Authors: William W. Johnstone
Sidewinders (23 page)
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 thatâ”
“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 probably 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.
The Texans had reached the doorway and crouched just inside it, using the jambs as cover while they battled with the outlaws. Bo caught a glimpse of Bardwell leading that riderless horse and knew the packs on the animal must hold some of the loot they had taken from the bank in Deadwood. Some of the other men were fleeing, too, including a couple who had hold of the reins attached to the horses carrying Sue Beth and Martha.
Bo tried to line up a shot at them, but he held off on the trigger as he realized he couldn't risk it. There was too great a chance of hitting one of the women instead. Grimacing, he switched his aim to one of the outlaws who was firing a six-gun at him and blew the man out of the saddle.
The roar of the shots was deafening and seemed to go on forever, but in reality the battle lasted only moments. Bo and Scratch held their fire as they realized that five of the outlaws were down, and the others, along with Sue Beth and Martha, were already a considerable distance down the canyon and getting farther away by the second.
“We gotta go after 'em!” Scratch said as he lowered his rifle.
“Yeah,” Bo agreed. As he came out of the cabin he shouted, “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”
Some of the troopers were still throwing lead after the fleeing outlaws and their hostages. As far as Bo had been able to tell, neither Sue Beth nor Martha had been hit, but he couldn't be sure of that. The way lead had been flying around, it was a pure miracle neither of the women had been killed.
Gustaffson bellowed for his men to stop shooting, too. As the firing finally died down, Bo and Scratch ran for the trees where their horses were hidden along with the other mounts. There was no time to waste.
One of the cavalrymen who had been concealed in the trees was down, thrashing around. Another lay close by, motionless. Splashes of blood crimsoned the white snow around them. The third trooper knelt beside the wounded one, trying to help him. Bo wished he and Scratch could stop and help, but the lives of the two women were still at stake.
They jerked their reins loose and swung up into the saddles. As they rode out of the trees, they saw Sergeant Gustaffson running toward them. “Wait a minute!” the non-com yelled. “Where are you going?”
“After the Devils,” Bo said.
“I've got wounded menâ”
“Then tend to them and guard the gold in the cabin,” Bo snapped. “We're going after the Devils.”
“Blast it, I'm coming withâ”
The Texans didn't wait any longer. They thundered after the outlaws, leaving Gustaffson behind them with his mouth still open.
“That was a hell of a bluff you came up with!” Scratch called over the pounding hoofbeats. “For a second there you almost had me believin' we was about to get blowed up! That boss outlaw believed it, too!”
“Yeah, I know!” Bo replied. “I just wanted to get the women out of the line of fire!”
“Almost worked!”
Yes, Bo thought, almost . . . but not quite. And for now, at least, that made all the difference.
It was easy to follow the trail left in the snow by the fleeing outlaws and their prisoners. Bardwell must have decided to cut his losses. He had most of the loot the Devils had taken from the Deadwood bank, and he had a couple of hostages. Leaving behind the gold in the cabin must have been a bitter pill to swallow, but it was better than staying and getting shot.
Bo wondered if a posse had followed the outlaws from Deadwood. If it had, there was a chance he and Scratch could catch the Devils between them and the townsmen.
They reached the mouth of the canyon, where the trail swung to the left, away from Deadwood and deeper into the rugged hills. They hadn't run into a posse along the way, so the possibility of closing the jaws of a trap on the Devils was gone.
He and Scratch would continue the pursuit anyway, Bo thought. The Texans had faced long odds before and managed to survive.
As best he'd been able to count in the heat of battle, seven of the outlaws had escaped. That would take some whittling down, Bo told himself, but he and Scratch could do it. It might have been better if they had let Gustaffson come along, maybe with a couple of troopers. The other cavalrymen could have been left to guard the gold in the cabin. But Bo had never been one for second-guessing himself, so he shoved those thoughts aside.
The horses were starting to flag a little after the hard run down the canyon. Bo and Scratch reined them back to a walk. It was frustrating, knowing that the outlaws might be opening up a larger lead on them, but it would be even more disastrous if they ran their horses into the ground. A man who galloped his mount until it died underneath him usually stood a good chance of winding up dead himself.
“Them Devils have been around here for a while,” Scratch said. “They probably know this part of the country better than we do right now.”
Bo nodded. “More than likely. But with this snow on the ground, they'll have a hard time giving us the slip. They probably know that, too, so we'd better be on the lookout for an ambush.”
The trail rose steadily, climbing toward a rugged-looking, snow-covered mountain several miles away. There would be plenty of places for the outlaws to hide in the rough country around it. If they managed to give Bo and Scratch the slip, it might take another cavalry patrol weeks of searching to find any trace of them . . . and by that time, what was left of the gang would be long gone, taking the hostages with them.
Either that, or they would leave the women behind, more likely dead than alive, Bo thought grimly. The best chance of saving Sue Beth and Martha was to catch up to the outlaws today. Every minute the women spent as prisoners increased the odds against them.
Both Texans checked their back trail from time to time, out of habit. Scratch glanced back now and said, “Riders comin' up fast behind us, Bo.”
Bo reined in and turned to look. He saw the men Scratch had spotted. Half a dozen of them came across the snow-covered landscape, pushing their horses hard so that the powdery white stuff flew up around the animals' hooves.
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