Sidewinders Read online

  Scratch looked inside the cabin and reported, “The other dead hombre’s in there. Looks like this one dragged him down here and left him inside so the wolves wouldn’t get him. He wasn’t gonna try to bury him, though. He was just gonna take as much loot as he could carry and get out of here.”

  “That’s the way I figure it, too,” Bo agreed. “We’ve got time to bury both of them, though. The rest of the Devils won’t be back until later in the day, and the ground shouldn’t be frozen yet.”

  “Seems like a heap of wasted effort for a couple of no-good owlhoots,” Scratch said.

  “If we drag them over into the trees, that’ll attract scavengers,” Bo pointed out. “If the rest of the Devils were to see buzzards circling, that might tip them off that something was wrong. And I don’t particularly like the idea of sitting inside that cabin all day with a couple of dead outlaws.”

  Scratch gave a grim chuckle. “I see what you mean. Anyway, we can get Olaf to order some of them greenhorn troopers to dig the grave.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” Bo said with a bleak smile of his own.

  Gustaffson and the other survivors from the patrol were on their way down into the canyon now, riding single file down the ledge. Bo and Scratch went to meet the sergeant when the group reached the canyon floor.

  “We heard the shots,” Gustaffson said as he dismounted. “I suppose that means we don’t have to worry about the outlaw who was left here.”

  “Only about burying him and the guard we took care of last night,” Bo said.

  Gustaffson nodded. “I’ll handle that.” He turned his head and called to a couple of the troopers. “You’ll form a burial detail. I suppose you’ll want the graves out of sight, Bo?”

  “Yeah, over in the trees would be good,” Bo said, waving toward some pines that grew along the canyon wall.

  “What happened?” Gustaffson asked.

  The story didn’t take long to tell. When the Texans were finished, Bo said, “We’ll take the gold back in the cabin. The men can warm up inside. You’ll need to post some sentries down the canyon, though, just in case the Devils turned back for some reason before they got to Deadwood and show up back here sooner than we expect.”

  “Good idea,” Gustaffson agreed. “We’ll take shifts, so that everybody will get a chance to thaw out.”

  Bo nodded. “Later, we’ll leave a couple of men in the cabin and the rest will spread out. Some up on the rimrock, maybe a few over in the trees. We’ll have the gang caught in a cross fire.”

  “Are you sure you were never in the army?”

  Scratch laughed. “Only the Texian army, and we was both just wet-behind-the-ears youngsters then.”

  Everyone got to work. Several of the troopers carried the dead outlaws into the trees and started digging a grave big enough to hold both bodies. Some of the men looked a little queasy about handling the corpses, but the others seemed to have been hardened to sudden death by seeing so many of their comrades crushed in that avalanche.

  Gustaffson sent two men down the canyon to watch for the Devils, as Bo had suggested. The Texans, with Gustaffson’s help, unloaded the packs filled with gold bars from the horses and lugged them back into the cabin. The owlhoot who had been running out on the gang had loaded less than half the gold that was stacked inside.

  Gustaffson let out a whistle at the sight of it. “That gold’s worth more money than I’ll ever see in my whole life, even if I live to be a hundred.”

  “Yeah, it’s quite a sight,” Scratch agreed. “You ain’t gettin’ tempted, are you, Olaf?”

  “Me?” Gustaffson let out a short bark of laughter. “I’ve worked hard all my life. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I was a rich man. If all I had to do was lie around and take it easy, it probably wouldn’t be a month before I was so restless I couldn’t stand it.”

  Bo nodded. “I know the feeling. We’ve never been interested in getting rich, have we, Scratch?”

  “Speak for yourself,” the silver-haired Texan replied. “I reckon I could have me a little hacienda somewhere and be perfectly happy to do nothin’ the rest of my life.”

  “Sure,” Bo said, his tone of voice making it clear that he didn’t believe that for a second.

  When they had all the gold back in the cabin, they unsaddled the horse in the corral. Smoke still rose from the chimney. There were a lot of tracks in the snow, but when the outlaws returned they wouldn’t be able to tell that those tracks hadn’t been made by the men they had left here. For the most part everything looked like it had when the rest of the Devils left for Deadwood, except for the horses belonging to the cavalrymen. A couple of the troopers led the animals back up the ledge and picketed them well away from the rim, where they wouldn’t be seen.

  With that done, Bo, Scratch, and Gustaffson discussed their strategy again. “Olaf, I think you should take four of the men up there in the rim and wait with them there. We’ll put three men over in the trees, and Scratch and I will wait in the cabin. We’ll confront the Devils first.”

  “You’ll take the most dangerous job, in other words,” Gustaffson said.

  Bo shrugged. “Or the easiest, depending on how you look at it. We’ll have a good position to defend if we have to, and once the Devils see that we’ve got their loot and they’re caught in a crossfire, maybe they’ll surrender. Quién sabe?”

  Gustaffson let out a skeptical grunt and said, “Yeah, sure they’ll surrender. You really think that bunch of murdering thieves will give up?”

  “Probably not,” Bo admitted.

  “Likely it’ll take shootin’,” Scratch said.

  “Call in your sentries,” Bo went on. “We’ll all get in position, and then we’ll be as ready as we’ll ever be. All we can do then is wait.”

  Gustaffson nodded. “All right. I still think you two are running the biggest risk, but I don’t suppose there’s any point in arguing.”

  “None at all,” Scratch said with a grin.

  Even with the snow on the ground, the Devils ought to be able to make better time today than they had the night before, Bo thought. Added to that was the fact that they might have a posse on their trail, which would make them move even faster. Despite that, it would take them at least half the day to get back from their raid on the bank in Deadwood. Bo didn’t expect them to show up at the hideout until sometime in the afternoon.

  That gave everyone time to take advantage of the supplies stored in the cabin and have a hot meal of bacon, beans, and coffee. After that, the cavalrymen took their positions, and Bo and Scratch settled down to wait in the cabin.

  Scratch opened the shutter on the window a couple of inches so he could keep a watchful eye on the approach through the canyon. As he stood there, he asked, “You given any more thought to who’s really behind all this trouble, Bo? We know the Devils are workin’ for somebody.”

  “Yeah, I’ve thought about it a lot,” Bo replied. “I’d still say Nicholson is the mostly likely suspect, but something about the whole situation makes me think he’s not the hombre in charge.”

  “Maybe we can take one or two of those owlhoots alive. Most fellas get mighty talkative when they’re starin’ a hangrope in the face.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” Bo said. “The law would need evidence to convict the ringleader, and the testimony of a couple of the Devils might be enough.”

  Scratch tapped a fingertip against the ivory-handled butt of one of his Remingtons. “This law don’t need a lot of evidence. Just the truth.”

  Bo shrugged. A lot of times, gunplay was what it all came down to. Someday the frontier would be completely civilized, he supposed, and such rough justice would no longer be needed. But that day was still a long way off, he sensed, and even when most people thought it had arrived, there would still be evil out there that required good men to take up the gun and face it down. Bo wasn’t sure that would ever change.

  The hours dragged, as they always did when violence loomed but the t
ime of its arrival was uncertain. The sky brightened slightly as the sun climbed to its highest point, but the clouds never really broke. And then the light began to dim again.

  Bo and Scratch took turns watching from the window. Bo was standing there when a flicker of movement from down the canyon caught his eye. Earlier he had seen a couple of birds flitting around, and once a rabbit had hopped across the canyon floor. This was different. This was a bigger shape moving around down there.

  This was a man on horseback.

  “Scratch,” Bo said quietly.

  Scratch was sitting at the table. He got up and came over to join his old friend at the window. “One rider,” Bo went on. “About three hundred yards down the canyon.”

  “Yeah, I see him,” Scratch said. “You reckon he’s alone?”

  “He’s probably a scout. Since we can see him, that means he can see the cabin. It’ll look to him like nothing’s changed since the gang left.”

  The Texans continued watching as the man rode closer. A moment later he reined his horse to a halt and sat there motionless in the saddle.

  “Could be studyin’ the place through field glasses,” Scratch said, pitching his voice quietly even though the rider was well out of earshot.

  “Yeah,” Bo agreed. “I hope all those troopers stay out of sight.”

  “At least the sun ain’t shinin’ bright. It won’t reflect off a rifle barrel or anything like that.”

  The rider took his time assessing the situation in the canyon. The minutes that he sat there on his horse passed even more slowly than they had while Bo and Scratch were waiting for someone to show up.

  Finally, the man turned his horse around, drew his rifle from its saddle boot, and raised the weapon over his head, pumping it up and down three times. It was an unmistakable signal to someone who was still out of sight.

  Not for long, though. Several more men on horseback appeared and joined the first one. They rode toward the cabin at a fairly leisurely pace.

  “I only count four of ’em,” Scratch said. “You reckon the others got killed when they hit the bank in Deadwood? That’d make things easier for us. They might give up for sure when they see we got ’em outnumbered more than two to one.”

  “Maybe,” Bo said. “Or maybe they’re just being careful.”

  A moment later, more riders came into view, and Bo knew his second speculation had been right. From the looks of it, the whole gang had survived, which meant that the odds had tipped slightly to the outlaws’ side.

  It was even worse than that, Bo realized as a frown creased his forehead. He did a quick head count again and said, “Something’s funny here, Scratch. It looks to me like there are two more riders than left here last night. They brought a couple of people with them.”

  “Who do you reckon that could be?”

  “I don’t know. It might be that ringleader the Devils are working for, or they could have grabbed some hostages and brought them along—”

  Bo stopped short as shock coursed through him. The second group of riders was close enough now that he could make out more details. Two figures who rode in the center of the group, surrounded by the outlaws as if they were being guarded, were hatless. Blond hair and red hair stood out as splashes of color against the snowy background. Scratch recognized the riders, too, and ripped out a curse.

  “Is that—”

  “Yeah,” Bo said. “Marty Sutton and Sue Beth Pendleton, and it looks like they’re prisoners.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Bo’s hands tightened on the rifle he held as he went on. “Those young troopers better not have itchy trigger fingers. It wouldn’t take much to get those women killed.”

  “I reckon not,” Scratch said, just as tense as Bo suddenly was. “One shot would start the ball.”

  Bo’s brain worked furiously. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye. Now a shootout with the Devils was the last thing they wanted.

  “We’re going to have to make a trade,” he said.

  “What sort of trade?”

  “Gold and safe passage out of here in return for the women.”

  “Safe passage for who?” Scratch asked. “Those murderin’ owlhoots?”

  “I don’t like it any more than you do,” Bo said, “but the first consideration is saving the lives of those hostages. When the Devils see that we’ve got them covered, maybe they’ll let Sue Beth and Marty go.”

  Scratch shook his head. “I don’t think so. They’ll know that as soon as the gals are clear, all hell’s liable to break loose.”

  “Probably, but we’ve got to try.” Bo took a deep breath. “I’m going out there.”

  “They’ll shoot you on sight!”

  “Maybe not. Somebody’s got to negotiate with them, and they’re more likely to pay attention to me if they can see me.”

  “Well, then, I’m comin’, too.”

  “No need for both of us to get killed in a fool play.”

  “Save your breath,” Scratch said. “If we’re goin’, let’s get out there.”

  He was right, Bo thought. The four men in the lead were only about twenty yards from the cabin now, and the rest of the group was about ten yards behind them. The showdown couldn’t be postponed.

  “Follow my lead,” Bo said as he moved to the door, pulled the latch string, and swung it open. He stepped out into the gray light with his rifle held ready.

  The Devils probably expected the two members of the gang they had left behind to greet them, so they didn’t react instantly when two figures emerged from the cabin. Only a heartbeat went by, though, before they realized that the Texans weren’t the ones they were expecting.

  By that time, Bo and Scratch had lifted their rifles to their shoulders and drawn beads on the men in the lead. “Hold it!” Bo shouted, his voice echoing back from the canyon walls and reaching the cavalry troopers in the trees and those on the rimrock. “Everybody hold your fire and stay calm!”

  That order was meant as much for Gustaffson and his men as it was for the Devils.

  Several of the outlaws started to reach for their guns. It was an instinctive reaction when they were threatened. But one of the riders who had led the way up the canyon flung out a hand and gestured sharply.

  “Hold it!” he echoed Bo. “They wouldn’t step out in the open like that if they didn’t have more guns pointed at us!”

  “You’re right about that, mister,” Bo said as he peered at the man over the barrel of his Winchester. “There are enough rifles pointed at you right now to shoot all of you into little pieces.”

  The outlaws weren’t wearing their bandana masks now. Their faces were uncovered, and they were a hard-looking bunch. The one who seemed to be the boss was tall and powerfully built, with a close-cropped dark beard and mustache. Something about him was familiar, and Bo had a pretty good hunch what it was. He stole a look at the man’s left hand holding the reins and saw that the little finger was missing.

  A smile crept across Black Tom Bardwell’s craggy face. “Includin’ those two women?” he asked. “Because I guarantee you, Tex, if we get shot to pieces, they will, too.”

  “Maybe nobody has to get killed,” Bo suggested. “Let the women go and we’ll talk about it.”

  Bardwell snorted. “Like hell! We let the women go and your bushwhackers’ll open up on us a second later.” He frowned at Bo and Scratch. “That’s assumin’ you’ve even got any bushwhackers hid out. Maybe the whole thing’s just a bluff after all. Maybe it’s just you two trouble-makin’ pieces of Texas trash tryin’ to get in our way.”

  “Mister,” Scratch warned, “you better watch what you say about Texas.”

  “Or what?” Bardwell shot back with a sneer. “You can’t start the ball any more than we can. Not without those gals gettin’ killed.”

  “Here’s the deal,” Bo said. “Let the women go, and you can take the gold that’s in the cabin and ride out of here. I give you my word on that.”

  Up there on the rimrock, Gustaffson was pr
obably seething at the possibility of the men who had nearly wiped out the patrol getting away, but right now Bo’s only concern was saving the lives of Martha and Sue Beth.

  “If we kill you, what’s to stop us from just takin’ the gold?” Bardwell demanded.

  A few minutes earlier, Bardwell had accused Bo of bluffing. Now Bo was ready to run a real bluff, one that had just occurred to him based on what was most important to these outlaws.

  “You’ll never be able to get to it,” he said with a confident smile. “It’ll be blown to kingdom come. There are five kegs of blasting powder in there, and the fuses attached to them are already lit. They’ve got maybe another two minutes to burn. Maybe.”

  Bardwell stiffened in the saddle and let out a curse. “You can’t . . . You fools! The blast’ll kill you, too!”

  “We’ll chance it,” Bo snapped. “Now what’s it going to be?”

  He saw Bardwell wavering and knew the man was about to agree to the deal. But bad luck chose that moment to crop up, as Sue Beth Pendleton’s nerve finally broke under the strain of being a prisoner. She screamed, “Oh, my God! We’re all going to die!” and yanked her horse around. She drove her heels into the animal’s flanks and sent it lunging against the horse of one of the outlaws surrounding her and Martha Sutton. The man cursed and instinctively jerked his gun up toward her.

  The muzzle of Scratch’s rifle tracked swiftly to the side and gouted flame as he fired. The .44-40 round smacked cleanly through the head of the outlaw threatening Sue Beth and exploded out the other side, taking a fist-size chunk of skull with it and killing the man instantly. He toppled out of the saddle.

  The explosion of the shot set off a frenzy of violence. Several of the outlaws jerked their guns out and started blazing away at Bo and Scratch, who had no choice but to return the fire as they backed hurriedly toward the door of the cabin.

  At the same time, Gustaffson and the rest of the troopers opened up on the gang. Some of the Devils twisted in their saddles to return that fire as well. Not Black Tom Bardwell, though. He whirled his mount and spurred back down the canyon, obviously trying to escape the deadly crossfire. As bullets whipped around him, he leaned over and grabbed the trailing reins of the horse belonging to the man Scratch had shot.