Chance watched as Griselda gasped, shrinking back from the open tent flap. Biggin locked eyes with her as Rip’s last enhanced bullet pierced his back and lodged somewhere inside his massive chest.

Biggin stumbled, legs carrying him forward on his own momentum a few more faltering steps. Then he fell face down in the street. A round red bloodstain formed on his back, quickly growing larger.

Looking up, Griselda tried to find the man who shot Biggin. Overhead they heard the airship’s powerful motors revving and pulling him higher, over the rooftops and out of sight.

She looked back at the wagon following them. The draft horses stared with blank eyes, the brake preventing them from moving. The missing canvas top revealed the giant Gatling gun, Grisly’s ace in the hole for any trouble.

Or so she thought.

She and Chance stared at the street behind the gun wagon, at all the downed horses and people, at the hundreds of pockmarks in pavement and buildings left behind by the powerful weapon. No one moved behind the Gatling, the storm of gunfire having swept the street clear of life.

Chance whispered, “You did this.”

Everything he could see, all the destruction left behind . . . all of that was her fault. He knew it. He glared at her.

But Grisly did not notice the death and destruction, nor the conviction in his eyes. She looked past the fallen Biggen, the giant gun, the horses and all the bodies on the street.

“Where are they? Where are the others?”

Their driver started forward, and with a slight lurch they drew away from the scene.

“No! Where’s my gold? Stop!”

She moved to go back to the front, but Chance stopped her, gripping her arm.

“Let me go! How dare you?”

“Look at this, Griselda. Look out there. You did that. Every man and animal dead on that street is because of you.”

She snarled and pulled, but Chance kept his grip on her arm. With her other hand, she slapped him on the face.

“Let me go! We’re going back for the gold. Stop the wagon!”

The driver called out, “Whoa!” and he pulled to a stop.

“Unhand me!”

She pulled her arm out of his grip and threw open the flap.

On the street, a dozen uniformed policemen stared at her, standing around the wagon. Large copper buttons reflected sunlight into her eyes.

Chief Inspector Sperry walked around the corner and into view, arms clasped behind his back.

He said, “Ah, Grisly Belle. These are your carts, I take it? Yes, ‘Ned’s Textiles.’ A nod to old Ned Ludd himself, no doubt. Then the cart with that machinegun was yours as well, I see. We have a lot to talk about, Ms. Belle. Do step out, if you will please.”

She looked once more at the fallen body of Biggin, her strongman. But he remained face-down on the pavement, unmoving, his back covered in blood.

She turned and looked at Chance.

“Robinson! You’re enhanced. Take care of these peelers.”

Chance said nothing. He just stared at her.

“Robinson! Your oath!”

He leaned over to the side and spit. Her eyes grew wide as he met her gaze once more.

Chance said, “She’s all yours, boys.”

The three nearest policemen reached in and grabbed Griselda, screaming and kicking, pulling her out.

“Put her in the paddy wagon!” Sperry said. They dragged her off, oblivious to the profanity she spewed at the top of her lungs.

More sedately the driver followed, two cops on either side holding onto his elbows. The officers shoved both of them into a locked carriage, a portable jail on wheels. Griselda kept screaming, but the profanity was muffled now.

Sperry leaned in and looked at the crates stacked in the middle of the wagon.

“Never seen that much gold all in one place. Have you, Mr. Chance?”

“No. I’m more used to silver, I suppose.”

Sperry gave him a hard glance.

“Perhaps I’m in the wrong line of work. I’ve never seen that much silver all in one place, either.”

They heard Griselda screech and scream more curse words. The paddy wagon rocked on its wheels as she threw herself against its walls. Both men turned to glance at the commotion.

“Oh, I think you’re in the right line of work, Chief Inspector. I think you enjoy capturing the likes of her. I imagine you give a grim smile each time the rope grows taut around the neck of one of those you catch.”

Sperry’s face broke into a wide grin.

“About that, you are quite right, Mr. Chance. Would you like us to escort you to the bank?”

“I would appreciate that, Chief Inspector,” Chance said, hopping out of the back to join the officers on the street. “Maybe your gents can help me get through this traffic.”

Sperry yelled at some of his men on horseback to escort the wagon while Chance moved to the driver’s seat. Then Sperry barked orders at other cops to go help the shooting victims.

Chance climbed into the seat, released the brake and grabbed the reins. He heard a fading rumble of the Steel Comet’s propellers and glanced up.

The heavily laden airship still had the last wagon full of gold dangling securely from its belly. He watched Ripley climb the last few rungs of a rope ladder and enter the cabin through a trapdoor.

Chance smiled, then shook the reins. The draft animals followed the police horses, leading the way. He silently started calculating his share of the reward money they would make from this job.