Last Crossing at Painted Wash

They thought the wash would carry them through.Three riders cut across Painted Wash at first light, chasing a man they swore wouldn't see sundown. The trail was clear. The ground was open. And the ridge above them looked empty.It wasn't.From the high ground, a rifle waits.What starts as a hunt turns fast—too fast—into something else. Shots echo through the dry cut. Dust kicks. Men drop. And the tr...