Hayes eyed the mine with a telescope. It was an old one, but there seemed to be a decent crowd of men there, all going in and out. It didn't seem right. This wasn't the sort of place Jack Marston would hide in. He turned back to Cobb.

"You're sure he's here?"

Cobb nodded. "Yes sir. We found his trail outside of Rathskeller Fork. He likes to ride off the road so I'm sure it was him. Went straight here. Haven't seen any sign of him leaving." Pope nodded his agreement.

Seven of them were there, himself included. Hart, Cobb, Pope, Fitzroy, and Ewell, all armed and ready. Hayes had faith in them, but he still cast a dubious glance towards those miners. They had all looked tough and armed.

He swore again the lack of men he could gather on short notice. Dupont was still hurt and the rest were riding through various settlements in New Austin, searching for any sign of Marston.

He turned back to the scope and looked at the mines again. "What do they call this place?"

"Gaptooth Breach. Mine has officially been shut down for a while. My guess is these men are picking the bones looking for something," Cobb supplied. Hayes nodded. They didn't look like men employed by a company.

"Hart, what do you think?"

Hart moved next to him and took a glance through the telescope; he frowned. "Lots of rifles and high ground there. All it takes is a couple of them to get a good angle and we're finished. If shooting breaks out." He put enough emphasis on the 'if' to make sure he knew it was meant as a 'when.' Hayes agreed. While not technically illegal, such men detested lawmen coming onto their turf.

He turned back to the group. Hart and Cobb had the most experience and best long-range rifles, an old Springfield carbine and its newer relative, the bolt-action Springfield. "Hart, Cobb, you have half an hour to get on a good spot where you can cover us from. Put those rifles to use." He pointed to the Bureau men. "Fitzroy, you'll come with me, Pope and Ewell, you come along behind us nice and quiet and get into a spot where you can cover us. Use your repeaters."

Hart spoke up. "We going into those mines?"

Hayes thought about it. Finally, he replied. "If we have to. I'd prefer not to. Close quarters like that, it's whoever can pull the trigger first and I think they can afford a lot more people than us. We've got the shotguns for it though, and dynamite. We'll get there when we get there." Hart nodded, fair enough, and he and Cobb set out, going opposite ways, loping around towards the high ground.

Hayes and the Bureau men waited, the heat stifling. He glanced at a pocket watch, the minute hand ticking by. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty five. He stood up and they mounted up. They moved out, keeping to the road, Fitzroy and Hayes in front, Pope and Ewell behind. They both branched off, moving to the sides and dismounting, pulling out their repeaters. Hayes saw them begin to follow, picking their way through the brush. They weren't as invisible as Cobb and Hart, but few could be, and Hayes was satisfied with them.

Hayes and Fitzroy reached the camp and dismounted, hitching their horses. Already some of the miners stopped to look at them, dark eyes under shaded hats. Hayes and Fitzroy walked past them, hands loose and ready to draw.

Fitzroy glanced at the miners, and then at himself and Hayes. The miners were wearing clothes that bordered on rags, whereas he and Hayes were wearing rugged, but fairly nice suits, the rougher western style. "We stand out like whores in a church. Sir."

Hayes snorted but kept himself from laughing. A group of miners approached them, one man, a big son of a bitch, at their head. He was closer to seven feet than six, and covered in dirt. He and his four men stopped six or seven feet away from the Bureau men.

"Who're you?" he asked with an accent so thick that Hayes could hardly understand him. His teeth were yellow and black and Hayes could smell him from where he stood. He had a paw on a cattleman revolver.

Hayes took a step closer, nearly gagging on the man's smell. "We're lawmen. I'm Mr. Hayes and this is Mr. Fi-"

"Don't need no law out here, Law Dog," the man interrupted.

Hayes glared at him for a long second, and continued. "This is Mr. Fitzroy. We're here looking for a Jack Marston. Is he here?"

"Even if he were, I ain't tell no law dog," the man replied and Hayes sighed. Stubborn bastard.

"If he's here, hand him over, and there'll be no trouble. If not, we'll have to prosecute you to the furthest extent of the law." Literally as he finished, the head of one of the miner's to the right of the big bastard exploded, followed a split second later by the sound of a rifle. There was a second or two of everyone staring, shocked.

And then the big one called out "Yous killed Finny! Get 'em!"

Hayes went for his gun as he heard Fitzroy say, quite calmly, "Fuck me."

…

Jack Marston debated firing another round at the Bureau men, but decided against it, watching through the scope of his sniper's rifle as hell broke loose in Gaptooth Breach. The trap had been a simple one, and necessary. Jack had to know what these men could do.

He grinned as he watched them draw, as the man with the slouch hat, the one who had done the talking, plugged the big guy in the face, calm as you'd please. He was about to see what he was dealing with alright.

…

Hayes shifted over to one of the men on his right, putting another two rounds into him. Behind him Fitzroy had drawn a German Mauser that could fire automatically, and started strafing the miners to their left. The first five were down quickly, the last one taken by another unseen rifle shot, this time the distinctive crack of a Springfield. Hayes and Fitzroy darted to the right as more miners streamed out of the old mining building or the mines themselves.

The Bureau men dashed for cover, the air coming alive with the whine of bullets. Miners began to drop, unseen rifle and repeater rounds cutting them down.

Hayes popped up and emptied his 1911 into a man ten feet away, the slide locking back. He smoothly dropped out the magazine, his eyes not moving from his front, orienting on another target, and he loaded, ready to fire immediately.

Fitzroy, meanwhile, banged away with that pistol, providing a wall of covering fire unequaled by any other weapon on the scene. Miners dropped to avoid it, and were shot down by the hidden Marshals. Some of the miners went for high ground and were dropped, repeaters or rifles tearing into them.

Hayes got up and moved forward, Fitzroy covering him. He was moving towards some barrels, staying low. A miner came out of cover, a snap shot with a repeater that missed Hayes, but cut right by his ear, grazing it, and Hayes swore and returned fire, a rapid two shots that hit dead on in the chest. The man crumpled and Hayes hit the ground. He popped back up and snapped off more shots, providing fire for Fitzroy and now Pope, who moved out of concealment. Fitzroy slid into the position, and switched the magazine on his pistol.

"They seem a bit riled up, eh?" He popped up and gunned down one of the miners, the gun chattering. Pope joined them, carrying a Winchester repeater, the barrel smoking. Hayes nodded towards him, and motioned back towards the miners, motioning for covering fire, and the other two nodded, raising their weapons and opening up.

Hayes darted out of cover, eyeing the next bit of cover, moving towards the mine entrance. He moved fast, felt bullets whipping by him, one hard tug on his pants leg, ignored it. A man raised up in front of him, a revolver, and the 1911 barked. In a world of six shooters, the seven round 1911 automatic was king. Two shots to the upper chest dropped the man and Hayes dove into cover, giving covering fire for his comrades as they leapfrogged from position to position, clearing out the miners. From above the Marshals kept up their own fire, hammering any spot that held out with unnerving accuracy. The last miners began to retreat, moving into the mine itself.

An eerie silence descended as the two sides regrouped. Hayes felt his ear, winced, and ignored it. He checked his pocket watch: ten minutes. He was covered in dust and dirt and the air smelled of cordite and blood and gun-powder. Ewell, Cobb, and Hart had joined them with the horses, and all were dirty and soaked with sweat, though Hayes and Fitzroy and Pope had had the worst of it. They had been in the very thick of the fighting.

Hart eyed him, and then eyed the camp, the bodies and the bullet holes. He whistled. "Hell of a thing, seeing you Bureau men working." He nodded to Fitzroy. "Hell of a gun you got there."

Fitzroy grinned slightly and nodded. More than a few of the dead were because of the Mauser.

Hayes grabbed his canteen out of his pack on the horse and drank, the warm water undeservedly wonderful. He poured some on his hand and splashed it over his face and passed the canteen. He motioned for Hart to join him and the two moved away from the others.

"Do we go into the mines after them?" Hayes asked him.

Hart thought about it, nodded. "Yeah. We go through, make sure Marston isn't here. If he his, all good and well. If not, he knows we aren't messing around." Hart looked around, took a sip from his own canteen. "I'm thinking we won't find him here."

Hayes looked at him questioningly. "This place has only one exit, this valley." Hart motioned to the area around him as he explained. "There may be one more through the mines, but I can't see Marston cornering himself here. We could cut him off and trap him."

Hayes nodded as he thought about it. "Yeah that makes sense. Shit, we walked right into it."

Hart shrugged. "Law breakers are law breakers. I'm not complaining if we kill a few." He walked over to the horses and pulled a Winchester Model 1897 pump-action shotgun out of a sheath. He checked it, saw that it was loaded but not chambered and worked the slide, the menacing sound breaking the relative silence. Hart grinned and tossed the weapon to Hayes, who checked over the shotgun, and nodded back to Hart.

"Let's go finish it."

…

Hayes, Hart, and Ewell moved towards the mine entrance, keeping to the side. Hayes and Hart had shotgun bandoleers slung across their chests, the pump-actions in their hands. Ewell carried a 1911 and a lighter in one hand, and a stick of dynamite in the other, and he had several more in his pocket.

The others were moving around the countryside, looking for another exit to the mines, planning on cutting it off. Hayes and the others had the job of flushing anyone else towards them. They moved up to the entrance, and Hayes motioned for Ewell to move next him. He leaned over and called into the mine.

"Surrender! Drop your weapons and come out slowly!" He waited a half-beat, his echo the only response.

"You have exactly three seconds to comply! One! Two! Three!"

This time he was answered by a sudden roar of gunfire and he jerked back, nodded to Ewell, who gave him an extra stick of dynamite. The two lit them at the same time, waited a second, and tossed them inside the mine. They braced themselves, pressing into the rock, squeezing their eyes shut and keeping their mouths open to keep their ear drums from bursting in the explosion.

The ground shook, and Hayes opened his eyes, his ears ringing, his world a cloud of chalky white dust. He hefted the shotgun up and moved into the mine, Hart following after him, Ewell bringing up the rear. He could hardly see, the dust stinging his ear and his eyes, making them tear up. Hayes ignored it, saw a shape stumbling towards him, and he blasted it down, the roar of the gun muted, the whole thing happening with only the ringing to accompany it.

Hayes moved forward, slowly, gaining speed as he moved out of the dust cloud and could see better. His hearing returned steadily, and Hayes began to hear the boom of Hart's shotgun, the ca-chunk of a new shell being chambered. Hayes loaded another round into his shotgun quickly, and moved around a bend. A bullet whizzed by his face and Hayes returned fire, blasting the miner to the ground, the roar monstrous now.

More miners came into view and Hayes held down the trigger, slam-firing the shotgun, spitting rounds as quickly as he could work the slide. Men fell brutally, the 12 gauge rounds gouging out huge chunks of their bodies.

He dropped down and reloaded, and Hart moved by him, emptying the shotgun and smoothly slinging it and drawing his revolver, a gorgeous black-metal .45 with bronze inlays. Men came around the bend and Hart gunned them down, impossibly fast, and yet not, every action almost seeming lazy and smooth and relaxed. Not every shot killed, but every single one hit its mark.

In seconds, they had killed nine or ten men, and most of those were Hart's.

Hayes could hear the sound of another wick being lit, and Ewell tossed it down the other tunnel, the explosion roaring and tearing, clearing it of anything that had been there. Hayes and Hart reloaded their weapons and kept going. The miners were appearing in rapidly smaller numbers, and they were no match for the Winchester shotguns.

Hayes stopped when he saw light down one tunnel, and called out. Fitzroy answered him, and the three came out of the tunnel. Four miners had tried to run out and had been gunned down by the others. Hayes looked back into the tunnels, now eerily silent- tombs. He slung the shotgun and looked back to the men, his men, and nodded.

"Good job."

…

Jack hadn't been able to see what had happened in the tunnels, but he watched with his scope when the government men emerged, covered in dust and sweat and a light smattering of blood. There hadn't been any doubt as to who'd win. The miners were violent, but violence wasn't skill or experience.

The whole thing had been brutal and effective and efficient, and Jack had studied it with a keen eye. These government men were good. Damned good. But he knew how to beat them. Jack Marston mounted his horse, sheathing his rifle, and turned, leaving. They relied on team work. He'd have to get them alone.