Jesse Blackwood knew the gold coach's route by heart, and she knew she could not stop it alone. The Dustdevil mine shipped forty pounds of it every month, guarded by six riders. One woman with a good gun could rob a store. She needed a crew to rob a fortune. But she'd watched two partners hang after a third man sold their names to the marshal. So she rode to the one place nobody counted the living. The mining camp sagged under its own age. Timber walls leaned. Patched siding rattled in the wind. The men here had dug the mountain empty and stayed on, too broke to leave and too tired to try. Jesse tied her horse and studied them. Desperate men kept secrets, because they had none left worth trading. A giant sat at the gate, cradling a three-legged dog. His hands were huge and scarred, but he petted the animal like it might break. When he saw Jesse, he stood and blocked the way. "You'll want to leave the dog be," he whispered. "He's had enough hard people today." "I'm not here for the dog," Jesse said. "I'm here for men who want gold more than they want to stay honest." The giant's soft brown eyes measured her. Then he pointed at a bent old man kneeling in the dirt, sifting gravel through a cracked pan. "Talk to Clayton. He knows where the gold runs. Nobody else in here knows their own name after noon." Jesse crouched beside the old prospector. His beard was white as ash, his hands quick despite his years. He didn't look up. "Coach carries it in strongboxes," he said. "You're thinking about robbing it. Everyone who comes here is thinking about robbing it." "You know the shipment," Jesse said. "You know how the boxes lock." "I mined that seam for thirty years. I know the weight, the wax seals, the mark the assay office cuts." He finally met her eyes. "What I don't know is why I'd trust an outlaw not to leave me in a ditch." "Because the marshal already forgot you both exist," Jesse said. "No family. No wages. Nobody to whisper to for reward money. That's why I came here instead of a saloon." The giant crossed his arms. "I don't kill." "Then you won't have to," Jesse said. "You'll carry the boxes. He'll open them. I'll do the rest." Clayton set down his pan. He looked at the giant, and the giant nodded once. "Cut's a third each," the old man said. "And we ride out after. No coming back here." Jesse spat in her palm and held it out. Clayton shook it. The giant's grip swallowed her whole hand. She had a crew now. Two men with nothing to sell and no one to sell to. But as she mounted up, a cold thought settled in. She had just trusted her whole plan to a man who wept over a broken-legged dog. The hard part was no longer finding help. It was whether the gentle giant could do what a heist would demand.