Lancaster and Hansen were talking, but they fell silent when they noticed Bo coming toward them. Skinner glanced up with a dark scowl from the adjacent table and demanded, “What the hell are you doin’ here, Creel? You don’t work for Davidson anymore.”
“Everybody’s got to be somewhere,” Bo said, “and I reckon it’s a free country. Anyway, it’s up to Davidson whether or not I’m still working for him, not you.”
Skinner’s lips curled in a snarl. “You run out on us! You rode up onto that mesa because you were more worried about a bunch of damn greaser bandidos than you were about doin’ your job!”
The gunman’s loud, angry voice drew some looks of displeasure from the other customers, about half of whom were Mexican. Bo pulled back a chair and sat down without asking, across the table from Skinner.
“I’ll admit, I don’t much cotton to killing kids,” Bo said, “but those hombres who ambushed the wagons called the tune. They had to dance to it. And as for running out on the rest of you, that never happened. We were behind you all the way to El Paso. We just hung back far enough so that you wouldn’t spot us.”
From the other table, Lancaster asked, “Why would you do that, old boy?”
Bo smiled at him. “If you couldn’t see us, then we figured those bandits couldn’t either, if they doubled back and tried to hit the wagons again. If we’d heard any shooting, though, you would have seen us in a hurry.”
It was a plausible lie, and one that none of the others could disprove. Bo and Scratch had worked it out the night before.
Douglas said, “I thought I heard a shot back there behind us a little while after we passed that mesa. You know anything about that?”
That would have been the shot that Teresa took at him as he tackled her, Bo thought. He nodded and said, “Yeah, I fired it. Wanted to scare off the damn buzzards. They were already starting to work on those corpses when Scratch and I rode up.”
“Let me guess,” Skinner said with a sneer from the other table. “You and Morton buried all those poor dead Mexicans.”
“We thought about it.” Bo shrugged. “But in the end, we decided it was too hot and too much work.”
“So the zopilotes got ’em anyway.”
Bo didn’t say anything to that. Let Skinner think whatever he wanted. At least, it seemed like the gunman accepted the story about Bo shooting at some buzzards to scare them off.
“So you followed us to El Paso after all,” Hansen said.
“That’s right. I figure we were doing our job, too. Hell, the gold got here all right, didn’t it?” Bo looked around the café. “Are you supposed to meet Wallace and the others here, too?”
“No, we’ll rendezvous with them at the wagon yard,” Lancaster said. He frowned in thought. “How did you know that you could find us here, Creel?”
“We didn’t.” Bo grinned. “That was pure dumb luck. Scratch and I like to eat here when we’re in El Paso. We figured we’d have some breakfast and then scout around for you fellas. It just happened to work out the other way around.”
“Where is Morton anyway?” Skinner asked.
“When we saw your horses tied up outside, he went back up the street to fetch our mounts.” That answer was true, although it didn’t tell the whole story. “We might as well all head back to the valley together.”
“I still don’t think Davidson’s gonna want you workin’ for him,” Skinner said.
“Then he can tell us that himself.”
Skinner glared across the table for a second longer, then shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said in a surly voice. “If it was me, though, I’d skin your hides.”
“Good thing it’s not you who’s in charge then.”
Skinner bristled a little at that, but didn’t make an issue of it. He picked up his coffee cup and pointedly carried it to a table that was even farther away, where he sat down and proceeded to ignore the others.
Bo ordered breakfast for himself and Scratch from a busy, white-aproned waiter who finally made it over to the table. While he was waiting for the food, he asked the others, “Where are Jackman and Tragg? Were they supposed to meet you here, too?”
Lancaster frowned again. “We haven’t seen them. I’m worried that they’re lying somewhere in squalid surroundings, having drunk and debauched themselves into oblivion.”
“I reckon there are plenty of places in El Paso and Juarez where they could’ve done just that,” Bo agreed. “What if they don’t show up by the time you’re ready to leave?”
Lancaster shrugged. “I suppose we’ll go without them. They knew what the plan was. It’s their responsibility to be back in time. Perhaps they can catch up to us later if they wish to.”
Scratch came into the café a minute later, and looked around until he spotted Bo and the others. He nodded to the men at the other table and said, “Howdy, boys. I reckon Bo’s already told you about how we followed y’all on into town.”
“I did,” Bo said. “We’ve been welcomed back into the fold.”
Skinner’s contemptuous grunt testified as to how he felt about that.
Their food arrived as Scratch sat down at the table with Bo. They dug in, even though the enormous meal they’d had with Strittmayer the night before hadn’t left them with much of an appetite even now. But they had a lot of long, hard hours on the trail in front of them, and likely their meals until they got back to the mine would be on the sparse side. Bo and Scratch had done enough cowboying to learn that it was smart to eat and sleep whenever you had the chance, because it might be a while before those opportunities came around again.
The six men left Encinal’s together, mounted up, and rode through the streets of El Paso toward the wagon yard where the rest of Davidson’s men would be waiting. As they did, Bo wondered whether any of the men could be swayed over to the other side if they knew the truth about what Davidson was doing to the people of the valley. Skinner was out of the question, of course; he didn’t care about anything except the money Davidson had promised to pay him.
Hansen and Lancaster, on the other hand, might be uneasy enough to switch sides. Bo didn’t really think so, because men who hired out their guns weren’t usually troubled overmuch by their consciences, no matter what the circumstances. It was a hard, dangerous life that soon wore calluses on the souls of most men who took it up. But it was possible he might get through to them, Bo supposed.
With the kid, who could tell? Douglas was an enigma, hiding behind that cold, hard face.
Wallace had bought some more mules to replace the ones killed by the bandits, Bo saw as he and the others rode up to the wagon yard. The teams were already hitched to the wagons, which weren’t completely empty. Some supplies had been loaded into them.
“Didn’t expect to see you again,” Wallace said to Bo and Scratch. “I thought you’d decided not to work for the boss after all and lit a shuck.”
“Nope,” Scratch said. “We were still keepin’ an eye on you boys, like guardian angels.”
Wallace grunted. “Scruffiest old angels I ever saw.” He looked at Skinner. “Where the hell are Jackman and Tragg?”
Skinner shrugged. “Haven’t seen ’em.”
“We can’t sit around here all day waiting for them. We need to get back to the mine as soon as we can. I thought I’d made that clear to all of you.”
“There you go again, soundin’ like you think you’re the boss,” Skinner said, his voice dangerously soft.
Wallace’s face darkened with anger, but all he said, “We’ll have to leave without them if they don’t show up in the next couple of minutes.”
“Fine by me either way.”
“For all we know,” Lancaster said, “they got themselves in some sort of drunken brawl and may be in jail…or dead.”
Wallace jerked his head in a nod and said, “Let’s get started then.” He climbed onto the driver’s seat of the lead wagon and unwound the reins from the brake lever. The other drivers did likewise. The outriders swung up into their sadd
les.
The sun was just peeking over the eastern horizon when the wagons rolled across the bridge over the Rio Grande, headed back to Cutthroat Canyon.
CHAPTER 15
The trip south through Mexico was uneventful. They saw no sign of the men who had been with Teresa at the mesa, those who had survived the battle and fled. Skinner and the others were surprised that Jackman and Tragg hadn’t followed them from El Paso and caught up to them, but they didn’t seem worried about it. According to Wallace, Davidson had advanced them some money against their wages, but not much.
“If they want to give up the job, it’s their loss,” Wallace commented with a shrug of his shoulders as the group camped the first night on the trail. “After killing as many of those bandits as we did yesterday, I’m not sure the rest of them will ever give us any more trouble.”
That appeared to be the case. Bo figured that Teresa’s remaining compadres might summon up the gumption to resume the fight against Davidson sooner or later, but for now they were demoralized, their spirits broken.
While Davidson’s group was camped, Bo tried to sound out Lancaster, Hansen, and Douglas about how far they would go for Davidson, all in the guise of idle conversation, but he didn’t get very far, especially with the taciturn youngster. None of them gave any indication that they would be willing to turn on their employer as long as he continued paying them.
The lightly loaded wagons moved faster than they had when they were full of the heavy gold ore. Because of that, an hour or more of daylight remained on the second day when they rolled into the valley. Bo and Scratch glanced at the church’s bell tower, then at each other. They knew one of Davidson’s marksmen was up there, watching the wagons and the accompanying riders through field glasses.
If the day ever came when the people of the valley rose in open revolt against Davidson, somebody would have to do something about the hombre in the tower. Otherwise, he could sit up there with his Sharps and pick off the Mexicans as long as he had ammunition.
It might not come to that, however. Bo hoped that it wouldn’t, because then it would amount to war, and innocent folks always got hurt in a war. It was the nature of the beast, as the old saying went.
The villagers stayed out of sight as the wagons rolled through. By the time they reached the mouth of the steep-sided canyon, shadows were starting to gather despite the fact that the sun was still up.
And even though the air was still hot, Bo felt a chill go through him as he and Scratch rode into the canyon with the others.
Davidson was waiting for them when they got to the mine. He strode forward wearing an expression that was relieved and anxious at the same time.
“I’m glad to see that you’re back,” he said as Wallace and the other drivers hauled on the reins and brought the teams to a halt. “You got the ore through all right?”
Wallace wrapped the reins around the brake lever. “We did,” he said. “Turned it over to the express agent for shipment on the train coming through that very evening.”
Davidson heaved a sigh and nodded. “Excellent work. Any trouble?” He glanced around at the riders. “Wait a minute. Jackman and Tragg aren’t with you. Were you attacked? Were they killed?”
Wallace put a hand on the driver’s seat and climbed down to the ground, moving a little gingerly because of the wound he had suffered.
“Yes to your first question, no to the second,” he told Davidson. “Those bandits jumped us again on the second day out. They had an ambush prepared for the wagons. But your plan worked, Boss. Skinner and the others came charging in and took them by surprise. We killed five of the bastards, and the others gave up and ran off.”
Davidson pounded his right fist into his left palm and said, “By God, I’m glad to hear that! Was anyone hurt?”
“I got a bullet crease in my side, and a couple of the other fellas picked up a nick or two. But the only ones hurt bad were those five bandidos who wound up dead.”
“Then where are Jackman and Tragg?” Davidson asked with a puzzled frown.
“They went off to carouse somewhere in El Paso or Juarez, and they never came back.”
Davidson’s frown deepened. “They just quit?”
“Don’t know,” Wallace replied with a shrug. “Like I said, we never saw them again after we split up in El Paso. You didn’t tell us to stay together while we were there.”
A look of displeasure flashed across Davidson’s face. “Maybe I should have,” he snapped, “if you’re not capable of keeping up with the men who work for me.”
From the back of his horse, Skinner drawled, “I reckon we need to have a talk about that, Boss. These two”—and he made a lazy motion with his left hand toward Bo and Scratch—“ran out on us.”
Davidson turned toward the skull-faced gunman. “I don’t understand. Creel and Morton are here. How could they have run out?”
Bo said, “Skinner’s talking about the fact that Scratch and I stopped at the scene of that ambush long enough to check the bodies of the bandits who were killed. Then we followed the wagons on to El Paso, staying far enough back so that we wouldn’t be spotted if the bandits who lived through the fight tried to attack again.”
“That’s your story anyway,” Skinner said. “You don’t have a lick of proof for it.”
“And you don’t have any proof that I’m not telling the truth,” Bo pointed out. To Davidson, he went on. “We found the other fellas once we got to El Paso, and we rode back down here with them. Now, to me, it seems like Scratch and I did our jobs. We helped fight off those bandidos, and the ore made it to El Paso. What more could anybody want?”
“Why did you go to the time and trouble of checking on those bandits?” Davidson wanted to know. “You weren’t going to help any of them that were just wounded, were you?” His voice hardened. “Those men are my enemies.”
“They weren’t men,” Scratch said. “More like boys.”
“What the hell does that matter? They take up arms against me, they deserve whatever happens to them.”
Skinner leaned over in the saddle and spat. “Damn right.”
Davidson made an obvious effort to control his irritation with Bo and Scratch. “Look, I’m paying you good wages to defend my interests from anyone who threatens them. If that doesn’t sit well with you, you’re free to ride away any time you want.”
Scratch said, “Fact of the matter is, we haven’t collected any wages yet. Some of the other fellas asked for advances, but Bo and me didn’t.”
“Are you saying you want to draw your time?”
“That’s not what we’re saying at all,” Bo said. “Look, this is getting blown up into something bigger than it is. Yeah, it bothered us a little that those dead bandits were as young as they were, and to tell you the truth, we thought about staying there long enough to bury them. But we didn’t. We went on to El Paso, keeping an eye on the wagons along the way just like we were supposed to. Skinner and the others might not have seen us, but that doesn’t mean we weren’t there. And nobody said anything about quitting.” Bo shook his head. “If those youngsters didn’t want to get shot, they shouldn’t have tried to steal that gold. Simple as that, and nobody’s arguing it.”
Davidson thought over what Bo had just said, then turned to look at Skinner. “How about it?”
“I still wouldn’t trust ’em if I was you, Boss,” the gunman said with a shake of his head.
Douglas spoke up unexpectedly. “I would.”
Davidson looked at him. “You would?”
The kid nodded. “Sure. The only real trouble we had, they were right there fighting beside us. They may be a mite older, but they’ve still got the bark on. That’s the sort of man I want backing any play I make.”
“Thanks, kid,” Scratch said.
Davidson turned to Lancaster and Hansen. “What about you two?”
Hansen shrugged. “I got no trouble with Creel and Morton.”
“They seem like splendid chaps to me,” Lancaster added
.
Davidson nodded and said, “All right then. It’s settled. I know you don’t like them, Skinner, but just steer clear of them while you’re here at the mine. The money I’m paying, you can stand to put up with them during the trips to and from El Paso.”
“Whatever you say,” Skinner responded, but the scowl on his face made it clear that he didn’t like Davidson’s decision.
“In the meantime,” Davidson went on to Bo and Scratch, “what I said before still goes. You two, or any of the rest of the men, for that matter, can draw the wages you’ve got coming to you and ride away any time you like, with no hard feelings on either side. I don’t want anybody working for me who doesn’t want to be here.”
Bo thought about the men from the village being herded at gunpoint into the mine to chip gold ore from the hard rocks, and the women who had to labor in Davidson’s brothel. Lying obviously came easy to Davidson. Or maybe he truly believed that the villagers just…didn’t count. Maybe to him, they were just animals he could use any way he saw fit in order to make himself richer.
Bo didn’t allow any of what he was thinking or feeling to show on his face, and Scratch kept his features just as expressionless. With a nod, Bo said, “I’m glad we cleared the air. I reckon there won’t be any more problems.”
“No, no problems at all.” Davidson laughed. “Except figuring out how to spend all the money that all of us are going to make before this is over.”
Dusk had settled over the canyon by the time Bo and Scratch finished tending to their horses. The dun and the bay had been hard used the past week, and they needed a nice long rest. Once again, the Texans took care of rubbing down, graining, and watering their mounts while the old Mexican hostler looked on nervously and tended to the other horses. The old-timer knew by now that they wouldn’t complain to Davidson about having to care for their own animals, that in fact they preferred it that way.
Sidewinders:#3: Cutthroat Canyon Page 11
