Sidewinders (18 page)

The hoofbeats of the approaching horses grew louder as the two Texans worked their way back to the cabin. Scratch was still dumbfounded that Bo could have such an exact double, but there was no denying the evidence of his own eyes. He had seen the man for himself.

He didn't know what he would do if he ever ran into his own doubleganger. He hoped it would never happen, though.

Another sound mixed in with the hoofbeats. Scratch recognized it as the squeaking of wagon wheels as they turned on their axles. That meant the horses were probably a team pulling the vehicle.

Back at the cabin's rear window, Scratch resumed the position he'd been in before with his eye pressed to one of the gaps around the shutters. He held his hat in his left hand and rested his right hand on the butt of the Remington on that side, ready to draw the revolver as soon as Bo indicated that they should make their move.

Inside the cabin, Dunn and Jake must have heard the wagon approaching, too. Dunn took another drink of his coffee and stood up.

“That'll be the boss,” he said.

“Good,” Jake said. “I miss Pa when he's not here.”

It still made a shiver run down Scratch's backbone when he saw and heard Jake. It was just like looking at Bo, and their voices were similar, too, but then the childlike words came out of Jake's mouth and Scratch was reminded of just how truly different they were. Jake had an air of innocence that made it almost impossible to believe he could have committed those crimes, but there was no other explanation.

If the situation bothered Scratch as much as it did, he couldn't imagine what it made Bo feel like.

The hoofbeats stopped. Scratch heard a murmur of voices but couldn't make out the words. He pressed his eye closer to the gap and waited for the door to open.

He wasn't prepared for what he saw when it did.

Professor Thaddeus Sarlat stepped into the cabin, and close behind him came the beautiful Veronique.

Scratch clenched his jaw tight. He had to do that to keep a curse from erupting out of his mouth.

“Pa!” Jake said. He went to Sarlat and put his arms around him in a clumsy hug. “I'm so happy you're back.”

Sarlat patted Jake on the shoulder and said, “Yes, yes, we told you we'd return, didn't we?”

Jake hugged Veronique, too, but there was nothing about it that was reminiscent of the way a man hugged a beautiful woman. Scratch halfway expected him to call her “Mama,” but at least he didn't do that.

“Everything on schedule, boss?” Dunn asked.

Sarlat nodded and said, “Yes, perfectly. Veronique and I will take Jake back to town now, just to make sure everything is wrapped up according to our plan.”

“What about me?”

“You can stay here if you like,” Sarlat told the bartender. “Or you can go back to Bear Creek. It's up to you.” He smiled thinly. “After tonight, though, you may not want to be around there anymore.”

“You're right about that,” Dunn said. “I'm gonna take my share and go back East where things are civilized. Or maybe to New Orleans.” He leered at Veronique. “That's where you're from, ain't it?”

“Oui,” she said. The icy tone of her voice told Scratch that she didn't particularly care for Dunn. That was no surprise. The bartender was pretty weasel-like.

Scratch's brain was spinning as he tried to make sense of the things he was hearing. He had felt a genuine liking for the professor and Veronique. They had been willing to pitch in and help him rescue Bo from the jail in Bear Creek.

And yet it was undeniable that the two of them were mixed up in something pretty sinister. Scratch just couldn't figure out exactly what it was.

Maybe Bo could, he told himself. Bo was good at figuring things out.

“Come along, Jake,” Sarlat said as he put a hand on Jake's arm.

“Are we going . . . to town again?” Jake asked.

“That's right.”

“Are you gonna have me . . . do something again?”

“One more time, Jake,” Sarlat said, his voice gentle but persuasive. “That's all. Then you won't have to help me with my job anymore.”

“I don't mind . . . too much. I always like to do . . . what you tell me to do.”

Blood roared inside Scratch's head. That son of a bitch. Sarlat was one hell of an actor, pretending to be just a medicine show professor when obviously he was something much worse.

Veronique was part of it, too. Scratch hated to think that someone so lovely could also be so evil, but this wasn't the first time he and Bo had run into a woman who was just as villainous as any of the men around her.

He looked over at Bo, expecting his friend to signal that they should make their move and get the drop on the people in the cabin. It would be easy enough to do. Bo could knock the rickety shutters aside with the rifle butt while Scratch kicked in the door and covered them with his Remingtons.

Instead, Bo motioned for Scratch to follow him and started to fade back away from the cabin. Scratch didn't understand that, but he went along with what Bo wanted, knowing that in the long run Bo's hunches were always worth playing.

When they were back up the hill in the trees where they wouldn't be heard, Bo stopped and said, “I reckon from the way you described them, that must be Professor Sarlat and Mademoiselle Ballantine.”

“Yeah,” Scratch said, “but I swear, Bo, I thought they were good folks. They helped me pull off that jailbreak tonight.”

“For some reason they must have wanted me out of jail. I don't know how that fits in with their plan, but it's bound to.”

“I guess. This whole business has thrown me for a loop. I reckon it must be even worse for you, knowin' that somebody who looks just like you really is a killer.”

“If you want to call him that,” Bo said. “As far as I'm concerned, Sarlat's the real killer. Jake's just the tool he's been using to commit his crimes.”

“Yeah, that's the way I figure it, too. How come we're not down there roundin' 'em up?”

“Because even though we know now who's behind this, we still don't know what it's all about. And I want to find out.”

“How do you figure we'll go about doin' that?” Scratch asked.

“You follow the wagon back to town and keep an eye on those three. Maybe Sarlat will give away what the rest of his plan is. Just make sure Jake doesn't hurt anyone else.”

Scratch nodded and said, “What'll you be doin'?”

“I'm going to grab Barney Dunn, just like we planned, and question him. We're not as much in the dark as we were, since we know he's been working with the people responsible for the deaths of those women.” Bo's voice hardened even more. “I think I can convince Dunn to talk.”

Scratch let out a grim chuckle.

“I'll just bet you can,” he said.

Down below, Sarlat was on the wagon seat. Veronique led Jake to the door in the back of the wagon, and both of them went inside the enclosed rear of the vehicle. Sarlat hauled on the reins, turned the team around, and started toward Bear Creek.

“I'll get after 'em,” Scratch said. “You'll head for Bear Creek with Dunn after you're finished palaverin' with him?”

“That's right. Be careful, Scratch. Don't trust anybody.”

“After what I've seen tonight,” Scratch said, “I don't intend to.”

 

 

Scratch slipped away into the darkness to get his horse and go after the medicine show wagon. Bo headed down the hill toward the cabin. The horse Barney Dunn had ridden out there was still tied up in front of the ramshackle building and the lantern still burned inside, so Bo knew the bartender was there.

Not for long, though. As Bo crouched off to the side behind some brush, Dunn appeared in the doorway. He paused to stretch next to a stack of firewood with an ax leaning against it, putting his hands in the small of his back and arching it. He seemed reluctant to get back onto the horse, and having seen the way the man rode, Bo could understand why.

After a moment, Dunn sighed and headed toward his mount, probably intending to unsaddle it since he had indicated that he was going to stay at the cabin rather than returning to Bear Creek.

Bo straightened, stepped out of concealment, and leveled the rifle at the bartender.

“Hold it right there, Dunn,” Bo ordered in a hard, flat voice.

Dunn jerked in surprise and stepped back.

“What the hell! Who—” He stopped short and gulped as Bo came closer. “Jake! What are you doin' back here? You scared me, kid. Put that gun down before you hurt some—”

Dunn stopped again, this time because his jaw hung slack and open in astonishment as he realized who he was facing.

“Creel,” he choked out.

“That's right,” Bo said.

“But . . . but . . . you should be long gone by now! You broke out of jail! You've got a posse chasing you!”

Bo shook his head.

“I don't plan on spending the rest of my life on the run,” he said. “I want answers, and you've got them, Dunn.”

“Don't shoot me. Please.” Dunn held out his hands toward Bo as he pleaded. “I'm sorry I said all that in court. I had to. I . . . I had to tell the judge what I saw—”

“Don't waste your breath,” Bo interrupted him. “We both know good and well you never saw me in that alley. You saw Jake.”

Even in the darkness, Bo could see how Dunn's eyes bugged out in shock.

“You . . . you know about Jake?”

“You just mentioned him, remember? I know he looks just like me. I know that he thinks he's Professor Sarlat's son and will do anything the professor tells him to do, even when he knows it's wrong. But he's not Sarlat's son, is he?”

Dunn seemed to be too scared to follow what Bo was saying. He moaned and covered his face with his hands.

“Don't kill me,” he said, his voice muffled. “I didn't know so many people were gonna be hurt . . . I was just trying to make enough money to get back East . . .”

“Come on,” Bo said. “If you don't want to answer my questions here, we'll just go back to Bear Creek. You can spill the whole story there.”

He kept the rifle pointed at Dunn with one hand while he walked over to the bartender's horse and reached for the reins with the other. He took his eyes off of Dunn only for a second, but that was long enough for the man's frantic fear to prompt him into trying a desperate move.

Dunn's hand shot out with surprising speed, closed around the ax handle, and swept it up. He swung the double-bitted tool at Bo's head. Bo saw the movement from the corner of his eye and barely had time to jerk the rifle barrel up to block the ax.

Ax and rifle came together with a jarring impact that knocked the Winchester from Bo's hand. The ax glanced off, though, and kept going to hit the cabin wall instead of burying itself in Bo's skull. The blade stuck in the wood as Dunn tried to pull it back.

Bo charged at Dunn, but the bartender jerked the ax free and swung it in a backhand slash. Bo had to dive to the ground to avoid it. He rolled and crashed into Dunn's legs. With a yell of alarm, the bartender dropped the ax and went down.

Terror and desperation made him slippery as an eel as Bo tried to grab him. Dunn writhed away and scrambled after the rifle Bo had dropped. Bo could have grabbed the ax as he went after Dunn, but he wanted the bartender alive. Dunn wouldn't be able to answer any questions if he was dead.

Bo tackled him just as Dunn reached the Winchester. Dunn squealed like a pig and lashed out with both feet. One of them caught Bo on the side of the head and knocked him to the side with stars exploding inside his skull. He shook that off and surged to his feet.

Dunn made it up first, though, and darted to the horse, jerking the reins free from the post and grabbing at the saddle. Spooked by the ruckus, the horse shied away just as Dunn got one foot in the stirrup and tried to haul himself onto the animal's back. As the horse leaped, Dunn fell back and yelled.

That was just about the worst thing he could have done. The horse bolted, taking off through the darkness.

And Dunn's foot was twisted and still hung up in the stirrup.

“No!” Bo shouted. He lunged after the horse in an attempt to grab the dangling reins and bring it under control. Dunn started screaming as he was dragged along the rough ground. That just made the horse stampede more. Bo had no chance of catching it.

He continued to run after it, though, as Dunn kept shrieking in pain and terror. Those shrieks ended abruptly after a few seconds, and Bo knew that wasn't good. He followed the pounding hoofbeats until they stopped, as well.

When he came out into a clearing a minute later, he saw that the runaway horse had come to a halt. Dunn's foot had finally slipped out of the stirrup, and with that unaccustomed weight gone, the horse had calmed down some. It danced skittishly away from a dark shape lying motionless in the grass.

Bo trotted over to the limp figure and dropped to one knee beside Dunn. The bartender lay facedown. Bo grasped his shoulders and rolled him onto his back. As he did, he saw how loose Dunn's head was on his shoulders.

Marshal Haltom hadn't taken away Bo's matches. Bo fished the little tin from his pocket, took out one of the matches, and snapped it to life with a flick of his thumbnail. As the match flared up, its garish light revealed exactly what Bo had been afraid he would see.

Dunn's neck was twisted at an unnatural angle. It must have broken one of the times that Dunn slammed against the ground while being dragged by the horse. The bartender's eyes were wide open and stared sightlessly.