, painting the plains in hues of amber and blood. Wyatt Archer stood at the edge of Great Falls' rail yard, his boots sinking into the mud, his Stetson tipped back to reveal eyes sharp as a hawk's. The depot behind him buzzed with life—workers hammered rails, guards patrolled the reinforced palisade, and the watchtower's bell gleamed in the fading light. The victory over Silas Kane's camp had bought them time, but the crumpled Hawthorne letter in Wyatt's vest pocket was a reminder: time was a luxury he didn't have. The Hawthornes were tightening their noose in Nova Washington, and now Red Hawk's warriors were coming—not to raid, but to talk.
Wyatt's Colt revolver rested at his hip, a familiar weight, but today he was armed with something sharper: his 2025 mind, honed by years of corporate deals and late-night strategy books. Red Hawk wasn't just a chief; he was a king on his own land, and kings didn't bend easily. Wyatt's offer—supplies and a rerouted railroad in exchange for peace—was a gamble, but if he played it right, the Blackfoot could be allies, not enemies.
"Riders comin'!" a guard shouted from the watchtower. Wyatt squinted north, where dust rose like a storm cloud. Twenty riders, maybe more, their buffalo-hide cloaks flapping like war flags. At their head was Red Hawk, his silhouette unmistakable, tall and unyielding as the Rockies.
Jedediah Cole jogged up, his Winchester slung low, his bearded face etched with worry. "You sure about this, Archer? Last time Red Hawk came this close, we lost a shed and two men."
Wyatt's grin was pure prodigal son, loose and reckless. "Last time, I wasn't here. Set up a table outside the gate—whiskey, bread, whatever we've got. Make it look like a parley, not a standoff."
Jed raised an eyebrow but nodded, barking orders to the men. Savannah Blake appeared at Wyatt's side, her auburn hair tucked under a bonnet, her gray eyes scanning the approaching riders. She carried a leather satchel, stuffed with papers that could make or break the Archer empire. "You're playing with fire," she said, her drawl soft but sharp. "Red Hawk doesn't trust white men, and he's got reason."
"Then I'll give him a reason to trust me," Wyatt said, his voice steady. "You got that telegram sent to Nova Washington?"
She nodded. "My contacts are digging into Cornelius Hawthorne's bill. They say he's bribing senators left and right. If it passes, your railroads are federal property, and the Hawthornes get first bid."
Wyatt's jaw tightened, but his grin held. "Then we'd better make sure Red Hawk's on our side before Kane comes back with a bigger stick."
The riders halted a hundred yards out, their horses snorting steam. Red Hawk dismounted, his buffalo cloak sweeping the ground, a tomahawk gleaming at his belt. He raised a hand, and four warriors joined him, their faces painted with ochre, rifles slung across their backs. The rest stayed mounted, a silent threat against the horizon.
Wyatt stepped through the depot gate, Jed and Savannah flanking him. A rough wooden table stood in the open, laden with a bottle of whiskey, a loaf of bread, and a tin of coffee—meager offerings, but a start. Wyatt raised both hands, palms open. "Red Hawk," he called. "Welcome to my table. Let's talk."
The chief's eyes were flint, unreadable as he approached. His warriors fanned out, their hands resting on weapons, but Red Hawk's gaze was fixed on Wyatt, measuring him like a wolf sizing up prey. "You are bold, Archer," he said, his voice deep, accented but clear. "Or foolish. Most men would shoot before speaking."
"Shooting's easy," Wyatt said, sitting at the table and gesturing for Red Hawk to join him. "Talking's harder. And I figure you're a man who respects hard things."
Red Hawk studied him, then sat, his warriors standing behind him like statues. Jed and Savannah stayed close, their hands near their guns. Wyatt poured two glasses of whiskey, sliding one to Red Hawk. "To peace," he said, raising his glass.
The chief didn't touch his. "Peace is a white man's word," he said. "Your iron snake eats our land, our buffalo. Why should I trust you?"
Wyatt leaned forward, his grin fading, his voice low and earnest. "Because I'm not my father. I don't want your land—I want your help. The railroad's coming, whether we like it or not. But it doesn't have to destroy you. I'll reroute the tracks to skirt your hunting grounds. I'll pay you in supplies—food, tools, maybe rifles. Your warriors guard my rails, and we both get rich."
Red Hawk's eyes narrowed, but a flicker of interest crossed his face. "You speak of wealth, but your people break promises. The Hawthornes sent men to burn my villages, blaming you. Why should I believe you are different?"
Wyatt's blood ran cold. The Hawthornes, playing both sides, pitting the Blackfoot against the Archers. It was clever, and it meant Silas Kane wasn't their only weapon. "The Hawthornes are snakes," Wyatt said, his voice hard. "They want my rails and your land. Help me stop them, and I'll make sure your people aren't caught in the crossfire."
Red Hawk leaned back, his fingers brushing the tomahawk's handle. "You ask much, Archer. What do you offer now, not in promises?"
Wyatt had planned for this. He nodded to Jed, who dragged a crate from the depot—blankets, flour, and a dozen steel knives, glinting in the sun. "A start," Wyatt said. "More comes when we agree. And I'll put it in writing, signed and sealed, so your people know I'm not blowing smoke."
The chief's warriors murmured, their eyes on the crate. Red Hawk was silent, his gaze locked on Wyatt, searching for a lie. Finally, he spoke. "I will take your gift. And I will watch you, Archer. If you betray me, no iron snake will save you."
Wyatt nodded, his grin returning. "Fair enough. Let's start with a truce. No raids for a month, and I'll have my surveyors map a new route by then."
Red Hawk stood, his cloak sweeping the ground. "One month," he said. "Prove your words, or blood will answer." He turned, his warriors following, and rode back into the plains, the dust swallowing them like a dream.
Jed let out a low whistle. "You got a silver tongue, Archer. Didn't think he'd listen."
"He's not listening yet," Wyatt said, watching the horizon. "He's waiting. We've got a month to make good."
Savannah stepped closer, her satchel clutched tight. "You just promised to reroute a railroad. That'll cost a fortune, and your father won't like it."
"My father can choke on it," Wyatt said, his voice sharp. "This is my play now."
Back in the depot's office, the lamplight cast long shadows across the map on the table. Wyatt paced, his mind spinning. Red Hawk's truce was a win, but it was fragile, a house of cards in a windstorm. Silas Kane was still out there, wounded but dangerous, and the Hawthorne letter burned in his pocket. Cornelius Hawthorne's bill was a ticking clock, and Wyatt was running out of time to stop it.
Savannah spread her papers on the table, her fingers quick and precise. "My contacts sent another telegram," she said. "Cornelius is meeting with Senator Vanderbilt next week. They're pushing the railroad bill through committee. If it passes, the government takes your lines, and the Hawthornes buy them for pennies."
Wyatt's grin faded. Vanderbilt was a titan, a man who'd built an empire on railroads and bribes. If he was in Cornelius's pocket, the Archers were in deeper trouble than he'd thought. "What's Vanderbilt want?" he asked.
"Money, power, the usual," Savannah said. "But he's got a weakness—his son's gambling debts. Cornelius is covering them, which buys Vanderbilt's vote."
Wyatt's mind clicked, his 2025 instincts kicking in. Leverage was everything. "Find out how much the son owes," he said. "If we can outbid Cornelius, we flip Vanderbilt."
Savannah raised an eyebrow. "Outbid the Hawthornes? You don't have that kind of cash."
"Not yet," Wyatt said, tapping the map. "But Great Falls is sitting on a gold mine—literally. If we can secure the rail line to the mines, the money flows. And I've got an idea to speed things up."
Jed burst in, his face flushed. "Trouble, boss. Nate, the barkeep at the Golden Nugget? He's gone. Cleared out last night, took his cash and a horse. One of the guards saw him riding north—toward Kane's second camp."
Wyatt cursed under his breath. Nate, the Hawthorne's spy, was running to Kane with everything he knew. "Get the posse ready," he said. "We ride at dawn. Kane's not getting another shot at us."
Savannah grabbed his arm, her grip firm. "You're pushing too hard, Wyatt. Kane, Red Hawk, the Hawthornes—you can't fight them all at once."
"I'm not fighting," Wyatt said, his grin wolfish. "I'm winning. And you're gonna help me."
She held his gaze, her eyes searching, then nodded. "Alright. But if you get us killed, I'm haunting you."
Jed chuckled, breaking the tension. "Better saddle up, then. Ain't no ghosts in Montana."
Wyatt looked at the map, the red Xs marking Kane's raids like scars. Red Hawk was a truce, not a victory. Kane was a snake, not a corpse. And the Hawthornes were a storm, gathering in the east. But Wyatt Archer wasn't the prodigal son anymore. He was a man with a plan, and the west was his chessboard. Tomorrow, he'd hunt Kane. Tonight, he'd dream of an empire.
End of Chapter Six