"Heir Unrivaled"
Chapter Fifteen: The Empire Rises
The Montana sun rose like a beacon, bathing the Great Falls rail yard in a golden glow that mirrored the gold trains now rolling east from the mines. Wyatt Archer stood on the depot platform, his Stetson tilted back, his green eyes scanning the horizon where the Archer Western Line stretched toward a future he'd forged with blood and cunning. The air hummed with the clang of hammers and the shouts of workers—Blackfoot and settlers working side by side, building an empire under the watchful guard of Red Hawk's warriors. The Hawthornes were broken—Cornelius disgraced, Malcolm and Gideon in chains, their railroad bill dead in Nova Washington. But a final shadow lingered: Abigail Voss, Cornelius's sister, a strategist trained in Europe, now rallying mercenaries in Fort Benton to sabotage the gold shipments and topple Wyatt's empire before it could fully rise.
Wyatt's Colt revolver rested at his hip, its pearl handle a testament to the Archer legacy, but his true weapon was his 2025 mind—sharp with corporate strategies and battlefield tactics, honed by months of outwitting Silas Kane, Elias Ward, Malcolm, and Gideon. The gold mines were secure, the rails complete, and Red Hawk's alliance was a cornerstone of peace. Savannah Blake's telegrams had turned the eastern papers into a firestorm, dismantling the Hawthornes' empire. Jedediah Cole's men patrolled the rails with iron resolve. But Abigail Voss was no mere gunman—she was a mastermind, and her plan was the Hawthornes' last gasp.
Jedediah Cole climbed the platform, his Winchester slung over his shoulder, his bearded face weary but proud. "Gold train's halfway to Chicago," he said, his voice gruff with satisfaction. "Miners are callin' you the King of Montana, Wyatt. But the rider from Fort Benton says Abigail Voss is holed up in the old mission, plannin' a strike on the rail or the mines. She's got mercenaries—maybe thirty, with dynamite and a Gatling gun."
Wyatt's grin was sharp, the prodigal son's charm masking the steel beneath. "Abigail's the last snake in the grass, Jed. She's smart, but she's desperate. We'll cut her off before she lights the fuse. Ready a posse—fifteen men, best shots we've got."
Savannah Blake emerged from the depot office, her auburn hair catching the sunlight, her gray eyes sharp as she clutched a satchel of telegrams and maps. "My contacts in Nova Washington have more on Voss," she said, her drawl steady but urgent. "She's been funneling Hawthorne money to mercenaries and bribing local officials to disrupt our shipments. If she collapses the mine entrance or derails a train, the banks pull our loans, and the rails go under."
Wyatt's jaw tightened, his 2025 mind spinning. Abigail was playing for keeps, targeting the financial backbone of his empire. "Then we hit her first," he said. "Savannah, send word to Red Hawk—we need his warriors at the old mission by dusk. Jed, fortify the mine entrance and double the rail guards. Abigail wants a war, we'll give her a reckoning."
Savannah nodded, her eyes searching Wyatt's. "You've built an empire, Wyatt, but Abigail's colder than Cornelius. One misstep, and she'll burn it all down."
Wyatt's grin softened, but his voice was iron. "She'll try, Savannah. But I'm not the man she thinks I am. You with me?"
She smiled, a rare warmth breaking through her steel. "Till the end, Wyatt."
By dusk, the old mission loomed against the Fort Benton skyline, a crumbling adobe relic perched on a bluff overlooking the Missouri River. Its bell tower was a shadow in the fading light, and the scent of sagebrush mingled with gun oil. Wyatt's posse moved like ghosts—fifteen rail yard guards led by Jed, their Winchesters ready; Savannah, her derringer holstered but her satchel packed with evidence; and Red Hawk with twelve warriors, their buffalo cloaks blending into the dusk, their rifles gleaming. Wyatt crouched behind a cluster of boulders, his spyglass trained on the mission's courtyard.
Abigail Voss was there, a tall woman in a black riding coat, her blonde hair pinned tightly, her movements precise as she directed thirty mercenaries. Crates of dynamite were stacked near a wagon, and a Gatling gun sat ominously by the mission gate. She was planning something big—a strike on the rail or the mines, meant to cripple Wyatt's empire in one blow.
"Smart setup," Wyatt whispered, his mind mapping the terrain. "She's using the mission as a fortress—choke points at the gate and tower. We can't charge in blind."
Red Hawk's eyes were flint, his voice low. "My warriors know this land. We take the cliffs, strike from above. Your men hold the ground."
Wyatt nodded, his 2025 instincts clicking. "Jed, you and ten men block the gate—draw their fire. Red Hawk, your warriors hit from the cliffs. Savannah, you're with me—we'll slip inside, get to Abigail before she lights that dynamite."
Jed grunted, adjusting his Winchester. "You're playin' bait again, Archer. Hope you're as lucky as you are cocky."
Savannah's lips twitched, but her eyes were steady. "If we don't stop her, the mines are gone. Let's move."
The attack was swift and silent. Red Hawk's warriors scaled the cliffs, their movements fluid as shadows. Jed's men took positions behind rocks, their rifles trained on the gate. Wyatt and Savannah crept through a side path, slipping past a crumbling wall into the mission's courtyard. The mercenaries were focused on the gate, unaware of the storm brewing above.
Jed's first shot cracked the dusk, dropping a mercenary at the gate. The courtyard erupted—rifles spitting lead, shouts echoing off the adobe walls. Red Hawk's warriors descended, their war cries shattering the air as they overwhelmed the tower guards. Wyatt and Savannah darted toward the dynamite crates, dodging bullets. Abigail Voss turned, her eyes locking on Wyatt, a pistol in her hand.
"Archer," she said, her voice cold as ice. "You're persistent, I'll give you that. But this ends tonight."
Wyatt's grin was reckless, his Colt raised. "Wrong, Abigail. Your family's done—Cornelius, Malcolm, Gideon, all in chains. Drop the gun, hand over the dynamite, and I'll let you walk."
She laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "Walk? The Hawthornes don't walk away. We take." She fired, the bullet grazing Wyatt's shoulder as he dove behind a crate. Savannah's derringer cracked, clipping Abigail's arm, but the woman was fast, rolling to cover and signaling her men.
The Gatling gun roared, its bullets tearing through Jed's barricades. Wyatt cursed, his shoulder burning, but he sprinted for the gun, tackling the operator before he could swing it toward Red Hawk's warriors. Savannah covered him, her derringer dropping another mercenary. Red Hawk's men cleared the tower, their tomahawks silencing the last guards.
Wyatt reached the dynamite crates, slashing their fuses with his knife. Abigail emerged from cover, her pistol raised, but Red Hawk loomed behind her, his tomahawk at her throat. "Enough," he growled. "Your war is over."
Abigail froze, her eyes blazing but her hands dropping the pistol. Wyatt bound her wrists, rifling through her coat to find a ledger—her own, detailing bribes to territorial officials and plans to derail the gold train. "This is the end, Abigail," he said, tucking the ledger away. "Your family's empire is dust."
The fight was over. The mercenaries surrendered, their dynamite secured, the Gatling gun dismantled. Jed's men rounded up prisoners, while Red Hawk's warriors stood guard, their presence a testament to the alliance's strength. Savannah wiped blood from her cheek, her smile fierce. "You did it, Wyatt. The Hawthornes are finished."
Wyatt's grin was tired but triumphant. "We did it. You, Jed, Red Hawk—this empire's ours."
Back at Great Falls, the noon sun blazed over the rail yard, where the second gold train was loaded, its cars gleaming with promise. Wyatt stood in the depot office, Abigail's ledger beside the others, a pile of evidence that would bury the Hawthornes for good. Savannah wired the final documents to Nova Washington, her contacts promising federal charges against every Hawthorne ally.
Red Hawk entered, his buffalo cloak sweeping the floor, his eyes warm with respect. "Your iron snake runs strong, Archer. My people will guard it, and our land is safe. You kept your word."
Wyatt clasped his forearm, his voice earnest. "And you kept yours, Chief. Your warriors get half the rail jobs, and the route stays clear of your grounds. This west belongs to us both."
Jed poured coffee, his face proud. "You're a legend now, Wyatt. The Iron Eagle's grandson, bigger than he ever was."
Savannah looked up from her telegrams, her gray eyes soft. "The banks are backing us now—full loans for the rails. The Hawthornes are bankrupt, their name poison. You've built something unstoppable."
Wyatt's grin softened, his eyes on the map where the Archer Western Line stretched like a golden vein. "Couldn't have done it without you three. The west was a battlefield, but we turned it into an empire."
A cheer rose outside—workers, guards, and Blackfoot warriors chanting Wyatt's name. He stepped onto the platform, the Missouri River gleaming below, a witness to his rise. The prodigal son was gone, replaced by a legend who'd tamed the frontier. The Hawthornes were vanquished, their snakes slain, and the rails would carry Wyatt's dream to the stars.
As the sun set, Wyatt stood with Savannah, Jed, and Red Hawk, watching the gold train roll east. "What's next?" Savannah asked, her voice warm.
Wyatt's eyes sparkled, his grin pure fire. "We keep building. The west's just the start."
And with that, the Archer Western Line roared into history, a testament to a man who'd turned dust into gold, and a land reborn under his name.
End of Chapter Fifteen