Sidewinders (9 page)
Authors: William W. Johnstone
The meal lived up to its predecessors. Sue Beth kept their coffee cups filled, and when they had emptied their plates, she brought over saucers with a slice of apple pie on each of them. They didn't even have to ask for dessert.
Chloride finally leaned back and sighed. “I reckon that's the best meal I et in a month of Sundays. I'm obliged.”
“Don't worry,” Bo said. “You'll earn your keep before this is all over, I expect.”
Chloride grew more sober and said, “Yeah.” He didn't sound enthusiastic anymore.
Bo took a sip of the coffee remaining in his cup and asked, “What about that hombre Ramsey? You worked for the Argosy. You must know him.”
Chloride shrugged. “I collected my wages from him, but that's all. Don't reckon we ever said a dozen words to each other.”
“Is he going to run back to Nicholson and tell him that he saw us in Miss Sutton's office?”
Chloride thought about it for a second and said, “Yeah, he might. He ain't exactly what I'd call a toady, but he works for Nicholson, after all, and the Golden Queen is one of the Argosy's competitors.”
“How did Nicholson get along with Miss Sutton's father?”
“Nicholson and Mike Sutton weren't friends, you could sure say that much. Listen, the Argosy ain't the biggest, most profitable outfit around here. The Homestake and the Father De Smet are both bigger. But the Argosy's right there behind 'em, and the Golden Queen ain't much farther back.”
Bo nodded slowly. “So if Nicholson was able to buy the Golden Queen,
his
operation would be the biggest around here.”
his
operation would be the biggest around here.”
Scratch said, “Bo, you been actin' like you think Nicholson might be tied in somehow with those road agents. That don't make any sense when you consider what happened yesterday.”
“Yeah,” Chloride agreed. “Mitch Davis, Berkner, and Turley all wound up dead, and I come mighty close to it. And all four of us worked for the Argosy.”
“I know. The question is, would Nicholson be willing to let some of his men be killed if it helped him get what he wanted?”
“You mean the Golden Queen?” Scratch frowned. “I don't see it. The Devils have held up shipments from every mine in the area, plus they robbed some stagecoaches, too, didn't they, Chloride?”
The old-timer nodded. “Yep. Fact is, they hit two or three coaches on the run from here to Cheyenne before they ever held up any gold shipments. They took the express box ever' time and killed the driver and shotgun guard.”
“What about the passengers?” Bo asked.
Chloride shook his head. “There weren't any on those particular runs, which is mighty lucky for them 'cause any passengers likely would've been slaughtered, too.”
“When the bodies of the dead drivers and guards were found, did they have the pitchforks cut into their foreheads?”
“Yeah, sure. I seen some of the bodies when John Tadrack brought 'em in. Grisly work, I'm tellin' you.”
“Bein' an undertaker, or mutilatin' poor hombres once you've killed 'em?” Scratch asked.
“Both, as far as I'm concerned.” With a slurp, Chloride drained the last of his coffee from the cup. “I reckon the gang decided they could make more money by hittin' the gold shipments, because the stagecoach robberies stopped after the other holdups started.”
Bo nodded. “Yeah, I'm sure gold shipments are more profitable. But we'll see if we can put a stop to that.”
They put on their hats and went over to the counter, where Bo took some coins from his pocket and paid Sue Beth for their meals. Scratch told her, “The food was mighty good, ma'am. We'll be back, whenever we're in town.”
“Oh? You're leaving?” she asked.
“We've taken jobs out at the Golden Queen mine,” Bo said. “Chloride's going to drive the gold wagon, and Scratch and I are going to guard the shipments.”
Sue Beth's eyes widened. “You can't be serious! With the Deadwood Devils still on a rampage, you . . . you'll be risking your lives!”
“Somebody's got to do it. I figure the three of us are just the hombres to stand up to the Devils.”
Sue Beth had already put the money Bo had paid her into the cash box under the counter. She opened it now, reached in, and took the coins out again. She slid them back across the counter and said, “Here. Take your money.”
Bo frowned. “That paid for our food. Why are you trying to give it back?”
“Because I'm not going to charge men for what might be their last meals on this earth!”
CHAPTER 9
That night in Chloride's shack passed as quietly as the previous one. Early the next morning, they drank the last of the old-timer's coffee, then saddled up and rode down the gulch into Deadwood.
Bo still had enough money in his pocket to buy them breakfast at the Red Top, but after Sue Beth's disapproval of their plans the night before, he didn't know if they would be welcome there. Instead they stopped at the Empire Bakery on Lee Street, just across the bridge over Whitewood Creek, and bought a sack of bear sign to eat as they rode out to the Golden Queen Mine.
Despite the early hour, Martha Sutton was already in the mining company's office, and she had the letter she had mentioned the day before ready for them.
“My superintendent's name is Andrew Keefer,” she told Bo as she handed him the folded and sealed paper. “Mr. Coleman probably knows him.”
Chloride nodded. “By reputation, anyway. I don't reckon I've ever shook and howdied with him. Heard tell he's a tough hombre, but I never heard anybody say he wasn't a fair one.”
“That's a good description of him,” Martha said. “I'd add loyal, too. He worked for my father for several years, and after . . . after things got bad, he could have gone to work for the Homestake or one of the other big mines. But he hasn't. He's stayed right there at the Golden Queen and done everything in his power to keep it running, even though I owe him as many back wages as I do anyone. You shouldn't have any trouble with him, especially after he reads the letter.”
Bo knew that when Martha talked about things getting bad, she really meant after her father had died. He stowed the letter in an inside coat pocket and asked, “How soon will we need to bring in a shipment?”
“There's probably already enough ore on hand to fill a wagon right now.”
“Then we'll be back with it tomorrow, I reckon,” Bo said with a smile.
They started to leave the office. Martha stopped them by saying, “Mr. Creel, Mr. Morton, Mr. Coleman . . . please be careful. I don't want your lives on my conscience.”
“Don't worry, Miss Sutton,” Bo said as he touched a finger to his hat brim. “It's our responsibility. We know what we're getting into.”
After they had stepped outside and Scratch had closed the door, Chloride muttered, “A heap o' trouble, that's what we're likely gettin' into. You fellas believe in jumpin' right into the fire, don't you? Ride out to the mine today, get ourselves killed tomorrow tryin' to deliver that gold.”
“We hired on to bring the gold into town,” Bo said. “There's no point in waiting, is there?”
“No, I reckon not,” the old-timer replied with a sigh.
They mounted up. As they rode out of town, they passed the Argosy Mining Company office. Lawrence Nicholson and Phillip Ramsey were just going inside. Both men paused to look at the Texans and their elderly companion. Nicholson gave them a curt nod. Ramsey merely watched them with a speculative expression on his narrow face.
As they started up Deadwood Gulch, Scratch dug the sack of bear sign out of his saddlebags and took one of the doughnuts from it. He passed the sack to Bo and Chloride in turn. Chloride smacked his lips with pleasure as he ate.
“That's mighty good bear sign. Helps lift a man's spirits,” he declared.
“You mean you ain't worried about gettin' shot tomorrow?” Scratch asked.
“I didn't say that. But a man could die a mite happier with a belly full of this bear sign.”
“Maybe we'd better save some for the trip back tomorrow,” Bo suggested.
“That's a good idea,” Chloride agreed.
The Golden Queen was about eight miles up Deadwood Gulch, he explained as they followed the trail alongside the creek. The mine wasn't actually located in the gulch, but rather up a side canyon that branched off to the southwest. A smaller stream flowed through the canyon and merged with Deadwood Creek.
“Where's the Argosy?” Bo asked.
“About a mile on up the gulch from where that canyon veers off,” Chloride answered.
“What's Nicholson going to do for drivers and guards now? Has he been having the same sort of trouble getting men to work for him that Miss Sutton has?”
Chloride shook his head. “Not exactly. The Argosy can afford to pay more, so there are more fellas willin' to run the risk. Of course, it don't take very big wages to add up to more than the gal can pay right now, since she ain't payin' nothin'.”
“She's promised to make up all those back wages,” Scratch pointed out.
“Promisin' is easier than doin',” Chloride said.
Bo couldn't argue with that. The men who were still working for Martha Sutton were betting that eventually she would be able to pay them what she owed them. But like all bets, this one ran the risk of not paying off.
“And you got to remember,” Chloride went on, “until a couple o' days ago, the Argosy shipments hadn't been hit. Reese Bardwell kept puttin' more guards on the wagons because of what's been happenin' to the other mines, so we all hoped the road agents would leave the Argosy alone. Shame it didn't work out that way.”
“You'd probably still have a job if it had,” Bo said.
“Maybe. To tell you the truth, though, Bardwell never much liked me, and Nicholson gen'rally does whatever that big galoot wants. They'd have found some excuse to get rid of me sooner or later.”
Over the past four years, the hooves of countless horses and mules and the wheels of hundreds of wagons had worn a decent trail alongside the creek. The three riders had no trouble following it. They didn't push their mounts but instead ambled along, taking their time. When they passed the site of the ambush from the day before, Bo took a good look around, but he didn't see anything he hadn't already seen in the wake of the fight. There was nothing here to give them a lead to the Devils.
They rode on, and late in the morning they came to the mouth of the side canyon where the Golden Queen was located. As they reined in to rest the horses and Chloride's mule for a few minutes, Bo studied the steep, narrow, and rocky ridge that separated the side canyon from Deadwood Gulch itself.
“Somebody comin',” Scratch said, distracting Bo from his thoughts.
Bo looked up Deadwood Gulch and saw several riders approaching. The man in the lead was familiar, and as the group drew closer, Bo recognized him as Reese Bardwell, the Argosy's chief engineer and superintendent. Bardwell didn't look very comfortable on horseback. It took a pretty big horse to carry him, too, in this case a gray that looked more like a draft animal than a saddle mount.
“Who are the men with Bardwell?” Bo asked Chloride quietly.
The old-timer grimaced and shook his head. “They must be new guards. I don't recognize 'em. They don't look like hard-rock men.”
Scratch grunted and said, “More like hard
cases
.” It was true. The three men with Bardwell wore range clothes and Stetsons, and each had a handgun belted on, as well as a Winchester in a saddle boot. Their eyes had the narrow look of constant vigilance that became second nature to men who lived by the gun.
cases
.” It was true. The three men with Bardwell wore range clothes and Stetsons, and each had a handgun belted on, as well as a Winchester in a saddle boot. Their eyes had the narrow look of constant vigilance that became second nature to men who lived by the gun.
The Texans and Chloride stayed where they were, standing next to their mounts, as Bardwell and the other men rode up. Bardwell reined in. His companions followed suit. The engineer had a dark scowl on his face as he demanded, “What are you three doin' out here?”
“That's our business,” Bo said. “We could ask the same of you fellas.”
Bardwell sneered. “Last I heard,
we
had honest jobs. You're just a couple of saddle tramps from Texas and an old man who can't be trusted.”
we
had honest jobs. You're just a couple of saddle tramps from Texas and an old man who can't be trusted.”
Chloride's beard bristled belligerently as he exclaimed, “Why, you goldurnâ”
Bo put out a hand to stop him as the old-timer took a step forward. “Take it easy, Chloride,” he said. To Bardwell, he went on, “I reckon you haven't heard. We've got jobs. We're working for Miss Martha Sutton at the Golden Queen.”
Bardwell frowned in surprise. “Marty? Why would sheâWait a minute. She didn't hire the three of you to get her gold to town, did she?”
“That's right,” Bo said. Bardwell probably would have heard that news in Deadwood anyway, and Bo was interested in the man's reaction.
“I knew she was getting desperate, but I didn't know she had turned into a fool,” Bardwell snapped. “It's all over this part of the country about how Coleman's tied in with the Devils, and for all anybody knows, you two are part of the gang yourselves!”
Chloride shook a gnarled fist at him. “By jingo, if I was twenty years younger, I'd hand you your needin's, you overgrowed varmint! I never had no truck with outlaws, and that's more'n you can say!”
Bardwell's face darkened again as he said, “What're you talkin' about, you old pelican?”
“You know dang good an' well what I'm talkin' about! That no-good brother of yours!”
Fury mottled Bardwell's face. His hands clenched into massive fists for a second before he started to swing down from his horse. But before he could dismount, one of the men with him edged his horse up alongside and said, “Probably ought to forget it, boss. Mr. Nicholson's expecting you, and he won't like it if you're late.”
Bardwell eased back into his saddle. “I suppose you're right,” he rumbled. He pointed a thick, blunt finger at Chloride. “But you just watch your mouth, old man. Keep runnin' it and you're liable to be sorry.”
Chloride just snorted in contempt.
Bardwell and the men with him rode past and headed on down the gulch toward the settlement. Bardwell glanced back one last time to glare at the Texans and Chloride. The other men didn't pay any more attention to them, which reinforced Bo's hunch that they were hired guns. Men like that didn't care about anything unless they were paid to.
Chloride swiped the back of a hand across his mouth. “Sorry about that, boys,” he said. “Almost talked my way into a ruckus, didn't I?”
“We couldn't have stopped Bardwell if he'd gone after you,” Bo pointed out. “Not with our fists, anyway. That means guns would have had to be involved, and then those other hombres would have taken a hand.”
“Could've been bullets flyin' everywhere, Chloride,” Scratch added.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” the old-timer said. “I'm a mite too touchy. Always have been. Bardwell just rubs me the wrong way, though.”
“I understand the feeling,” Bo said as he put his foot in the stirrup. He swung up and went on, “Let's get going.”
They forded the creek and headed up the narrow, twisting side canyon toward the Golden Queen. As they rode, Bo asked, “What was that about Bardwell's brother?”
“There was a rumor goin' around the camp that he had a brother who was an owlhoot down Kansas way. Nobody would ask him about it to his faceâ”
“I reckon not,” Scratch said. “That hombre's fists are big enough he could knock down a door with 'em.”
“Anyway,” Chloride continued, “some folks said that the law finally caught up to Bardwell's brother and hanged him, whilst others claimed him and his gang got away and disappeared. I don't know which is true, or if Bardwell even had an owlhoot brother to start with. I was just tryin' to stick a burr under his saddle.”
Bo nodded. “I saw the look on his face when you brought up his brother. I'd say you succeeded, Chloride. And I'd say there must be something to the story, too, otherwise it wouldn't have bothered him so much.”
“I reckon you're right. If it was a lie, he wouldn't have got so durned mad.”
“That's sort of interestin',” Scratch mused.
“You mean the way a gang of outlaws shows up and starts raising hell in the same area where Bardwell's working as a mine superintendent?” Bo asked. “Yeah, interesting is the word for it, all right.” He looked over at Chloride as they rode along the canyon. “How come you didn't say anything about Bardwell's brother before now?”
The old-timer grunted. “Nobody asked me, now did they?”
Bo had to chuckle. He said, “No, I reckon not.”
They rode on, and a few minutes later Bo began to hear the steady, pounding thump of a donkey engine. “That's coming from the mine?” he asked Chloride.
“Yeah, they're probably usin' it to haul ore cars outta the shaft. All the mines in these parts started out as placer outfits, since the first prospectors panned for gold in the creeks just like the fellas did in the California rivers back in forty-nine. The bigger operators come in, bought up claims, and built flumes and long toms to wash more gravel from the stream beds. But at the same time, they were startin' to dig into the slopes, too, hopin' to find the quartz lodes those flecks o' gold in the creeks came from.”
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