Authors: William W. Johnstone
Sidewinders (15 page)
“The gold that comes out of the Black Hills means a lot to the government,” Bo said. “They need it for all the coins they mint, and to keep another financial panic from brewing.”
“I suppose that's true. Surely the cavalry will be able to find an outlaw gang.”
“I dunno,” Chloride said. “They didn't do such a good job of roundin' up all those Injuns that massacreed Custer and his boys. Fact is, a lot of the chiefs made it across the border into Canada 'fore Gen'ral Crook could catch up to 'em.”
“Maybe Lieutenant Holbrook will have better luck,” Bo said. “Come on.”
The three men left the office. They had already seen to it that the horses and mules were put up for the night at the livery stable, out of the cold in nice warm stalls. Now they dealt with their own accommodations, stopping at the hotel to make sure they had rooms before heading to the Red Top Café for supper.
Sue Beth Pendleton greeted them with her usual friendly smile. “I heard you were back with another shipment from the Golden Queen,” she said as the three men came up to the counter. “It's quite a big day for Deadwood. Another gold shipment gets through, and the cavalry shows up to chase down the Devils.”
“Yeah, we'll see about that last part,” Chloride said.
“You don't think the soldiers will be able to deal with those outlaws?”
“I ain't got a heap o' confidence, let's put it that way.”
“Well, I hope you're wrong, Chloride,” Sue Beth said. “Those killers and thieves have been a blight on these parts for long enough.”
No one could argue with that.
“I suppose you're here for supper?” Sue Beth went on. “It's beef stew tonight, piping hot.”
Chloride licked his lips, and Scratch said, “Sounds mighty good to me, ma'am.”
“By the way, where's that turkey?”
Scratch heaved a sigh. “We didn't spy nary a gobbler while we were gone. But I ain't givin' up. It won't be Thanksgivin' for a few more days yet.”
They sat at a table this time. Sue Beth brought over bowls of steaming stew and a plate full of thick slices of sourdough bread. After a day on the trail, Bo, Scratch, and Chloride attacked the food with gusto.
They were still eating when the café's front door opened, letting in some chilly air and the intimidating presence of the sergeant who had ridden in earlier with Lieutenant Holbrook. As the non-com closed the door behind him, he looked around the room. After a moment his gaze settled on Bo, Scratch, and Chloride, and to Bo's surprise, the sergeant came toward them with a heavy, determined stride.
He stopped next to their table and asked in a voice that held a hint of a Scandinavian accent, “Are you men Creel, Morton, and Coleman?”
“That's right,” Bo said. “What can we do for you, Sergeant?”
The sergeant unsnapped the flap of his holster and rested his hand on the butt of his revolver as he said, “You can come with me, that's what you can do.”
CHAPTER 15
The other customers in the café heard the sergeant's blunt declaration and saw his threatening gesture. A tense hush fell over the place as everyone waited to see if trouble was going to break out. Behind the counter, Sue Beth paled a little as she watched the confrontation.
Chloride opened his mouth to say something, and Bo had no doubt the old-timer's response would be an angry one. He silenced Chloride with a lifted hand. In a situation such as this, staying calm might be a better idea.
“Are we under arrest, Sergeant?” Bo asked.
“No, but the lieutenant told me to bring you, and he didn't make no bones about it. I won't be taking no for an answer.”
“Why does he want to see us?”
The sergeant gave a curt shake of his head. “He didn't tell me, and it ain't my place to ask. Now, are you coming along peaceful-like?”
“Back to your camp?”
The sergeant grunted, and Bo heard a faint note of contempt in the sound. “No, he's over at the hotel,” the non-com said.
As if he'd be out in the cold like the rest of us,
he seemed to say after that, Bo thought, although the words went unspoken.
As if he'd be out in the cold like the rest of us,
he seemed to say after that, Bo thought, although the words went unspoken.
“We haven't finished our supper yet,” Bo said. “Why don't you sit down and have a cup of coffee while you wait?”
“The lieutenant told me to find you and bring youâ”
“Well, there's no way of telling how long it took you to find us, now is there?”
For a second, Bo thought the man was going to stick to his guns. But then the ramrod stiffness of the sergeant's back loosened a little, and he said in a more relaxed tone, “I looked several places for you before I got here. I don't suppose Lieutenant Holbrook would know exactly how many places I had to search to find you.”
Scratch grinned, looked over at the counter, and said, “Sue Beth, could we get another cup of coffee over here?”
She looked relieved that there wasn't going to be trouble. “Right away,” she said.
The sergeant snapped his holster flap, pulled out the empty chair at the table, and sank wearily into it. “We've been in the saddle all day for several days getting here,” he said. “But that's the army for you. I can't complain.”
“You can, it just won't do any good,” Bo said with a smile. “We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Bo Creel, that's Scratch Morton, and the old-timer is Chloride Coleman.”
“Sergeant Olaf Gustaffson,” the non-com said before Chloride could complain about Bo's introduction.
“You've been wearin' the blue for a while, haven't you, Sarge?” Scratch asked.
“My first campaign was the Mexican War, if that tells you anything,” Gustaffson replied.
“We missed that one,” Bo said.
“We'd done fought the Mexicans already, at a little place called San Jacinto,” Scratch added. “Figured it would be all right if we sat the next one out.”
“Texans, eh?”
“I ain't,” Chloride said. “I'm just ridin' with 'em these days.”
Gustaffson grinned. “That's even worse. You've got a choice in the matter.”
“There are some as might take offense at that,” Scratch said. “We'll let it pass, though, figurin' that bein' a ignorant Scandahoovian you just don't know any better.”
Sue Beth arrived at the table with cup and saucer and the coffeepot. She filled the sergeant's cup. Gustaffson said, “I'm much obliged to you, ma'am.”
“You're welcome, Sergeant,” she told him. “Thank you for not causing a scene.”
Now that Gustaffson had unbent a little, Bo found himself instinctively liking the man. If Gustaffson had been in the army for more than thirty years as he indicated, he had probably been as many places and seen as many things as the Texans had. That meant there was a certain kinship between them, a bond that existed between veteran frontiersmen. It would be enjoyable to sit down sometime and talk to the sergeant about his military career.
But not right now. Bo was more interested in other things at the moment.
When Sue Beth had gone back to the counter, he asked, “Are you sure you don't know why the lieutenant wants to see us, Olaf?” In Bo's experience, non-coms usually knew more about what was really going on than anyone else in a uniform.
“Well . . .” Gustaffson hesitated. “I'm not sure, but when I got back to the hotel to report to the lieutenant that the camp was set up, I heard him and that Nicholson fella talking about how the three of you are the only ones who have taken on these so-called Devils and lived to tell the tale. I won't swear to it, but I've got a hunch Lieutenant Holbrook wants to draft you fellas into scouting for us.”
“To help you find the Devils' hideout, you mean?”
Gustaffson nodded. “Wouldn't surprise me a bit.”
“We've looked for it already,” Scratch said. “Nary any luck so far.”
“They've got to be around here somewhere, otherwise they couldn't keep holding up those gold shipments. And all the gold they've already stolen has to be somewhere, too.”
Gustaffson had just put into words one of the things Bo had been thinking about. Even though he believed that some of the outlaws were spending most of their time here in town, the gang had to have a place where they cached their loot, and it was unlikely they would leave it unguarded. Some of them probably stayed at the hideout all the time, some stayed in town, and others moved back and forth carrying messages. If the cavalry could locate the hideout, they could recover the stolen gold and break the back of the gang. They might not ever be able to round up all the members, but at least the threat of the Deadwood Devils would be over.
“We'll help, if that's what the lieutenant wants,” Bo said. “Otherwise we're going to risk getting in each other's way, because Scratch and I intend to keep looking for the gang.”
“What about this old fella?” Gustaffson asked as he gestured toward Chloride.
“I can speak for myself,” Chloride said. “And I'm goin' back up to the Golden Queen mine to wait for the next shipment o' gold to be ready. I ain't no dang outlaw-hunter like these two.”
Gustaffson's eyes narrowed as he looked back at the Texans. “After a bounty, eh?”
“That's not exactly how he meant it,” Bo said.
“But if there's a reward, we wouldn't mind claimin' it,” Scratch added.
Gustaffson shook his head. “You'll have to talk to somebody else about that. The only money I ever see is my wages, and damned little of that.” He swallowed the rest of his coffee and got to his feet. “You're done eating. Come on.”
As they went out, the sergeant nodded to Sue Beth and added, “Mighty fine coffee, ma'am.” He jerked a thumb at Bo, Scratch, and Chloride. “It's on these fellas.”
Sue Beth smiled and told him, “I already added it to their tab, Sergeant.”
“Good-lookin'
and
efficient,” Scratch commented on the way out, loud enough for Sue Beth to hear him.
and
efficient,” Scratch commented on the way out, loud enough for Sue Beth to hear him.
The four men huddled in their coats as they walked along the street to the Grand Central Hotel. The wind whipping through Deadwood's streets clawed at them like icy fingers. Bo was glad to get back inside and relished the warmth coming from the stoves scattered around the hotel's lobby and dining room.
Sergeant Gustaffson pointed to a doorway in the dining room. “Lieutenant Holbrook and that fella Nicholson are in a private room over there.” He went to the closed door and knocked, and when there was a muffled response from within, he said, “It's me, Lieutenant. I've got those men you sent me to find.”
Holbrook must have told him to bring them in, because Gustaffson opened the door and gestured for Bo, Scratch, and Chloride to go in.
The lieutenant and Lawrence Nicholson were seated at a table with glasses and a bottle of whiskey in front of them. With his hat off, Holbrook looked even younger, if that was possible. He had sandy hair and a somewhat angular face, and if he had been out of West Point for more than a year, Bo would be shocked.
Holbrook got to his feet and said, “Please, gentlemen, come in.” He gave Gustaffson a curt nod. “That'll be all, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir,” the non-com said. He had been dismissed, and now he had to go back to his tent and hope that it would keep a little of the frigid wind out. Bo didn't blame him for being reluctant to leave. All the troopers were in the same situation, though, and there wasn't a thing Bo or anyone else could do about it.
When Gustaffson was gone, Holbrook motioned toward the empty chairs at the table. “Have a seat. Would any of you like a drink?”
Chloride licked his lips. “I would.”
“Reckon I could do with one, too,” Scratch said.
Bo shook his head and made a gesture indicating that he would pass.
When they were all sitting down, Holbrook said, “Thank you for coming so promptly.”
“Sergeant Gustaffson didn't leave us much choice in the matter,” Bo said. “He's a good man.”
Holbrook didn't seem to hear the compliment. “I'll get right to the point. Since you men are civilians, I can't order you to do anything.”
“Not without placing the town under martial law,” Nicholson put in, “which the lieutenant and I have agreed isn't necessary or advisable at this point.”
“Why don't you just tell us what you want, Lieutenant?” Bo suggested. “Then we can tell you whether or not we'll go along with it.”
“Fine. I'd like for you to serve as scouts and help me locate the headquarters of the outlaw band known variously as the Deadwood Devils and the Devils of Deadwood Gulch.” Holbrook inclined his head toward the mine owner. “Mr. Nicholson here tells me that the three of you have had more experience with them than anyone else. Anyone still alive, that is.”
“We've tangled with them a few times,” Bo admitted. “We couldn't identify any of them, though, and we don't know where they hole up.”
“Still, I need some experienced men to help me in my search. I've been charged with bringing them to justice, Mr. Creel, and I intend to do so, no matter what it takes.” Holbrook paused. “I can offer you scout's wagesâ”
“Not me,” Chloride said. “I already got a job. I drive for the Golden Queen Minin' Company, and I'm headed back up to the mine in the mornin'.”
Nicholson smiled thinly. “Mr. Coleman here is a former employee of mine, Lieutenant, and I can tell you that it won't do any good to argue with him. He's every bit as stubborn as those mules he drives.”
“I reckon you didn't mean it as such, but I'll take that as a compliment, Nicholson,” Chloride replied.
Holbrook didn't seem bothered by the exchange. He looked at Bo and Scratch and asked, “What about you two? Are you interested in helping to put a stop to the plague of lawlessness in this area?”
“Darn right we are,” Scratch said. “Bo?”
“I reckon we can come to an agreement, Lieutenant,” Bo said. “Chloride is going to be taking the Golden Queen's wagon back up the gulch to the mine tomorrow. I suggest that you and your troop accompany him as an escort, and Scratch and I will come along, too.”
“A military escort,” Chloride said. “I sorta like the sound of that.”
Holbrook frowned. “I'm not sure it would be proper to be seen as favoring one mine operation over another . . .”
Nicholson waved a hand and said, “Don't worry about that, Lieutenant. You'll need to be heading in that direction anyway to begin your search, so I don't see anything improper in riding that way at the same time as Mr. Coleman is returning in the wagon.”
“Well . . . all right,” Holbrook said with a nod. “If you're sure.”
“It's settled, then.” Nicholson sounded pleased. He reached for the bottle. “I think we should have a drink on it.” He splashed whiskey into the empty glasses, then picked up his and went on. “To the end of the Deadwood Devils.”
“To the end of the Deadwood Devils,” Holbrook echoed. Scratch and Chloride didn't say anything. They just downed their drinks along with Nicholson and the lieutenant.
Bo wished it was that easy to get rid of the outlaws.
But he knew good and well it wouldn't be.
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