Sidewinders:#3: Cutthroat Canyon

by Johnstone, William W.

  When they went into the headquarters building, they found Alfred waiting for them. “The other gentlemen are having drinks,” he said. “Would you care to join them?”

  “We’re a mite tired,” Bo said. “You reckon we could get something to eat up in our room?”

  “Of course. I’ll bring a tray up in just a few minutes. Will beef and beans and tortillas be all right?”

  Scratch grinned. “Sonny, you’re talkin’ our lingo.”

  They went up to their room, took off their hats and jackets, but left their gunbelts on. Keeping his voice low, Bo said, “I believe that fella Alfred is sweet on Teresa’s sister Rosalinda.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that the other night, too,” Scratch said with a nod. “You reckon we can turn that to our advantage somehow?”

  “I don’t know. Alfred seems pretty loyal to Davidson, but maybe he doesn’t know all the things that have been going on around here. Maybe he just knows that he doesn’t like Davidson taking advantage of Rosalinda like that. We’ll have a talk with him and see if we can figure out how much to tell him.”

  “I’ll follow your lead,” Scratch said. “You handle the thinkin’ part better than I do.” He chuckled. “That leaves the fightin’ and the lovin’ parts to me, and I like them more anyway.”

  When a soft knock sounded on the door a few minutes later, though, it wasn’t Alfred who stood outside in the hallway with a tray containing several platters of food. It was Rosalinda.

  “I have brought your supper, Señores,” she said.

  Bo had answered the knock on the door. He stepped back and ushered her into the room. “Just put the tray over there on the table,” he told her, then glanced at Scratch and cocked an eyebrow. The silver-haired Texan nodded. After all the miles—and all the years—they had ridden the trails together, often they didn’t even need to speak to know what each other was thinking.

  Rosalinda set the tray on the table and turned to go, but Bo eased the door closed and said, “We’d like to talk to you for a minute, Señorita.”

  “I must get back downstairs,” she said, nervousness flaring up in her eyes. “Señor Davidson will expect me to serve dinner, and then—”

  She stopped short, clearly uncomfortable and unwilling to say anything else about what Davidson would be expecting from her this evening. Probably the same thing he expected from her every evening, Bo thought grimly.

  “This won’t take long,” he told her.

  “If you want a woman, there is a place you can go. One of the buildings is set aside for that, and there are women of the village there who…who serve the needs of Señor Davidson’s men…”

  Bo shook his head and said, “You’re getting this all wrong, Rosalinda. We know what’s been going on here in the valley, and we’d like to put a stop to it.”

  She seemed confused as she looked back and forth between Bo and Scratch. “I do not understand,” she said. “You work for Señor Davidson, and yet you say that you want to make him stop what he is doing?”

  “That’s right. We know about all of it…the rifleman in the bell tower at the church, the women who are forced to prostitute themselves, the men of the village who have to slave in the mine for him.”

  “And we don’t like it one little bit,” Scratch added.

  “But how do you know these things?” Rosalinda asked. “Has he admitted them to you?”

  “He didn’t have to,” Bo said. “We saw some of the signs ourselves, and then…we talked to your sister.”

  Her dark eyes widened in shock. “My…my sister?”

  Bo nodded. “Teresa. She was with the bandits who ambushed the wagons and tried to steal the gold on its way to El Paso.”

  Rosalinda’s face paled. “She…she was hurt? I heard there was shooting—”

  “She’s fine,” Bo assured her. “We took her to El Paso with us and left her in a safe place. She’ll be all right there until we’ve had a chance to put things right here in the valley.”

  Suddenly, Rosalinda’s strained composure seemed to crumple. Tears welled from her eyes and coursed down her smooth cheeks. She threw herself at Bo, wrapped her arms around his neck, and buried her face against his chest as she continued to sob.

  Scratch looked on with a slight frown. “You know,” he mused, “it’d be all right one of these times if the pretty gal wanted to hug me in gratitude, too.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Bo stood there for a minute, awkwardly patting Rosalinda on the back as her tears continued to dampen the front of his shirt and vest. Finally, he put his hands on her shoulders and gently but firmly moved her back a step so that she wasn’t hugging him anymore.

  “Tell me about it,” she begged. “Tell me about Teresa. For all I knew, she was dead.”

  “She’s very much alive,” Bo said. “And she’s worried about you, too. She knows that Davidson is forcing you to work here.”

  “She is with the men who escaped from the valley? The ones Señor Davidson calls bandits, even though they fight only for our freedom?”

  Bo nodded. “That’s right.” His voice and expression were solemn as he went on. “And I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news there. Several of those young men were killed when they ambushed the wagons and tried to steal the ore. Only a few were left alive, and they were running away the last time we saw them.”

  Rosalinda’s face fell. “They have given up the fight? This cannot be.”

  Scratch said, “They know now that Davidson’s brought in some real fightin’ men and not just a bunch of run-o’-the-mill hardcases. They probably feel like they can’t stand up to him no more.”

  “But they must!” Rosalinda cried. “Someone has to fight! Otherwise, he will continue making slaves of us, working us to death, killing the ones who defy him, until either all the gold is gone…or all the people of the valley are.”

  She was probably right about that, Bo thought. He said, “Somebody is going to fight…Scratch and me, and when the time is right, anybody we can get to stand with us.”

  Rosalinda clutched his shirt sleeve. “You would do that?” she asked. “You would lead us in battle against Señor Davidson and his killers?”

  “If it comes to that, yes. We’d like to try to find some way to deal with him without getting a lot of innocent people hurt or killed, though.”

  Gravely, Rosalinda shook her head. “You cannot. The only way a man like that gives up his power is when he is dead. You will have to kill Señor Davidson in order to defeat him, and you cannot kill him without others sacrificing their lives.”

  “Maybe not, but we intend to try.”

  A look of wariness suddenly came over her face. She tensed like an animal realizing that it was about to step into a trap. “How can I believe you?” she asked. “You work for Señor Davidson.”

  “Not anymore, although he still thinks we do.”

  “We’ve done quit,” Scratch said with a grin. “He just don’t know it yet.”

  “If you’ll help us, you can see for yourself that we intend to help your people,” Bo told her.

  “What can I do? I have no power. I…I cannot even save myself.”

  “Do you ever talk to any of the others who are forced to work for Davidson?”

  “Sometimes,” she said hesitantly. “Most of the time I stay here, so that I can serve him…however he wishes.” She took a deep breath. “But once a week or so, he allows me to go see my mother and father in the village. They are old, too old to work in the mine or…or in the house of the women.”

  “He lets you go there alone?”

  She shook her head. “No. Someone always goes with me. Alfred sometimes, or one of the other men.”

  “Alfred is very fond of you,” Bo said.

  Rosalinda nodded. “I know. And I am fond of him as well. But there is nothing we can do about it.”

  “Would he help us if you asked him to?”

  “You mean would he betray Señor Davidson?” Rosalinda frowned as she thought. Finally, she went on.
“I…I do not know. He has worked for Señor Davidson for several years, since well before they came to San Ramon.”

  “Does he know everything that’s been goin’ on?” Scratch asked. “Seems to me like it wouldn’t set well with a decent young fella like that, the way Davidson treats folks around here.”

  “He does not like it. I know this from the look on his face when one of the men is punished, or when a new woman is brought from the village and taken sobbing into the house. But you have seen Alfred. He…he is not like the other men who work for Señor Davidson. He is kind, when he can be.” Her eyes dropped to the Colt holstered on Bo’s hip. “And he is not the sort of man who uses a gun or his fists.”

  “Not a hardcase like us, in other words,” Scratch said.

  “I mean no offense—”

  “None taken, Señorita,” Bo told her. “You’re only speaking the truth. We don’t want him to pick up a gun and start shooting, although it might come to that sooner or later. Like you said, it’s mighty hard to get rid of a tyrant without at least a little bloodshed along the way.”

  “You speak to a Mexican, Señor Creel,” Rosalinda said. “We know all about tyrants and bloodshed.”

  Scratch said, “Yeah, I recollect a fella name of Santy Anny—”

  “What we want from Alfred is information about things that Davidson may be planning,” Bo said. “Also, he could tell us exactly how many men Davidson has working for him—the foremen, I mean, not the men from the village who are being forced to work in the mine—as well as things like where the extra guns and ammunition are kept.”

  “But if you ask him these things,” Rosalinda said with a frown, “he will know that you plotting against Señor Davidson. Alfred is very smart.”

  “That’s why I reckon it would be better if you were to ask him instead of one of us.”

  Her eyes widened again, this time in understanding. “You want me to spy for you!”

  “For your people actually. And when you see your parents the next time, tell them that things are going to change around here. Tell them to spread the word, but to be careful about it. They should speak only to people they’re sure they can trust. But when the time comes to fight, if it does, they’ll know they’re not alone. They’ll know they’ve got a chance if they all stand together.”

  Rosalinda thought it over for a moment and then nodded. “I can do these things. If nothing else, it will give the people hope. And that is something they have not had for a very long time.” She gave a little gasp. “I must get back downstairs. Alfred will wonder what is taking me so long.”

  “All right.” Bo smiled at her. “Keep your courage up. Your sister has plenty of it, that’s for sure.”

  “Teresa was always bold…too bold for her own good sometimes.” Rosalinda stepped forward and gave Bo an impulsive hug. “Thank you for helping her, and for what you intend to do for my people.”

  Scratch cleared his throat.

  Despite the depth of emotion that gripped her, Rosalinda managed to laugh softly. “And thank you as well, Señor Morton,” she said as she turned to him and hugged him, too.

  Scratch grinned. “Now that’s more like it.”

  The next few days passed peacefully—at least for the men who were in power in the valley. Bo and Scratch didn’t figure things were all that peaceful for the men being forced to swing pick and shovel in the mine tunnel for fourteen to sixteen hours at a stretch, or for the women who had to endure the bestial grunting of Davidson’s men when they were taken against their will.

  For now, though, the Texans had to bide their time. Several times during that interval, Rosalinda found opportunities to speak to one or both of them privately and pass along what she had found out from Alfred.

  Davidson had no plans that Alfred knew of except to continue working the mine, sending the gold ore to El Paso, and then shipping it out from there by train. There were fourteen supervisors or foremen at the moment, plus the six hired guns, giving Davidson a total of twenty men to do his bidding. Of course, that number included Bo and Scratch, but even without them, Davidson’s forces were large enough to control the people of the valley, who had always been peaceful farmers, not gunhands or fighters of any type.

  It didn’t help matters that Davidson and his men had confiscated all the weapons in the valley when they took over. That hadn’t amounted to much—a few old single-shot rifles, some rusty pistols, knives and machetes more suited for work than fighting—but losing them had meant that the people had nothing with which to fight back except their bare hands. It was no wonder that Davidson had been able to seize power and hang on to it with relative ease. The bandits going after his gold shipments had really been his only problem.

  As for the extra guns and ammunition belonging to Davidson’s men, those were stored in the bunkhouse used by the supervisors. If the people of the valley were ever going to be able to fight back, it would sure help if they could get their hands on those weapons, Bo thought after Rosalinda told him and Scratch about the guns.

  There was one more somewhat puzzling item that Rosalinda reported. Those two long crates that Davidson had brought back from El Paso on the pack mules were still unopened in the supply shed. Davidson had said that they contained mining equipment, but if so, it wasn’t being put to use.

  Not only that, but he had instructed his men to leave the crates alone. The Englishman, Lancaster, was the only one who was allowed to touch them.

  That convinced Bo that whatever was in the crates, it wasn’t intended for mining. He decided to try to find out more.

  For that reason, when he saw Lancaster, Hansen, and Douglas playing cards one evening, he said, “Poker’s better with four than three. Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all, old boy,” Lancaster said as he waved a hand at the empty chair. “By all means.”

  Bo sat down, played a couple of hands and lost both, and joined in the casual conversation going around the table. Eventually, he said to Lancaster, “You mentioned you were in the British Army, didn’t you?”

  “That’s right. Posted in India. I left the service a few years ago and decided to see some of the world.” Lancaster laughed. “I landed here in your American West. Not all that different in many respects from India and Pakistan and Afghanistan. You have your red Indians and desperadoes instead of the Sikhs and the sort of hill bandits we dealt with over there. But I must say, I feel almost as much at home here as I did in the Khyber.”

  “What did you do in the army?” Bo asked as he studied his cards, keeping his tone one of idle curiosity.

  “I was a machine-gunner. The Gardner gun, you know. A refinement of your country’s Gatling gun.”

  Bo shook his head. “Don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

  “It has two barrels that fire in an alternating pattern, rather than the six revolving barrels of a Gatling gun, but the feed system is superior, in my opinion, and allows for just as great a rate of fire, if not better. In tests, I’ve personally seen the Gardner fire up to ten thousand rounds in a little more than twenty minutes.”

  Hansen let out an impressed whistle. “That’s a lot of lead to sling in that amount of time.”

  A superior smile curved Lancaster’s lips. “There’s a reason the sun never sets on the British Empire, my friend. In addition to our indomitable spirit, we usually have the greater firepower in any battle as well.”

  “I’d like to see one of those Gardner guns in action sometime,” Bo said.

  Still smiling, Lancaster said, “Perhaps you shall have that chance someday.”

  Bo knew for sure then what he had suspected before. Mining equipment, hell! Those crates contained a disassembled Gardner gun. Davidson had bought himself a machine gun—and a man to use it.

  That was an even bigger potential threat than the marksman in the bell tower. Even if the villagers managed somehow to arm themselves and tried to throw off Davidson’s brutal hold over them, that machine gun could mow them down in droves. It would have to be knoc
ked out early if an uprising were to have any chance of success.

  Otherwise, it would just be a bloody massacre.

  Later, Bo told Scratch what he had found out. “Damn,” Scratch said. “I’ve seen them Gatling guns at work, and so have you, Bo. If that Gardner gun of Lancaster’s spits out even more rounds than a Gatling, these poor folks won’t stand a chance against it.”

  “That’s why we can’t take a chance on letting Lancaster put it to work. If trouble comes, I’m going to knock out the machine gun first. You’ll go after that hombre in the bell tower.”

  Scratch nodded in understanding. “That’ll go a long way toward evenin’ out the odds. When do we make our move?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Bo said with a shake of his head. “But soon, I hope, so the folks here don’t have to put up with being enslaved for any longer than necessary.”

  He figured there still had to be some among the villagers who would be willing to fight. Those were the men he needed to talk to, and he decided that he would ask Rosalinda to try to get word to them through her parents. Somehow, Bo and Scratch needed to get together with the villagers they could count on and start discussing some plans.

  That was as far as he had gotten in his thinking by the next night, when a sudden rattle of gunfire from somewhere in the canyon made Davidson and his men boil out of the headquarters building to see what was going on. Bo and Scratch had no choice but to go with them, since they were still pretending to be loyal to Davidson.

  The shooting continued as Davidson looked up the canyon and exclaimed, “It’s coming from the shed where the blasting powder is stored.”

  Several of the men took an involuntary step back. One spark, or a stray bullet, could set off a keg of that blasting powder, and that would cause all the other kegs to blow up, too. An explosion like that would blast out a big crater in the ground and a hole in the canyon wall that the shed backed up to.

  Davidson saw the men’s hesitation and snapped, “Damn it, don’t just stand there. Go find out what’s happening.”