“It wouldn’t take much to start an avalanche along here,” he said quietly. “Get a log and lever one or two of those boulders over the edge, and it would pick up plenty more on the way down.”
“Yeah, this place gives me the fantods,” Scratch agreed. “But the Devils came this way. I’m still seein’ sign.”
“Yeah, me, too. Maybe the lieutenant’s right. Maybe their hideout really is up here.”
Scratch grunted. “If that shave tail was ever right about anything, it was a pure-dee accident. I got a hunch that havin’ that old sarge around is the only reason the young fella’s still alive.”
Scratch might be right about that, Bo thought. Unfortunately, Olaf Gustaffson was just a sergeant. When it came down to the nub, Gustaffson had to obey the orders of his superior officer. Holbrook was so bound and determined to catch the Devils and grab some fame and glory—and maybe a promotion—in the process, he might not let Gustaffson continue to influence his decisions.
The canyon continued to twist back and forth, almost as sinuous as a diamondback rattler wriggling its way across the ground. The walls became more sheer and rose even higher by the time Bo and Scratch had penetrated half a mile into the canyon. The shadows thickened even though the sun was high overhead now. That was because the clouds were so thick and threatening. At least they were past the area where the threat of a rockslide loomed, Bo thought.
They reined in for a moment, and Bo asked, “You reckon we ought to go back and fetch the lieutenant and the rest of the patrol?”
“Everything looks clear so far,” Scratch admitted. “Maybe it’d be a better idea if we split up. You can go back and fetch the soldier boys, and I’ll keep headin’ deeper into—”
“Wait a minute,” Bo interrupted. “You hear that?”
Scratch’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he listened. Then they widened and he let out a curse. “Horses comin’ up the canyon!” he exclaimed. “The dang shavetail got tired o’ waitin’!”
It was true. The faint rataplan of hoofbeats on the rocky ground echoed up the canyon toward the Texans, growing slightly louder with the passing of each second.
Bo started to wheel his horse. “I’d better get back there with them—” he began.
He stopped short as he heard a new sound. It was an ominous, deep-throated rumble, and both Texans instantly knew what it meant.
“Avalanche!” Scratch yelled.
CHAPTER 19
They jerked their horses around and sent the animals galloping back down the canyon. It was clear what had happened: the outlaws had been hidden up on the rimrock, possibly on both sides of the canyon, and had let Bo and Scratch ride past without springing the trap. The Devils were after a bigger payoff than just two Texans.
Then, when Lieutenant Holbrook had led his men up the canyon as well, the outlaws had struck. Scratch had said all along that they weren’t going to any trouble to hide their trail, and now it was obvious why. They had this plan ready to fall back on if their ambush of the night before failed, and Holbrook’s impulsive actions had played right into their hands.
“Dang fool couldn’t wait!” Scratch shouted over the pounding hoofbeats. Bo nodded grimly. The avalanche’s roar was louder now. Bo knew that any men and horses caught in its path wouldn’t stand much of a chance. It was probably too late already to help any of the troopers, but he and Scratch had to try.
They raced around the bends in the canyon at breakneck speed. The terrible rumbling began to subside. Avalanches were horribly destructive but usually didn’t last all that long. This one seemed to be coming to an end.
As the Texans guided their horses through another twist, they spotted clouds of dust billowing up in front of them. Along with the noise, that was another sign of an avalanche. All those tumbling rocks kicked up a lot of dust.
Bo reined in, and Scratch followed suit. Plunging into that blinding cloud wouldn’t do any good. They wouldn’t be able to see where they were going.
Scratch bit back a curse. “We’re gonna have to wait for some of that dust to blow away,” he said.
“Yeah, but it shouldn’t take long,” Bo said. “Not with the way the wind’s blowing through this canyon.”
It was true. The cloud of dust began to drift down the canyon. As it did, the sudden, sharp rap of gunshots made the Texans stiffen in their saddles.
“The Devils are tryin’ to finish off the troopers who survived the rockslide!” Scratch said.
“Come on!” Bo called as he urged his horse into motion again. “We’ll give them a hand!”
Now that they knew at least some of the cavalrymen had survived the avalanche but were still in danger from the outlaws, there was no time to waste. Bo and Scratch galloped down the canyon and came in sight of a huge pile of rocks that filled the cleft from one side to the other. Muzzle flashes stabbed into the gloom from some of the rocks at the edge of the slide and were answered by more orange tongues of flame from the rimrock.
Bo and Scratch left the saddles while their horses were still running and landed with their rifles in hand. They snatched their hats off their heads, slapped at the horses and yelled, and sent the animals galloping back up the canyon, out of the line of fire.
The Texans ran behind some rocks just beyond the bend and opened fire on the bushwhackers along the rimrock. A haze of dust still hung in the air, stinging eyes and noses and making it harder to see. But that was true for the men up on the canyon walls, too. They had to be having trouble picking out targets down below.
A man suddenly staggered into view on the rimrock, clutching at his belly. A bullet had found him, and he was mortally wounded. With a terrified scream, he toppled off the sheer cliff and plunged to the canyon floor, landing on the massive pile of rocks with a grisly thud that silenced him in mid-shriek.
That was one of the varmints down, anyway, Bo thought.
But there were still plenty more up there, and they continued to pour lead down into the canyon.
“This ain’t doin’ any good, Bo!” Scratch called.
“I know! We need to get up there somehow.”
“There ain’t no way!”
Bo looked at the rough canyon walls and said, “Not for a man on horseback, but a fella might be able to climb!”
Scratch looked at him like he’d gone loco. “A mountain goat, maybe, but not a man!”
“I’m going to give it a try anyway. Stay here and do what you can to help those troopers!”
Without giving Scratch a chance to argue any more, Bo lunged out from behind the boulder where he had taken cover and raced around the bend in the trail. A bullet whined over his shoulder as he did so. The Devils up on the rimrock probably thought he was giving up and fleeing while he had the chance.
He hoped he would be able to give them a nice hot lead surprise before too much longer.
When Bo was safely around the bend, he paused and took off his belt, then used it to rig a sling for the Winchester so he could carry it over his shoulder. His eyes searched the canyon walls for footholds and handholds he could use in his climb. It wouldn’t be easy, and he knew he ought to be twenty years younger to be trying such a fool stunt, but if something didn’t happen to change the odds a little, the Devils could perch up there on the rimrock and take all day to wipe out the patrol if they needed to.
Bo settled on his route and went over to the wall. He took his hat and coat off and dropped them on the ground. The cold wind cut through his shirt and vest, but the coat would be a hindrance while he was climbing. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and reached up to grip the first handhold he had spotted.
Bo’s muscles protested as he lifted himself, but they would just have to get used to it. He wedged his foot against a rocky knob and shoved himself higher. Now he could reach the next handhold and grip it firmly to haul himself up.