The broken planks of the building creaked in the wind, and the rusted sign hung crooked, a reminder of a time when trains still crossed these wild lands.
June dismounted first, cautiously inspecting the place while Wade remained alert beside Ghost, watching for any sign of movement in the distance.
Inside the station, they found the remains of recent campfires, clear signs that someone had been there the night before.
“We’re not alone in this wilderness,” June said, examining fresh footprints near the building’s back door.
Wade watched the horizon, where a distant dust cloud seemed to rise slowly against the pale blue sky.
“We never were,” he replied calmly. “Stories that begin with blood rarely end in silence.”
June leaned against the wooden wall, loading her rifle with the calm movements that revealed experience gained in far less peaceful circumstances.
“So what now?” she asked finally. “The gold is gone, Boone is dead, and the past can’t be changed.”
Wade watched the old, rusty rail stretching toward the horizon like a forgotten line between two worlds.
“Now we keep riding,” he replied. “Because there are places where they still believe the law never reaches.”
June looked at him with an expression difficult to decipher, a mixture of weariness, irony, and something akin to a hope she wasn’t yet sure she could accept.
“So we’re heroes now?” she asked with a faint smile.
“No,” Wade replied firmly. “We’re just people who know what happens when no one stands up to men who think they can do anything without consequences.”
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