Jericho nudged his mount onward, his eagerness to reach the caves driving him. Rounding up the strays was just an excuse to do more exploring in the high mountain caverns believed to have been a hideout to the Kingston Gang during the war. Most of the gang had eventually been caught and had served justice at the end of the hangman’s noose. But rumors abounded regarding the loot the thieves had buried in the mountains—gold that might still be there.

“Maybe we better head back down,” Nash’s voice beckoned to Jericho.

“Just a little farther.” Jericho pulled his slicker over his boots. The raincoat was split up the back so that each half lay across the saddle, the long, lightweight canvas falling to his ankles. He was still plenty warm and dry. Now that they were nearing their destination, Jericho had every intention of getting there. “We can warm up and dry out once we reach the caves.”

He waited for Nash’s protest. When it didn’t come, Jericho continued on, guiding his mount carefully over the dangerous terrain.

Behind him, Nash’s mare gave another whinny, which was followed by more of Nash’s gentle reassurance. If anyone could manage a horse, Nash could. He was a kind soul, and every horse knew it.

“She’s growing more agitated by the second.” This time Nash’s call was urgent. “We must be getting too near to Hades.”

The wild mustang was known for stirring up tamed horses and even drawing some mares away from their owners.

“I’m heading back down!” Nash shouted.

Jericho shifted around in his saddle, intending to bargain with his brother again. But Nash was too busy reining the mare and trying to keep her from rearing up. “Whoa, now! Calm down!”

The mare shied near the edge of the trail, sending a cascade of rocks rolling down the steep side of the mountain.

Jericho’s muscles tensed and he halted. What was Nash doing? Why wasn’t he controlling his horse better? Jericho’s mount snorted, clearly sensing the growing turmoil.

As he bent in to rub and reassure his horse, Nash’s mare tossed her head. In the next instant, the creature lost her footing, slipped over the trail, and started sliding down the mountain.

Jericho could only watch in horror as the momentum sent the horse toppling end over end until she became airborne. Nash yelled, tried to grab on to shrubs, but he was flying too fast.

When they landed at the bottom of the steep gorge, Jericho had been sick to his stomach, emptying everything inside.

Even now, Jericho swallowed the bile that rose into his throat every time he thought about all that had happened. How he’d had to backtrack carefully down the mountain, how it had taken what seemed like hours to he reach Nash, how he’d found his brother with a broken neck, lifeless.