Authors: William W. Johnstone

Sidewinders (8 page)

BOOK: Sidewinders

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“See?” Chloride said. “Just like I told folks in town! Some of 'em didn't believe me, but you seen the thievin' buzzards with your own eyes!”

“If they were part of the gang,” Bo said.

Chloride snorted. “Who else'd ambush us to keep you from tryin' to track 'em down?” he asked. “Them Devils are the only ones who'd have any reason to do that.”

“He's right,” Scratch said. “Question is, did they follow us out here from town, or did the big boss leave some of 'em here to keep watch and bushwhack anybody who came pokin' around?”

Bo shook his head. “I don't know, but I reckon we ought to try to pick up their trail and see where it leads.” He started pulling on one of his socks. It was still damp, but he was too impatient to wait for it to dry fully.

Horses couldn't make it up the side of the gulch right here, even with their riders dismounted and leading them. The Texans and Chloride had to backtrack almost a mile before they came to a place where they could reach the top of the ridge. They retraced their path, looking down on the creek from high above now, until they reached the spot where the ambush had taken place.

“The ground's pretty rocky here,” Scratch observed. “It won't be easy followin' them, but we'll give it a try.”

With Scratch leading the way, they trailed the would-be killers into the rugged hills that bordered Deadwood Gulch. The going was slow. More gulches, many of them choked with brush, cut through the hills and formed obstacles. Finally Scratch reined in, sighed, and shook his head.

“I've lost the trail,” he said. “We can back up and try to find it again, but it ain't likely to do us much good. There are too many rocks, too many creeks, and too many places where a fella can hide his tracks. My hunch is that they've done given us the slip, Bo.”

“Mine, too,” Bo agreed. “Let's head back to those trees where they ambushed the wagon yesterday and try to follow that trail.”

They spent several hours doing that as the tracks of the outlaw gang wound into the rugged area between Deadwood Creek and Whitewood Creek. This trail was a little easier to follow because there had been more riders, but eventually it petered out, too, as the tracks branched in different directions as Scratch had predicted they would.

“Well, we didn't find their rendezvous after all,” Scratch said as they sat on their mounts trying to figure out their next move. He glanced up at the sun. “Missed lunch, too.”

“We might as well head back to Deadwood,” Bo said.

“And do what?” Chloride asked. “How are we gonna earn any money if we can't find those no-good skunks?”

Chloride was including himself now as if they were partners, Bo noted. That was all right. He felt an instinctive liking for the crusty old-timer, and Chloride had handled himself all right during the battle with the bushwhackers. Besides, Chloride had a definite part to play in the plan that was forming in Bo's brain.

“There's more than one way to find the Deadwood Devils,” Bo said as he smiled. “I think I know how we can make them come to us.”

Scratch frowned and asked, “Does this idea of yours have anything to do with us gettin' shot at again, Bo?”

“It just might,” Bo said.

CHAPTER 8

“Dadgummit, I ain't a-gonna do it!” Chloride insisted as they rode along Deadwood's Main Street. He had been arguing with Bo's plan all the way back to the settlement. “I already lived through one of those holdups when nobody else has. You reckon I want to push my luck by trying to do it again?” The old-timer shook his head stubbornly. “Besides, I done told you and told you, the Golden Queen is a hoodoo outfit. Just plain bad luck.”

“And it's also the only mining operation that's desperate enough to hire you as a driver,” Bo pointed out.

He had tried that reasoning on Chloride before, and this time it drew the same sort of disgusted snort as a response. “The gal can't pay no wages. She's flat broke.”

“She's still feeding the men who work for her, and they have a place to stay,” Bo said. “Besides, if the Golden Queen is producing much ore, it's probably piling up out there because there's nobody to bring it to town. If Miss Sutton could get a shipment or two in the bank, I'll bet her finances would look a lot better.”

“Maybe,” Chloride allowed. “The problem is gettin' it here.”

“With you drivin' the wagon and me and Bo guardin' it, it'll get here,” Scratch said. “You can bet that scroungy ol' hat of yours on that.”

“Don't you go sayin' bad things about my hat! Me and this hat been through a heck of a lot together!”

“I believe it. It's probably as old as you are.”

They had reached the office of the Golden Queen Mining Company, so Bo reined in and said, “We can argue about Chloride's hat later. Right now we need to go in and talk to Miss Sutton. Chloride, I'll ask you again to come with us. It'll be a lot easier getting the gold here if we have you along to drive the wagon. Otherwise one of us will have to handle that chore and there'll only be one of us left to keep an eye out for trouble.”

Chloride scowled and tugged on his scraggly beard. “You're bound and determined to go through with this, ain't you?”

“We need jobs, even if they don't pay anything but room and board, and Miss Sutton needs help, if she'll unbend enough to accept it.” Bo shrugged. “Seems like a good solution all the way around.”

“Other than the probably gettin' killed part,” Chloride shot back.

“Man takes a chance ever' time he gets out of bed in the mornin',” Scratch drawled. “Leastways with this one, there might be a nice payoff at the end.”

Chloride jerked his head in a curt nod. “All right,” he said. “We'll give it a try. But when you got a bullet in your belly and you're breathin' your last, just remember I told you it was a loco idea.”

“Were you born with that sunny disposition,” Scratch asked as he dismounted, “or did it just come to you?”

Bo led the way into the mining company office. It was late in the afternoon by now, but Martha Sutton was still there. In fact, she was on her feet and had an angry expression on her face as she looked at a man who stood in front of the desk.

“It's a good offer, Miss Sutton,” the man was saying as the Texans and Chloride came in. He glanced over his shoulder at them but continued talking to Martha. “I'd advise you to take it. I don't know how long Mr. Nicholson will be in such a generous mood.”

“I promise you, Mr. Ramsey, I'm not at a point where I need to rely on the generosity of Mr. Nicholsonâor of you!” Martha shot back. “Tell your employer that I decline his . . . offer.” Her voice dripped with scorn on the final word.

“You're certain?” Ramsey said.

“There's no doubt in my mind.”

Ramsey shrugged and turned away. He was young, around twenty-five, with blond hair and a tall, lean body clothed in a gray tweed suit. He put on a narrow-brimmed hat that matched the suit and stepped past Bo, Scratch, and Chloride, regarding them now with definite curiosity. He didn't ask them who they were, though, just nodded and said, “Gentlemen.” Then he paused in the doorway and added to Martha, “If you change your mind, Miss Sutton, I'm sure Mr. Nicholson will be happy to discuss the matter with you.”

“I won't be changing my mind,” Martha snapped.

Ramsey smiled and went out, closing the door behind him. With a weary sigh, Martha sank into the chair behind the desk and looked up at her new visitors with a mixture of anger and resignation.

“What do you three want?” she asked. Then she looked more closely at Chloride and added, “You're the Argosy driver who was held up yesterday, aren't you?”

Chloride said, “Yes'm, I am. But I ain't workin' for Argosy no more, as of yesterday, too.”

Martha looked surprised. “Lawrence Nicholson fired you because you got held up? Or because you didn't give your life for the Argosy Mining Company like the guards did?”

“I dunno, miss, he just told me I wasn't workin' for him no more.”

“So you're looking for a job like these two?” Martha said as she nodded toward Bo and Scratch.

Bo said, “Actually, Miss Sutton, Chloride gave us a hand today when we rode out to see if we could pick up the trail of the Deadwood Devils.”

Martha sat up straighter and looked interested in spite of herself. “Did you have any luck?” she asked.

“If you call almost getting our hair parted with lead lucky,” Bo replied with a faint smile. “Four men ambushed us while we were looking around the place where the Argosy wagon was held up yesterday.”

“You don't look like you're hurt.”

“That really
was
lucky,” Bo said. Quickly, he explained what had happened when they were ambushed. “We tried to follow those men who shot at us,” he concluded, “but we lost the trail. The same thing happened when we backtracked the outlaws who attacked the Argosy gold wagon yesterday. Following a trail in rugged country like this is pretty hard.”

Martha looked at them solemnly. “When you said you were going to try to find the Deadwood Devils, you weren't joking, were you?”

“We generally don't, leastways not about the important things, miss,” Scratch said.

“I appreciate your efforts, and I'm certainly sorry your lives were in danger . . . but I'm afraid I can't offer you any sort of compensation for what you've done.”

“We're not asking for any,” Bo said. “We haven't earned anything . . . yet.”

Martha frowned. “I don't understand. Are you going to keep looking for the thieves?”

“Not exactly. I had another idea. You said you were having trouble finding anybody to bring your gold into town from the mine . . . ?”

“That's right. All my drivers have quit, and no one wants to hire on as guards . . .” Martha's eyebrows rose as she realized what Bo was suggesting. “Are you saying that the three of you want to volunteer?”

Chloride shuffled his feet. To keep the old-timer from saying anything about hoodoos, Bo replied quickly, “You need a driver and some guards, and we need jobs.”

Impatiently, Martha said, “I've told you, I can't afford to pay wages.”

“But you said you've been feeding the fellas who work for you, and I reckon they have places to stay out at the mine.”

She shrugged. “That's true. You'd work for room and board?”

“And the promise of back wages once you've got plenty of gold in the bank and the company is back on solid footing,” Bo said. He looked at his two companions. Scratch nodded and added, “That's right, ma'am.” Chloride didn't say anything, but at least he didn't object.

Martha said, “It's true I might be able to feed three more mouths, and there's plenty of room in the bunkhouse out at the mine. But aren't you afraid of the Devils? They're liable to try to hold up the first shipment into town.”

“To tell you the truth, Miss Sutton,” Bo said, “we're sort of counting on that.”

“You still want to find out who they are and where they've been hiding all the loot they've stolen, don't you?”

Scratch said, “We don't cotton to bein' shot at. Makes us take things real personal-like.”

Bo nodded. “That's true.”

“Well . . . I suppose we could give it a try. I don't like the idea of you putting your lives at risk, but if I don't get a shipment or two out pretty soon, the company can't keep going.”

“Sounds like we've got a deal, then,” Bo said with a smile.

Martha stood up and extended her hand across the desk. “My father always shook on it whenever he made a deal.”

“Your father sounds like a good man,” Bo said as he gripped her hand.

“He was. I don't want to let him down by losing the mine or being forced to sell out to someone like Lawrence Nicholson.”

“That was one of Nicholson's men you were talking to when we came in, wasn't it?” Bo asked. “What was that about? Did the Argosy make an offer to buy your mine?”

“That's exactly what Phillip Ramsey did,” Martha snapped. “And as for who that little weasel is, he's Nicholson's chief bookkeeper and secretary. Ramsey runs the office, Reese Bardwell runs the mine.”

“We've met Bardwell,” Bo said. “And there was somebody else in the Argosy office when we were there yesterday.”

Martha waved a hand. “There are several clerks who work there, but Ramsey is in charge of them.”

“The fella didn't look that weaselly to me,” Scratch commented.

“Trust me, he is. I wouldn't trust him or Nicholson or Bardwell as far as I could throw them. My father never trusted them, either.” Martha changed the subject by asking, “Are you going to ride out to the mine today? I can give you a letter explaining to my superintendent that I've hired you to bring in the gold shipments.”

“It's a little late to be starting out there today,” Bo said. “But if you could write that letter, we can pick it up first thing in the morning when we ride out.”

Martha nodded. “I'll have it ready for you.” She hesitated. “Do you have enough money to eat tonight? I might be able to find a little money . . .”

“That won't be necessary,” Bo assured her, thinking about the coins they had gotten back from the liveryman, Hanson, early that morning. “We'll be fine.”

“All right then,” she said, obviously relieved. “I hope you men don't have reason to regret going to work for me.”

Chloride was muttering something under his breath as they left the office. Bo didn't ask him to repeat it.

“I hope you ain't plannin' to eat at my place again tonight,” the old-timer said when they were outside. “My cupboard's pert near bare.”

“Actually,” Bo said, “I was thinking we'd treat you to a meal at the Red Top. We got enough money back from Hanson for that.”

Chloride licked his lips under the bushy mustache. “Really? Includin' maybe a piece of one o' those pies that widow lady bakes?”

“Including a piece of pie,” Bo said with a nod.

“I'm much obliged. Maybe throwin' in with you fellas is gonna work out all right after all. Until the shootin' starts again, anyway.”

They sat at an empty table in a rear corner of the Red Top this time. Sue Beth Pendleton came over, smiled at them, and said, “Where have you fellows been all day? I heard a rumor you and Mr. Morton intended to become bounty hunters and go after the Devils, Mr. Creel.”

“We thought better of it and spent the day sightseeing instead, ma'am,” Bo answered.

“That's right,” Scratch put in. “Why go lookin' for trouble?”

After telling Martha Sutton about it, they had agreed not to say anything about the ambush out on the trail. The fewer people who knew about their clash with the Devils, the better. That way, if anybody brought it up, that would be a potential clue to who the members of the gang might be.

Sue Beth looked at Chloride and said, “Were you the one showing them the sights, Mr. Coleman?”

“Well, ma'am, I reckon I know the country hereabouts as good as anybody in these parts,” the old-timer said.

“That's true,” Sue Beth agreed, but judging by the shrewd look in the woman's eyes, Bo thought she might have some suspicions of her own. It would be hard to put anything past her for very long, he decided. She went on, “Are you here for supper?”

“Yes, ma'am, and we can even pay,” Bo told her.

Sue Beth laughed. “I'll tell Charlie, and then I'll be back with coffee. It's fried chicken tonight, by the way. I hope that's all right.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Scratch said. “Nothin' better than some good fried chicken.”

BOOK: Sidewinders

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