"Heir Unrivaled"
Chapter Ten: The Eastern Gambit
The Montana twilight draped Great Falls in a shroud of indigo, the rail yard's lanterns casting flickering shadows across the iron tracks. Wyatt Archer stood at the depot's gate, his Stetson tilted low, his Colt revolver a steady weight at his hip. The air was thick with the scent of coal dust and river mud, but a sharper edge cut through—trouble, riding in on the hooves of six men from the east. Hawthorne men, armed to the teeth, demanding Silas Kane's release and claiming innocence for their snake of a master. Wyatt's grin was sharp, the prodigal son's charm masking a mind honed by 2025 strategy and a fire to burn the Hawthornes' plans to ash.
The ledger from Elias Ward's emporium weighed heavy in his coat, its pages tying the Hawthornes to Blackfoot renegades and a plot to steal the Archer railroads. Red Hawk's truce was holding, the chief's warriors now guarding the rail line's northern flank, but the arrival of these eastern riders meant Cornelius Hawthorne was striking back. Wyatt's deal with the papers had bloodied their nose, but the railroad bill still loomed in Nova Washington, and Vanderbilt's vote hung in the balance. This wasn't just a fight for Kane—it was a test of Wyatt's grip on the west.
Jedediah Cole stood at his side, his Winchester cradled like a child, his bearded face grim. "Six riders, all packing iron," he muttered. "Lead man's got a fancy suit—looks like a lawyer or a snake oil peddler. You want 'em in the yard or out here?"
"Out here," Wyatt said, his voice low. "Open ground, no surprises. Set up sharpshooters on the watchtower and keep the men ready. If this goes south, we don't give 'em a chance to breathe."
Jed nodded, barking orders to the guards. Savannah Blake emerged from the depot office, her auburn hair tucked under a bonnet, her gray eyes sharp as she clutched a satchel stuffed with telegrams and the damning ledger. "They're not here to negotiate," she said, her drawl cutting through the dusk. "My contacts say Cornelius sent a man named Lyman Price—his top fixer. He's got a silver tongue and a knack for making problems disappear."
Wyatt's grin widened. "Then let's give him a problem he can't fix. Get that ledger ready, Savannah. We're about to deal some cards."
Dust rose on the eastern trail, the riders' silhouettes resolving into six men on sturdy horses, their rifles slung but ready. The lead rider—Lyman Price, no doubt—wore a tailored black suit, his bowler hat gleaming under the rising moon. His face was smooth, his eyes cold, like a gambler who'd never lost a hand. The others were rougher, hired guns with scars and squints that screamed trouble.
Price reined in twenty yards from the gate, his men fanning out behind him. "Wyatt Archer," he called, his voice smooth as whiskey but twice as dangerous. "I'm Lyman Price, representative of the Hawthorne family. We've got business to settle."
Wyatt stepped forward, his hands loose but his Colt a heartbeat away. "Heard you're here for Silas Kane," he said, his grin easy. "Funny thing—Kane's locked up for trying to blow my depot sky-high. Care to explain why your boss is bankrolling a killer?"
Price's smile was a razor's edge. "Kane's a free man, wrongfully detained. We've got papers—signed by a Nova Washington judge—demanding his release. Hand him over, and we walk away peaceful."
Wyatt laughed, a sound that carried across the yard. "Papers? Out here, paper's good for kindling. Kane's a Hawthorne dog, and I've got proof he's been arming Blackfoot renegades to burn my rails. Want to see it?"
Price's eyes narrowed, but his smile held. "Bold words, Archer. But you're a drunk playing at empire. The Hawthornes own the east, and soon they'll own the west. Hand over Kane, or we take him."
Savannah stepped forward, her satchel open, the ledger in her hands. "Before you make threats, Mr. Price," she said, her voice calm but cutting, "read this. It's from Elias Ward's shop in Fort Benton. Lists payments from Cornelius Hawthorne to arm renegades, sabotage Archer rails, and stir up war with the Blackfoot. The Nova Washington Gazette ran it this morning. Your boss is bleeding credibility."
Price's smile faltered, just for a second, as he took the ledger. His eyes scanned the pages, his fingers tightening on the leather. "Forgeries," he said, but his voice lacked conviction. "You've got no standing to hold Kane."
Wyatt's grin vanished, his voice steel. "I've got standing, alright. And I've got Red Hawk's warriors guarding my rails. You want Kane? You'll have to go through them—and me."
Price's men shifted, hands drifting to rifles, but a low whistle cut through the tension. From the north, dust rose again—Red Hawk and ten warriors, their horses moving with the grace of a storm. The chief reined in beside Wyatt, his buffalo cloak billowing, his tomahawk gleaming. "Archer speaks truth," Red Hawk said, his voice deep as thunder. "The Hawthornes arm my enemies to blame my people. Their lies end here."
Price's face tightened, his eyes darting between Wyatt and Red Hawk. The hired guns hesitated, their bravado fading under the Blackfoot's stare. "You're making a mistake," Price said, his voice low. "The Hawthornes don't forget."
"Neither do I," Wyatt said, stepping closer. "Here's the deal, Price. Walk away, tell Cornelius his game's up. Or stay, and we'll bury you in the dirt."
Price held his gaze, calculating, then raised a hand to his men. "We're done here," he said, tossing the ledger to the ground. "But this ain't over, Archer." He wheeled his horse, his men following, and rode east into the gathering dark.
Wyatt exhaled, his grin returning as Red Hawk dismounted. "Didn't expect you so soon, Chief," he said. "Thought you'd want to see the proof first."
Red Hawk's eyes were flint, but a flicker of respect crossed his face. "Your rider spoke of Hawthorne treachery. I came to see for myself. Your words hold—for now."
Savannah picked up the ledger, her eyes on Wyatt. "You just stared down a Hawthorne fixer and walked away. That's no small thing."
"Small's not my style," Wyatt said, winking. "Let's get inside. We've got work to do."
In the depot office, the lamplight cast shadows across the map, where Wyatt marked the rail line's progress toward the gold mines. Jed poured coffee, his face relaxed but wary. "Price didn't fight, but he'll be back," he said. "Hawthornes don't take kindly to losin'."
"They're not losing yet," Savannah said, spreading a new telegram on the table. "My contacts say Cornelius is doubling down. He's meeting Vanderbilt tonight, offering to clear his son's debts and throw in a stake in the eastern rails. If Vanderbilt bites, the bill passes, and we're done."
Wyatt's mind raced, his 2025 instincts kicking in. Vanderbilt was the key, but money wasn't enough—Cornelius had deeper pockets. He needed leverage, something to make Vanderbilt blink. "What's the son's name?" he asked.
"William," Savannah said. "Likes cards, women, and bad bets. Owes half of Boston's banks."
Wyatt grinned, an idea forming. "Send a telegram to your contacts. Tell them to spread a rumor—William's debts are tied to a scandal, something juicy. Cheating at cards, maybe. If Vanderbilt thinks his name's at risk, he'll hesitate."
Savannah raised an eyebrow but nodded. "You're playing dirty now."
"Dirty's how you win," Wyatt said, his voice hard. "Jed, get scouts out. I want eyes on those renegades Ward armed. If they hit us, we need to know where and when."
Jed nodded, grabbing his Winchester. "What about Price? He might double back with more men."
"Then we'll be ready," Wyatt said. "Hire more guards, fortify the north fence. And send a rider to Red Hawk's camp—tell him we're doubling the supplies as a thank-you."
As Jed left, Savannah lingered, her gray eyes searching Wyatt's. "You're building something bigger than rails, aren't you? This is about taking down the Hawthornes, not just saving your family."
Wyatt met her gaze, his grin softening. "The Hawthornes want an empire. I'm gonna give 'em a fight instead. You with me?"
She smiled, a rare warmth breaking through her steel. "All the way, Wyatt. But don't get cocky. Cornelius has more snakes than Kane and Ward combined."
The door creaked, and a guard burst in, his face pale. "Boss, rider just came from the mines. Says the Hawthornes sent a crew—twenty men, dynamite, headed for the main line. They're gonna blow the tracks before we reach the gold."
Wyatt's grin turned wolfish. "Let 'em try. Round up the posse, Jed. We ride at dawn."
The Missouri River gleamed outside, a silver thread through a land of blood and ambition. Wyatt Archer was no longer the prodigal son. He was a warrior, a builder, a man rewriting the west. The Hawthornes thought they could break him, but they'd misjudged their man. The rails would hold, the mines would run, and Wyatt would bury Cornelius's dreams in the Montana dust.
End of Chapter Ten