Authors: William W. Johnstone
Sidewinders (22 page)
In answer to that, Scratch grasped the rope, sat down on the edge, and turned to lower himself over the brink. He dropped out of sight as he went down the rope hand over hand.
“Keep an eye on that lasso,” Bo told Gustaffson. “We don't want it starting to fray where it goes over the edge.”
“I'll watch it,” the non-com promised.
Bo looked over the edge and watched Scratch make the descent. As soon as the silver-haired Texan's feet were back on the ground, Bo swung himself over the brink and started down. He had never been overly fond of heights and wondered why in blazes he had to be climbing up and down rock walls and ropes all of a sudden like some sort of ape. He didn't like heights, and he didn't like boats, either. Solid ground, that was what he wanted under his feet.
It didn't take long to lower himself to the canyon floor. Scratch waited behind a rock with both of his Remingtons drawn. Bo pulled in a deep breath to steady his nerves and drew his Colt from its holster.
“Let's go,” he said quietly.
They trotted across the snowy ground toward the cabin. They were behind the old shack and there were no windows on this side, but the outlaw inside might still catch a glimpse of them through gaps between the logs.
Half a dozen horses were in the corral next to the cabin. Two of them would belong to Lowell and the other man, and the others were probably spare mounts. The Texans were about twenty feet from the cabin when Bo noticed that one of the horses was already saddled, and a couple of others had heavy-looking packs slung over their backs. Instantly, Bo knew what that meant.
Spooked by Lowell's death, the outlaw who'd been left behind was running out on the Devils, and he was double-crossing them and taking as much of the loot as he could carry, too.
That thought had just gone through Bo's mind when the man stepped around the front corner of the cabin, staggering a little under the weight of the pack full of gold bars he was carrying. He started toward the corral gate but stopped short at the sight of the Texans.
“Hold it!” Bo shouted.
The outlaw ignored the command. Instead he dropped the pack at his feet and sent his hand stabbing toward the gun on his hip.
CHAPTER 22
That wasn't a smart thing to do.
The outlaw had barely cleared leather when Bo and Scratch both fired. The Texans hadn't hesitated because they had any doubts about what needed to be done. This man was part of a gang that had murdered, stolen, and terrorized an entire region. Plain and simple, he deserved to die.
But he deserved to die with a gun in his hand.
Two slugs from Scratch's Remingtons and a round from Bo's Colt punched into the man's chest. The impact lifted him and threw him backward. His revolver went spinning out of his fingers unfired. It thudded to the ground at the same time he did. One leg jerked and kicked and his back arched as blood spouted from the holes in his chest. The blood diminished to trickles as the outlaw sagged and went still. Death had finished claiming him.
“Well, we were probably gonna have to kill him anyway,” Scratch said into the silence that descended on the canyon as the echoes of the shots died away.
“Yeah,” Bo said. “He made sure of it.”
The gunfire had spooked the horses in the corral. They milled around nervously. Bo went on. “We can let them calm down, then we'll need to get that gold off of them. We don't want the others riding up and suspecting that something's wrong.”
Scratch picked up the dead outlaw's gun and tucked it inside his coat, behind his belt. “I'll bet Olaf 's lookin' down from up yonder and worryin' about those shots. Better let him know that everything's all right.”
Bo nodded and moved out into the middle of the canyon where Gustaffson couldn't help but see him. He took his hat off and waved it over his head, then motioned for the sergeant and the rest of the troopers to come on down the trail that followed the ledge.
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?
”
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.
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 time 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 alongâ”
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