"Heir Unrivaled"
Chapter Seventeen: The Banker's Gambit
The Montana winter sun hung low, casting a pale light over the Great Falls rail yard, where the Archer Western Line gleamed like a steel promise against the snow-dusted plains. Wyatt Archer stood in the depot office, his Stetson pushed back, his green eyes tracing a map marked with new rail routes stretching toward California. The air was sharp with the scent of coal smoke and pine, and the distant clang of hammers echoed as workers expanded the line, fueled by gold from the mines. The Hawthornes were a fading memory, their empire crushed by Wyatt's victories, but a new threat loomed—Victor Drayton, the eastern banker whose Continental Trust was buying up Montana's land and bribing officials to choke the Archer empire. His fixer, Carver, was in chains, but Drayton's reach was long, and his next move was coming.
Wyatt's Colt revolver rested on the desk, its pearl handle catching the lamplight, but his 2025 mind was his sharpest weapon—honed by battles against Silas Kane, Elias Ward, Malcolm, Gideon, and Abigail Voss. The gold mines were pumping wealth, the rails were secure, and Red Hawk's Blackfoot warriors guarded the northern passes, their alliance a cornerstone of Wyatt's empire. Savannah Blake's telegrams had exposed Drayton's bribes, and Jedediah Cole's men patrolled the rails with unyielding resolve. But Drayton was a different beast—a financier with European gold, weaving a web of corruption from Nova Washington to Helena.
Jedediah Cole burst through the door, his Winchester slung over his shoulder, his bearded face flushed from the cold. "Scouts just got back from Helena," he said, his voice gruff. "Drayton's men are movin' fast—buyin' up deeds to half the territory's ranches. They're callin' it 'land consolidation,' but it's a land grab. And there's talk of a new crew headin' for the rail junction at Three Forks—forty men, armed heavy, led by a man named Royce."
Wyatt's grin was sharp, the prodigal son's charm masking a mind already spinning. "Royce is Drayton's new dog, Jed. He's coming for the junction to cut our supply lines. We stop him, we send Drayton a message: Montana's ours."
Savannah Blake stepped in, her auburn hair loose under a fur-lined hood, her gray eyes sharp as she clutched a satchel of telegrams and a ledger taken from Carver's camp. "My contacts in Nova Washington have more on Drayton," she said, her drawl steady but urgent. "He's got Senator Grayson on a leash, pushing a new bill to tax western railroads into bankruptcy. And Royce? He's a former Pinkerton, ruthless as they come. If he takes Three Forks, our gold trains stop, and the banks foreclose."
Wyatt's jaw tightened, his 2025 instincts kicking in. Drayton was playing a corporate game—strangle the Archer empire with taxes and cut its arteries with force. "Then we hit him on both fronts," he said. "Savannah, wire your contacts—leak Drayton's bill to the papers, tie it to Grayson's bribes. Jed, ready a posse—twenty men, best we've got. We ride for Three Forks at dawn."
Jed nodded, his boots thumping as he headed to rally the men. Savannah lingered, her eyes searching Wyatt's. "Drayton's not fighting for pride like the Hawthornes, Wyatt. He's got bottomless pockets and no conscience. If we lose Three Forks, the empire you built crumbles."
Wyatt's grin softened, but his voice was iron. "It won't crumble, Savannah. We've got Red Hawk, the rails, and each other. Drayton's a banker, not a king. We'll break him."
A low horn sounded from the north—Red Hawk's signal. The chief rode in with twelve warriors, their buffalo cloaks dusted with snow, their rifles gleaming in the pale light. His eyes were steady, his voice deep as the river. "Your rider spoke of new white men, Archer. They bribe my outcasts again, offering gold to burn your iron snake. What is your plan?"
Wyatt clasped his forearm, the alliance a bedrock of his empire. "Drayton's trying to choke us, Chief. His man Royce is moving on Three Forks to cut our rails. We'll hit them hard, take their papers, and prove Drayton's a crook. Your warriors with us?"
Red Hawk's nod was firm. "My people stand with you. The land is ours, and we will not lose it."
By dawn, Wyatt's posse gathered at the rail junction at Three Forks, a critical hub where the Archer Western Line split toward the mines and the Pacific. Twenty rail yard guards, led by Jed, stood ready with Winchesters, their faces hardened by winter and war. Savannah rode beside Wyatt, her derringer holstered but her satchel packed with evidence to counter Drayton's schemes. Red Hawk's warriors flanked them, their horses silent as shadows, their eyes scanning the southern trail where Royce's crew was approaching.
Scouts reported forty men camped in a shallow valley a mile south, their wagons loaded with dynamite and a Gatling gun. Royce was a tall man in a gray duster, his face cold and calculating, barking orders as his men fortified their position. Wyatt's mind mapped the valley—flanked by low hills, perfect for an ambush. "We don't wait for them to hit the junction," he said. "Red Hawk, your warriors take the west hills—strike from above. Jed, you and fifteen men hold the valley entrance. Savannah, you're with me—we'll slip in and grab Royce's papers."
Jed grunted, adjusting his Winchester. "You're bait again, Archer. Don't get yourself shot."
Savannah's lips twitched, but her eyes were steady. "If we don't get those papers, Drayton's bill passes, and we're done. Let's move."
The posse moved like a storm, silent and swift. Red Hawk's warriors scaled the hills, their movements fluid as ghosts, while Jed's men set up barricades at the valley entrance. Wyatt and Savannah crept through a dry creek bed, their boots silent on the frozen ground. The valley camp was a hive of activity—mercenaries stacking dynamite, Royce studying a map by a fire, a leather case at his side.
Wyatt signaled Jed, who fired a warning shot, kicking up dust near the camp. Royce's men scrambled, grabbing rifles, but Red Hawk's warriors descended, their war cries splitting the dawn. Tomahawks and rifles struck with precision, scattering the mercenaries. Jed's men charged from the entrance, their Winchesters a steady drumbeat, pinning Royce's crew.
Wyatt and Savannah darted into the camp, dodging gunfire. Wyatt's Colt barked, dropping a mercenary who aimed at Savannah. Her derringer cracked, wounding another, her aim deadly despite the chaos. Royce stood by the wagons, clutching the leather case, his revolver blazing. "Archer!" he roared. "You're a dead man!"
Wyatt dove behind a crate, his Colt answering, grazing Royce's arm. Savannah flanked him, her derringer forcing Royce to cover. Red Hawk's warriors cleared the hills, their tomahawks silencing resistance. Jed's men pushed forward, their rifles overwhelming the mercenaries.
Wyatt sprinted for the wagons, slashing the dynamite fuses before they could be lit. Royce lunged, his revolver raised, but Wyatt was faster, tackling him into the snow. They grappled, fists and steel flashing, until Wyatt pinned Royce's arm, his Colt at his throat. "Drop the case," Wyatt growled. "Your boss is finished."
Royce spat, his eyes burning, but he let the case fall. Wyatt bound his wrists, rifling through the leather case to find forged deeds, bribe lists, and a letter from Drayton detailing plans to bankrupt the Archer rails and seize Montana for European investors. "Got you," Wyatt muttered, tucking the papers into his coat.
The fight was over. Royce's men surrendered, their dynamite secured. Red Hawk approached, his tomahawk bloodied but his face calm. "These men shame the land," he said. "We will judge them."
Wyatt nodded, his grin fierce. "Do it, Chief. These papers go east—Drayton's empire falls."
Savannah wiped snow from her face, her smile triumphant. "You took down a Pinkerton, Wyatt. The west's yours now."
Jed joined them, his Winchester smoking. "Lost two men, but we got thirty prisoners. What's next, boss?"
Back at Great Falls, the noon sun melted the snow, illuminating the rail yard where workers cheered as a new gold train rolled out, guarded by Red Hawk's warriors. Wyatt stood in the depot office, Drayton's papers spread beside the ledgers of past victories. Savannah wired the evidence to Nova Washington, her contacts promising a federal probe that would bankrupt Drayton and jail Senator Grayson.
Red Hawk entered, his presence commanding. "Your iron snake grows stronger, Archer. My people prosper, and the land is safe. Our alliance is iron."
Wyatt clasped his forearm, his voice earnest. "Your warriors made this, Chief. Half the rail jobs are yours, and the mines will fund your future. This west is ours—together."
Savannah looked up from her telegrams, her gray eyes warm. "Drayton's fleeing to Europe, his banks collapsing. The rails are fully funded, Wyatt. You've built an empire no one can touch."
Jed poured coffee, his face proud. "You're the Iron Eagle now, Archer. Bigger than your granddaddy ever dreamed."
Wyatt's grin was soft, his eyes on the map where the Archer Western Line stretched toward the Pacific. "Couldn't have done it without you three. The west was a war, but we turned it into a legacy."
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 triumph. The prodigal son was gone, replaced by a legend who'd tamed the frontier. Drayton's schemes were dust, and the rails would carry Wyatt's dream across a continent.
As the sun climbed higher, Wyatt stood with Savannah, Jed, and Red Hawk, watching the gold train vanish into the horizon. "What's next?" Savannah asked, her voice warm with possibility.
Wyatt's eyes sparkled, his grin pure fire. "We keep building. California's waiting."
And with that, the Archer Western Line roared into history, a testament to a man who'd turned dust into empire, and a land reborn under his name. But in the east, whispers of a new consortium stirred—a challenge for another day. Wyatt would be ready.
End of Chapter Seventeen