“Including a piece of pie,” Bo said with a nod.
“I’m much obliged. Maybe throwin’ in with you fellas is gonna work out all right after all. Until the shootin’ starts again, anyway.”
They sat at an empty table in a rear corner of the Red Top this time. Sue Beth Pendleton came over, smiled at them, and said, “Where have you fellows been all day? I heard a rumor you and Mr. Morton intended to become bounty hunters and go after the Devils, Mr. Creel.”
“We thought better of it and spent the day sightseeing instead, ma’am,” Bo answered.
“That’s right,” Scratch put in. “Why go lookin’ for trouble?”
After telling Martha Sutton about it, they had agreed not to say anything about the ambush out on the trail. The fewer people who knew about their clash with the Devils, the better. That way, if anybody brought it up, that would be a potential clue to who the members of the gang might be.
Sue Beth looked at Chloride and said, “Were you the one showing them the sights, Mr. Coleman?”
“Well, ma’am, I reckon I know the country hereabouts as good as anybody in these parts,” the old-timer said.
“That’s true,” Sue Beth agreed, but judging by the shrewd look in the woman’s eyes, Bo thought she might have some suspicions of her own. It would be hard to put anything past her for very long, he decided. She went on, “Are you here for supper?”
“Yes, ma’am, and we can even pay,” Bo told her.
Sue Beth laughed. “I’ll tell Charlie, and then I’ll be back with coffee. It’s fried chicken tonight, by the way. I hope that’s all right.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Scratch said. “Nothin’ better than some good fried chicken.”
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.”
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.”