Sidewinders

by William W. Johnstone

  “That’ll work while there’s still two hombres up here to hold the other one’s weight and lower him,” Scratch pointed out. “Chloride ain’t big enough to handle that chore by himself.”

  “I’m willin’ to give it a try,” Chloride said.

  Bo shook his head. “No, we’d just wind up making a racket and alerting the Devils, and the second man would probably fall fifty or sixty feet, to boot. It looks like this is going to be a one-man job.”

  “Blast it, Bo—” Scratch said.

  “The second man can get in the fight from up here,” Bo cut in. “And that’ll be you, Scratch.”

  “How come?”

  “I’m a little lighter than you are.”

  “Not so’s you’d notice,” Scratch insisted. “I’ll bet there ain’t ten pounds’ difference between us. Never has been.”

  “Ten pounds can be a lot when you’re lowering a fella on the end of a rope,” Bo said. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get to shoot some of those road agents. In fact, you’ll have an even better shot at them from up here.”

  “Well . . . you got that right, anyway.” Scratch sighed. “All right. Me and Chloride’ll lower you down there. When are you goin’?”

  Bo thought it over and said, “Probably be better to go ahead and do it now. If we wait for morning, they’ll be more likely to spot me. I see some rocks down there where I can hide until I’m ready to make my move. That won’t be until the rest of the posse gets here. Everything has to seem normal until then.”

  “All right,” Chloride said. “Let’s find some place to dally that lasso.”

  Bo couldn’t see the grin on Scratch’s face, but he could hear it in his friend’s voice as Scratch said, “I always knew at least one of us would wind up at the end of a rope, Bo, but I always figured it’d be me!”

  CHAPTER 26

  Bo took off his hat and coat and set them aside on the ledge. He would be cold down there without his coat, but he wanted the rope to have a nice secure fit around his chest and under his arms while Scratch and Chloride were lowering him.

  Chloride had found a little pinnacle of rock at the back of the ledge that would work as a place to secure the rope. He passed one end around it, gripped both parts of the rope, and leaned hard on it to make sure it would stand the strain of Bo’s weight. The rock didn’t budge.

  Meanwhile, Scratch fashioned the loop in the other end of the rope and lowered it over Bo’s upraised arms. He snugged it tight under Bo’s arms and said, “All right, you’re ready to go.”

  Bo went over to the brink and sat down. Scratch and Chloride took up their positions, back a few feet from the rock spire. They gripped the rope tightly as Bo turned around and wriggled backward, letting his legs go off the ledge first. Carefully, Scratch and Chloride let the rope slide a little around the rock. Supported by the lasso, Bo slipped completely off the ledge and dangled there just under the rim. He nodded to Scratch and Chloride to let them know he was all right, although he wasn’t sure they could see the gesture in the thick darkness. He gave the rope a sharp tug, the signal for them to let it down some more.

  It was a very uncomfortable feeling, having nothing but fifty or sixty feet of empty air under your boots. Without really thinking about it, Bo held his breath during the slow descent. He managed to turn around so he could look down and see what was going on in the camp below him. Several of the outlaws had turned in for the night, brushing snow off the ground so they would have clear spots for their bedrolls. Three men hunkered beside the little fire, drawing what warmth they could from the flames. Over by the trees, the prisoners appeared to be asleep now, too, huddled at the base of those pines.

  Bo had let himself over the edge above a small cluster of rocks. They weren’t quite big enough to be called boulders, but he thought they would do to keep him hidden unless one of the outlaws decided to walk over there to relieve himself or something like that. If Bo was discovered, he and Scratch and Chloride would have to give as good an account of themselves as they could. With the other two covering him, Bo thought he at least stood a chance of making it to the trees and getting Sue Beth and Martha behind the pines.

  With luck, though, the remaining Devils wouldn’t stumble over him and he wouldn’t have to make his move until morning, when the rest of the posse would be close by to pitch in.

  Bo made the descent at a slow but steady pace. A feeling of relief went through him when his feet finally touched the ground. Quickly, he loosened the loop around his chest and took it off over his head. Scratch and Chloride would have felt his weight leave the rope. He gave the lasso a couple of quick tugs to let them know he was all right and that they should pull the rope back up. It made a faint slithering sound, a little like a snake, as it went up a lot faster than it had come down.

  That left Bo crouched behind the rocks about fifty yards from the fire. The women were slightly to his left, also about fifty yards away but at a different angle.

  Bo’s impulse was to try to reach them now, to let them know they were going to be all right, but he couldn’t risk being spotted so soon. He would have a lot better chance to get to the prisoners when all the remaining Devils were getting ready to ambush the posse. The outlaws’ attention would be focused then on the trail up to the pass.

  Using a gloved hand, Bo brushed a clear spot behind one of the rocks and sat down. The cold from the rock seeped into him and made the chill even worse, although he wouldn’t have thought that was possible. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. It didn’t seem likely they would make enough racket for the outlaws to hear them, but he didn’t want to take that chance.

  A few flakes of snow still drifted down from time to time. Bo felt them hit lightly on his face. Luckily the wind had died down, so it wasn’t blowing to add to his misery.

  Mexico, he thought. Next fall he and Scratch would head south a lot earlier, for sure. Some sleepy little town across the border with a hotel and some cantinas . . .

  Bo didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep until his head jerked up an unknowable time later. That had been a mighty stupid thing to do, he chided himself. As uncomfortable as the weather was, he didn’t think it was cold enough for a man to freeze to death, but going to sleep was a step in that direction. Not to mention the fact that he couldn’t keep up with what the outlaws were doing while he was asleep. He was lucky none of them had stumbled over him.

  He looked at the sky and saw a slowly widening band of gray light on the horizon. Dawn wasn’t far off. According to the plan hatched the day before, Sheriff Manning and the rest of the posse would be riding past Wolf Head Rock in about an hour if nothing had happened to delay them.

  Bo heard men talking and moving around. Carefully, he raised his head enough to look over the rock at the camp. A couple of the Devils hunkered next to the fire, getting some coffee boiling. The rest of the outlaws were over by the jutting rock that formed the wolf’s “snout.” One man crouched behind an “ear,” keeping an eye on the trail.

  Bo looked toward the trees and saw that Sue Beth and Martha were awake again and sitting up. One of the men at the fire stood up and walked toward them carrying cups of coffee. Bo hoped the women hadn’t been trifled with. So far it appeared there was a good chance they had been left alone.

  When they took the coffee, Bo saw that their hands were tied together in front of them. That wasn’t too bad. As long as their ankles weren’t tied, he would be able to get them up and onto their feet without too much trouble.

  Having checked out the camp, Bo turned his head and tilted it back so he could look at the cliff looming above him. With the rope pulled back up, he couldn’t see any sign of Scratch and Chloride, which was what he expected. As long as they stayed away from the rim, the chances of the outlaws spotting them were pretty small.

  Bo stretched as much as he could while staying hidden, trying to loosen up muscles grown stiff from sleep and cold. He caught the scent of the coffee and craved a cup of the hot, black brew. Althou
gh it would probably take at least a whole pot to thaw him out, he thought.

  Now it was just a matter of waiting.

  The snow had stopped during the night, and as the sky grew lighter, Bo saw that there were openings in the clouds. The overcast promised to break at last. It might even warm up enough during the day to melt some of the snow. The first real storm of the season was over. Bo hoped that was a good omen. He was going to take it for one, anyway.

  He could tell now that the man who had taken the coffee to the women was Tom Bardwell. He was still standing there talking to them. After a moment Bardwell threw his head back and laughed, obviously amused by something he had just said.

  Bo didn’t feel much like laughing. He would have much rather drawn his Colt and put a bullet through the outlaw’s head.

  Bardwell turned and walked back to the fire. The other man had some breakfast ready by now. Bo’s stomach growled as he watched the Devils take turns eating. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had any food. It was the middle of the day before, at the hideout, he figured out.

  This was hardly the first time in his life he’d been hungry, he reminded himself. And it probably wouldn’t be the last . . .

  Unless he didn’t live through the next hour or so, of course.

  Bardwell took what appeared to be biscuits to the women. They were able to handle them with their hands tied. Bardwell was still standing there talking to them when one of the other men called, “Tom!”

  Bardwell swung around and hurried to join the rest of the gang. They all picked up rifles and moved closer to the point that overlooked the trail. Bo knew what that movement had to mean.

  The outlaws had spotted Manning and the other members of the posse riding toward Wolf Head Rock.

  Bo could imagine what was going through the heads of the posse members right now. They didn’t know whether the Texans and Chloride had managed to get into position to disrupt the ambush. For all they knew, they were riding right into a trap that was about to slam shut on them. But for the plan to work, Manning, Gustaffson, Ramsey, Keefer, and Reese Bardwell had to keep moving as if they weren’t worried about anything except catching up to their quarry.

  Bo wondered briefly what Reese Bardwell would do when and if he saw his brother again. Would he take part in the battle, knowing that it might be his own bullet that ended his brother’s life, or would he hang back because of that?

  Or would he betray the men who were supposed to be his allies?

  The chill inside Bo deepened even more as that thought went through his head. It might have been smarter to send Reese back to Deadwood. But it was too late to do anything about that now. The Devils were hiding behind the rocks and aiming their rifles down at the trail. None of them looked toward the trees where the women sat. It was time for Bo to make his move.

  Cold, cramped muscles caused him to stumble a little as he came out from behind the rocks and broke into a crouching run toward the trees. His eyes cut toward the outlaws. He expected one of them to spot him and let out a shout of alarm at any second, but they continued staring down at the trail. Thirty yards, twenty, ten . . . Sue Beth and Martha saw him coming by now and stared at him in wide-eyed shock. To them it must have seemed as if he had appeared out of thin air.

  Martha was closer. He dropped to a knee beside her and pulled the clasp knife from his pocket. His gloved fingers fumbled with it as he tried to open it. The fact that his fingers were half-frozen didn’t help matters. Despite the cold, he yanked the glove off his right hand and finally managed to open the blade. So far neither of the women had said a word. They had to know that the longer it was before the Devils realized Bo was there, the better.

  That was what Bo thought, anyway. But sometimes he was wrong, and this was one of those occasions. Wrong about a lot of things, in fact, but when he heard the metallic ratcheting of a gun being cocked and looked up to see Sue Beth Pendleton holding a small revolver in both hands and pointing it at him, everything snapped into place in his brain. All the questions that had bothered him had answers . . . now that it was too late.

  “Drop the knife, Bo, and don’t reach for your gun,” Sue Beth said. “I’ll kill you both if I have to.”

  CHAPTER 27

  A gaping Martha managed to gasp out, “My God, Sue Beth! What are you—why—”

  “Because she’s the real leader of the Deadwood Devils,” Bo said. “Isn’t that right, Sue Beth?”

  The friendly, attractive woman was gone, replaced by a hard-faced killer. She ignored the questions and grated, “I said, drop the knife.”

  “Short-barreled guns like that aren’t very accurate,” Bo said.

  “You’re four feet away! I can’t miss at this range.”

  Bo knew that was true. Sue Beth could kill him and Martha in a heartbeat. He was a little surprised she hadn’t already done so.

  But he smiled faintly as he realized why she hadn’t pulled the trigger. “A gunshot right now will spoil your little ambush, won’t it?” he asked. “You want Bardwell and the rest of your hired killers to wipe out the posse from Deadwood.”

  Sue Beth’s lips were faintly blue from the cold. They pulled back from her teeth in a grimace as she said, “Why wouldn’t I want them dead? The whole town could burn to the ground with everybody in it and I wouldn’t shed a tear. I haven’t cried since the day they came and told me my husband was dead.”

  “That’s not the town’s fault.”

  “No, but it was the mine’s fault, and the town wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for the mines!”

  Bo wanted to keep her talking. As long as she was venting her rage and hatred in words, she wouldn’t be pulling the trigger.

  “So you decided to ruin the mines, and you used Black Tom Bardwell to do it.”

  “That’s right. He showed up in Deadwood looking for his brother, but he stopped at the Red Top for a meal first. I could tell that he was a hard, violent man, even though I didn’t know at the time he was an outlaw. I had a hunch he was the sort of man who could help me. I didn’t know how right I was, but I found out the next morning, after he’d spent the night at my place. He told me who he was and that his gang was hiding outside of town. They were the ones who had been pulling those stagecoach robberies. That’s when I laid out my plan and invited Tom to join forces with me. I was able to help him with information.” She sneered. “Everybody in Deadwood comes into my café, and you’d be surprised what people will let slip over pie and coffee!”

  That was the way the picture had sprung into Bo’s mind as soon as he saw the gun in Sue Beth’s hands. When he had considered who had a reason for wanting to hurt the mines around Deadwood, he hadn’t even thought about her, but he knew now he should have. What better motive for revenge than the death of a loved one?

  She had fooled everybody, including him and Scratch. That knowledge made a sour, bitter taste well up under Bo’s tongue. Usually he and Scratch were pretty good judges of character, but not this time. Not by a long shot.

  “Bardwell and the others didn’t take you hostage after that bank robbery yesterday,” he said. “You wanted to come along. That was your way of getting out of Deadwood without anybody knowing what you’ve done. Bardwell wanted to take the gold and move on, and even though you hadn’t caused enough trouble to make the mines shut down yet, like you planned, you know you couldn’t keep going without him and the rest of the gang. So you pretended to be a prisoner. Why bring Marty along?”

  “She happened to be in the café, and Tom thought he might need a real hostage before this was all over.” Sue Beth shrugged. “I kept the pose going up until now, just in case this bitch somehow got away. I don’t want the law after me. Which means, as soon as Tom and the others have taken care of the posse, both of you will have to die, too. In fact, I think I’ll just go ahead and kill you as soon as the shooting starts.”

  Martha was still staring at the older woman. In a voice that trembled with emotion, she said, “I . . . I thought you were my friend.” />
  “Maybe I would have been,” Sue Beth said, “if it hadn’t been for the lust for gold that fills all of you mine owners.”

  “But I never did anything to hurt you! I was sorry when your husband died—”

  “Sorry’s not good enough! Sorry won’t bring him back!”

  Bo said, “Neither will killing anybody else.”

  Sue Beth’s face twisted. Maybe somewhere deep inside her, she knew that what she had done was wrong. Maybe there was a constant struggle going on between the woman she had been and the woman she had become. Bo didn’t know.

  All he knew was that time had run out, because Sue Beth extended her arms, pointing the gun right at his head, and her finger started to tighten on the trigger.

  Before the hammer could fall, Martha Sutton suddenly lunged toward Sue Beth and lashed out with arms that were bound together at the wrists. She hit Sue Beth’s arms and drove them upward just as the little revolver exploded with a wicked snap. Martha kept moving, lowering her shoulder and barreling into Sue Beth with enough force to knock the older woman over backward.

  The posse had to be close now. Close enough for the plan to work, Bo hoped. But he no longer had any choice about whether to wait.

  The time had come to fight.

  As Martha and Sue Beth struggled, Bo surged to his feet and whirled toward Wolf Head Rock and the Deadwood Devils. The shot had alerted them that something was wrong, and several of them spun around as Bo palmed his Colt from its holster. The gun roared and bucked in his hand as he fired.

  Shots blasted from the rifles held by the outlaws. Bo felt the heat of a bullet as it whipped past his ear. Crouching, he fired again and saw one of the Devils double over as the slug punched into his midsection. Clutching his belly, the man staggered backward and took one step too many. With a scream, he toppled off the edge of Wolf Head Rock and plummeted toward the trail below.