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.
“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 you—”
“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.
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.