Sidewinders:#3: Cutthroat Canyon

by Johnstone, William W.

  “The hell with that,” Bo said in one of his rare uses of profanity. “We’ll ride in together.”

  Scratch thought it over for a second and then shrugged. “The same way we charged ol’ Santy Anny’s army at San Jacinto, right?”

  “Right,” Bo said.

  They lifted their rifles and hitched their horses into a slow walk forward, entering the cleft through the all-but-invisible opening in the rock wall. Since the passage wasn’t wide enough for two men to ride abreast, Scratch edged ahead. The sound of their horses’ hooves bounced back and forth hollowly from the passage’s walls. They couldn’t do anything about that. Anyone waiting at the hideout was bound to know they were coming, but they couldn’t help it.

  The couple of minutes it took to ride through the passage seemed longer. They reined in before they got to the cleft’s end, and studied what they could see of the clearing around the spring. They didn’t see any of the horses, nor was there any sign of Teresa, Evangelina, Luz, or Pepe.

  “If anybody’s in there, they know we’re here,” Scratch whispered. “Might as well sing out.”

  Bo nodded. “Hello the camp!” he called.

  No answer came back, only the ominous silence punctuated by the faint bubbling of the spring.

  The Texans looked at each other, then heeled the horses into motion again. They emerged from the shadows of the cleft into the light that flooded the clearing from the sun almost directly overhead.

  “Look out!” a man’s voice suddenly bellowed. They swung toward it and saw a couple of Davidson’s men lunging out from behind the scrubby trees near the spring. Guns in their hands spouted flame.

  Bo and Scratch left their saddles in rolling dives, Scratch going right while Bo went left. That put some distance between them. Bo came up on one knee and fired the Winchester twice, levering the weapon as fast as he could between the rounds. Scratch’s rifle blasted, too.

  The pair of would-be killers went down, one man’s throat torn open by Scratch’s bullet and fountaining blood, the other with Bo’s slugs in his chest. Scratch leaped to his feet and ran over to the fallen men. When he reached them, the first thing he did was kick aside the guns they had dropped. Then, he prodded them with a foot to make sure they were dead.

  Meanwhile, Bo hurried over to Pepe. He had spotted the big man lying among the rocks near the spring. Pepe’s shout had warned them.

  Bo knelt beside Luz’s bodyguard, who lay on his side breathing raggedly. Pepe’s shirt was soaked with blood and his eyes were closed. Bo thought for a second that he was dead, but Pepe opened his eyes when Bo touched his shoulder.

  “S-Señor Bo?” Pepe asked, his voice weak and strained now, not the lusty shout it had been a minute earlier. Giving them that warning must have taken just about all the strength he had left.

  “That’s right, Pepe,” Bo told him. “I’m right here.”

  “Did…did those hombres…hurt you?”

  “No, I reckon I’m fine.”

  “What about…Señor Scratch?”

  Bo looked over his shoulder and saw Scratch gathering up the guns from the men they had killed. “He’s all right, too. Neither of us were hit.”

  “The men left here…by Davidson?”

  “Both dead.” Bo paused. “There were only two of them, right?”

  “Sí, only two. Davidson knew you would come back here…when you heard the shots…if you were still alive. He thought Skinner might have…already killed you…but he didn’t want to…take a chance on that…”

  Bo squeezed the big man’s shoulder. “Rest easy now. We’ll see about patching you up.”

  “Too late,” Pepe said with a shake of his head. “Too late. I know…how bad I’m hurt. They thought…I was dead…That’s why…they left me here like this…but I wanted to stay alive…until I could warn you…and tell you what happened.”

  Scratch carried over one of the canteens that Luz and Pepe had brought with them from El Paso. He knelt on Pepe’s other side and held the canteen to his mouth. Pepe drank, then grimaced in pain.

  “I feel like…the water is just running back out of me. I am…shot full of holes, no?”

  Bo didn’t see any point in keeping the truth from him. “Pretty much, yeah. If there was anything we could do…”

  Pepe managed to lift a hand. “De nada. Just help…Luz and…the two señoritas…Davidson took them…back to the canyon. He said…if you were still alive…you would come for them…and he could kill you then. If you were already dead…he would make them pay…for all the trouble we have caused him.”

  “That son of a bitch don’t know about trouble,” Scratch said. “We’re just gettin’ started.”

  Pepe laughed softly and smiled. Then he said, “When you see Luz…tell her I…”

  No more words came from him, only a sigh. His eyes stared up sightlessly.

  “I’ll tell her you loved her, Pepe,” Bo promised, even though the big man could no longer hear him. He gently closed Pepe’s eyes. “But I reckon she must’ve known that already.”

  Bo and Scratch stood up. “We got plenty of guns and ammunition now,” Scratch said. “Too bad we don’t have half a dozen good fightin’ men to use ’em.” He let out a low whistle. “Or even just two, if they were those fellas Bodine and Two Wolves we met a while back. Those boys were like ring-tailed bobcats when it come to fightin’.”

  “Matt and Sam aren’t anywhere around here unfortunately,” Bo said. “But at least the odds against us aren’t as bad as they were. We’ve killed six of Davidson’s men today, plus we downed a few of them last night. He can’t have more than a handful left.”

  “Not countin’ Skinner and Lancaster and the kid,” Scratch pointed out.

  Bo nodded. “Yeah, and they’re probably worth at least two men apiece. But there’s no getting around the numbers. Davidson must have closed down the mine for the time being, because he doesn’t have enough men to keep those hombres from the village working.”

  “Then what’s he done with ’em? Let ’em go back to San Ramon?”

  Bo frowned as he thought about it. “I don’t figure he’d do that. He’ll want to get the mine operation up and running again as soon as he can after we’re dead. My guess is that he had them all herded into their barracks and locked up there. All he’d need in that case is a couple of men to guard the building.”

  “Too bad they ain’t loose,” Scratch mused. “With the grudges they’ve got against Davidson and his men, they might just clean out that canyon if they got the chance.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” Bo admitted. “Some of them would be killed in the fighting, no doubt about that…but men have lost their lives fighting for their freedom as long as there have been tyrants like Davidson.”

  “And I reckon that goes way, way back,” Scratch said. “We’d need to figure out a way to get to the barracks and turn ’em loose.”

  “We couldn’t do it if Lancaster still has that machine gun. That wouldn’t be a fight, no matter how many of the villagers there are. It would be plain murder to send them unarmed against that gun.”

  Scratch nodded in agreement. “Come nightfall, we’re gonna have to slip in there and find out what’s goin’ on.”

  “I think you’re right. That gives us some time to take care of the chore we need to do here.” Bo looked down at Pepe. “We’ve got a grave to dig.”

  The hard, rocky ground made the grim task more difficult, but over the next couple of hours Bo and Scratch were able to hack out a big enough hole for Pepe by using knives and machetes and their bare hands. The buzzards and other scavengers would have to take care of Davidson’s men. The Texans weren’t going to waste the time and sweat on them.

  When they had lowered Pepe into the grave and covered it again, they stood beside the mound of dirt and rocks with lowered heads while Bo asked El Señor Dios to have mercy on the big man’s soul. Afterward, as they were sitting in some shade at the base of the rock wall to cool off, Scratch said, “You know
Pepe worked in a whorehouse, don’t you?”

  “Sure. What of it?”

  “Most folks would say that he ain’t fit to go to heaven.”

  “When people start looking down on somebody else, they usually forget that they’re sinners, too. Pepe looked after the girls who worked for Luz and didn’t let anybody hurt them. And he was devoted to Luz, you know that. Nearly every big hombre I’ve ever met has had a gentle heart, and Pepe was no different.”

  “The psalm-singers’d call you a heathen for feelin’ like that.”

  “Well,” Bo said, “I’m not sure I’d want to be in the same heaven where they are anyway.”

  Scratch chuckled. “Amen to that.” He nodded toward the two dead men. “You know, this’d be a pretty nice place if it wasn’t for those hombres.”

  “Give the zopilotes and the coyotes a while to do their work,” Bo suggested. “Then Pepe can rest here alone in peace.”

  They didn’t know where the two men had left their horses. Part of the afternoon was spent in finding the animals, because Bo and Scratch didn’t want the horses dying of thirst because they were tied up and couldn’t get to water. They located the horses outside the cleft, several hundred yards away, and brought them back to the hideout. That gave them five mounts.

  “Are we takin’ all of ’em with us?” Scratch asked.

  Bo nodded. “We may need them before this is over. If we’re able to free Teresa, Evangelina, and Luz, they’ll need horses, and we may not be able to find the ones Teresa and Luz and Pepe rode down here from El Paso.”

  “I never would’ve thought Luz would put on pants and ride a horse,” Scratch said with a grin. “I reckon the lure of gold will make folks do things you’d never expect of ’em.”

  Along with the horses, they had accumulated a small arsenal by now. Taking all of it with them, along with the small amount of supplies they found in the camp, Bo and Scratch rode out late that afternoon.

  Another night was fast approaching, and if it was anything like the night before, it would be filled with fire and violence and death. Bo and Scratch both knew that they might not live to see the sun come up the next morning.

  But that uncertainty was one thing that gave life its spice, one reason the Texans had always tried to live each day to the fullest. They strapped on their guns and went out to face whatever fate awaited them with fighting grins on their faces.

  Anyway, Bo reflected, they were too damned old to change now.

  CHAPTER 28

  By the time dusky shadows began to gather in the mountains, Bo and Scratch had reached a point where they could look down into the canyon. This wasn’t the same observation spot they had used before, because they had learned over the years that always coming back to the same place to spy on your enemies could be dangerous. It was better to move around a mite.

  From here, they could see what was left of the burned buildings, as well as the long adobe barracks where the workers brought at gunpoint from the village were forced to stay. Bo spotted a man with a rifle lounging on a stool beside the heavy door. Even at this distance, Bo could see that a thick bar rested in brackets across the door to keep it from opening outward. That seemed to confirm his theory that Davidson had shut down the mine for the time being and locked up his workers so that they couldn’t cause trouble. Bo pointed out the guard to Scratch, who nodded.

  “Bad news,” Scratch whispered and pointed the other way. Bo squinted and felt his heart sink as he saw the Gardner gun, still sitting on its tripod in the back of the same wagon where it had been the day before. The fire hadn’t destroyed it after all.

  That eliminated the possibility of freeing the workers and letting them revolt against Davidson’s iron-fisted rule. Even an angry mob wouldn’t be any match for that machine gun. Lancaster could just mow them down.

  “We’ll have to come up with some other plan,” Bo whispered.

  “Somebody’s ridin’ out.” Scratch studied the man on horseback who started toward the mouth of the canyon and the valley beyond. “Danged if I don’t think it’s that young fella Alfred.”

  “If anybody can tell us what’s going on in the canyon, it’s him,” Bo said. “Let’s go.”

  “We gonna grab him?” Scratch asked with a grin.

  “That’s right. Davidson’s got Teresa and Evangelina and Luz to use as hostages against us. Maybe we need a hostage of our own.”

  “There’s one thing wrong with that plan, amigo…Davidson ain’t gonna give a damn what happens to Alfred. You threaten to kill the boy—which I know you won’t, to start with—Davidson would just tell you to go ahead and do it.”

  Bo shrugged as they started back toward the place where they had left the horses. “You’re probably right, but at least he can give us some information if we can get him to talk.”

  Trailing the extra mounts behind them, they rode down out of the mountains and into the valley, then cut toward San Ramon. If Alfred’s destination had been the village—and there was really nowhere else in the valley for him to go—he was probably there by now, but Bo figured they could grab him on his way back to the canyon.

  As they approached the village, shots rang out in San Ramon, causing the Texans to rein in sharply. “What the hell?” Scratch muttered. “Who’s shootin’? Not Alfred, I’d bet a hat on that.”

  “No, he’s no gunman,” Bo agreed. Several more shots blasted. Bo looked toward the tower where Davidson had posted a sharpshooter. It was quiet and dark. Running low on men as he was, Davidson might have decided to withdraw the rifleman and order him back to the canyon.

  “Reckon we’d better try to slip into the village and see what’s goin’ on?” Scratch asked.

  “I don’t know what else we can—Hold it a minute. I hear a horse.”

  Sure enough, a rider was coming fast toward them, the drumming hoofbeats growing louder as they approached.

  “Just one man,” Bo judged. “Let’s grab him.”

  They moved the horses into the shadows under some trees that grew along the creek meandering through the valley. The trail from San Ramon to Cutthroat Canyon ran along here, so Bo and Scratch weren’t surprised a minute later when the hurrying rider came into view. The slice of moon and the stars floating in the sky overhead provided enough light for them to recognize him.

  “It’s Alfred,” Bo whispered.

  “And he’s ridin’ like all the devil dogs o’ Hades are after him,” Scratch added.

  It was true. There was something panic-stricken about Alfred’s nighttime ride. Bo and Scratch waited until he was almost even with their hiding place, then jabbed their heels into their horses’ flanks and made the animals lunge out into the trail.

  Alfred let out a startled yell. He hauled hard on the reins and tried to swerve around the Texans, but instead his horse reared up, pawing at the air with its forehooves. Alfred wasn’t ready for that, and wasn’t a good enough rider to cope with such a problem anyway. Arms flailing, he yelped again as he tumbled backward out of the saddle and fell heavily to the ground.

  Scratch grabbed the reins of the now riderless horse while Bo dismounted and hurried over to Alfred. He drew his gun just in case, although he considered the likelihood of needing it very remote.

  Alfred confirmed that hunch by trying to shield his head with his arms and moaning, “Don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me!”

  “Take it easy, Alfred,” Bo told him. “Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

  Slowly, Alfred lowered his arms and stared up at Bo. “Mr. Creel?” he asked in amazement.

  “That’s right.” Bo extended his left hand to the young man. “Let me help you up.”

  Alfred hesitated, then clasped Bo’s wrist and let the Texan pull him to his feet. Alfred’s clothes were disheveled from his fall, and lines of fear had etched themselves into his strained features.

  “What in blazes is goin’ on around here?” Scratch asked as he came up leading Alfred’s horse. “What was that shootin’ in the village?”

&n
bsp; “Cordoba,” Alfred said.

  With a frown, Scratch asked, “Who?”

  “You don’t mean Bartolomeo Cordoba, do you?” Bo said.

  Alfred’s head bobbed in a weak nod.

  Scratch looked over at Bo. “He’s talkin’ about the bandit Cordoba?”

  “Well, he calls himself a revolutionary, but everybody knows he’s just an outlaw,” Bo said. “From what I hear, he has one of the most vicious gangs in all of Mexico.”

  Alfred used his hand to wipe sweat from his round face. “I can vouch for that. I saw what they did to Clancy.”

  “Now who’s Clancy?” Scratch said.

  “The man Mr. Davidson posted in the bell tower with a rifle.”

  “So he was still up there,” Bo mused.

  Alfred nodded. “That’s right, he was…until Cordoba and his men rode into San Ramon and brought him down. They were in the church before he knew what was going on. He never had a chance.”

  “They killed him?”

  Alfred nodded again. “But not before sending word to Mr. Davidson about what they plan to do.”

  “And that is?”

  Alfred swallowed hard and said, “Take over the mine.”

  Bo and Scratch glanced at each other. The bandidos had heard about the gold in Cutthroat Canyon and wanted it for themselves. In a way, Bo was surprised that something like this hadn’t happened before now.

  “Go on,” he told Alfred.

  “Like I said, Cordoba sent word to the mine. He wanted Mr. Davidson to send someone to the village to hear his terms.”

  “Terms of surrender, you mean?”

  “That’s right. And…and I was the one Mr. Davidson picked for the job.” A hollow laugh came from the young man. “I guess he figured I was the one he could most afford to lose if the bandits killed me. Mr. Davidson doesn’t have many men left, you know.”

  “We figured as much,” Scratch drawled. “We’ve done killed most of ’em.”

  “What about Cordoba?” Bo went on. “What does he want Davidson to do?”

  “He told me to tell Mr. Davidson that…that if he’ll surrender and leave the canyon, he and his men will be allowed to ride away unharmed.”