“There’s only so much room up here on this ridge,” Bo said, “so I was hoping we’d run into each other. We have news.”
“You found the Devils’ hideout?”
“That’s right, but there’s only one man there right now. They left him to guard the loot from their previous robberies.”
“Where’d the rest of them go?” Gustaffson asked.
“They’re headed for Deadwood,” Bo explained. “They’re going to rob the bank there first thing in the morning and then take off for the tall and uncut.”
Gustaffson let out a surprised curse. “We’ve got to stop ’em! Nobody in Deadwood will expect the Devils to ride right into town like that. It’ll be a massacre.”
Bo nodded and said, “It could be. But not if we can get there first.”
Gustaffson lifted his reins and turned his horse. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
With Bo and Scratch in the lead, the little group started toward Deadwood. The Texans were relying on instinct to guide them now more than anything else. Decades of wandering had given them a built-in sense of direction, but even so, they had to wonder if they were going the right way. It was going to take a lot of luck for them to get back to Deadwood at all in this storm, let alone get there before the outlaws reached the settlement.
The wind blew harder and the snow fell thicker. Every bone in Bo’s body was frozen and aching from the cold, and he knew Scratch felt the same way. This late autumn storm was becoming a blizzard, and there wasn’t a blasted thing they could do about it. All the men hunched deeper in their coats, and the horses plodded on.
Bo’s horse suddenly stopped and wouldn’t go on. Trusting the animal’s instincts, Bo cried out over the howling wind, “Hold it! Everybody stop!”
Scratch, Gustaffson, and the troopers came to a halt. “What is it, Bo?” Scratch asked.
“I don’t know! Everybody hold on for a minute!”
Keeping a tight grip on the reins, he swung down from the saddle and walked forward, taking each step slowly and carefully. After a couple of strides, when his booted foot came down it didn’t find anything except empty air. Quickly, Bo backed up a step.
He handed his reins to Scratch, then reached into his coat to fish out a match. He cupped the lucifer in his hands and struck it with a flick of his thumbnail, but the wind snatched out the flame immediately. Muttering to himself, Bo got another match and tried again.
It took three tries before he was able to get a match to stay lit long enough for him to see anything. But that time the feeble glow revealed a snowy brink with black nothingness beyond it.
“We almost rode off a cliff,” Bo reported to the others. He felt his heart sink as he continued. “We can’t go on! It’s too dangerous! We’ll wind up falling into a canyon or a ravine!”
“What should we do?” Gustaffson asked, lifting his voice to be heard over the icy wind.
“Find a place to camp, maybe where we can build a fire and thaw out a little!”
“But what about the Devils and that bank robbery?”
Bo hated to say it, but the weather left them with no choice.
“I reckon the people of Deadwood are on their own.”
CHAPTER 21
Finding a suitable place to camp wasn’t easy. Bo led the way on foot now, with Scratch’s lasso tied around his chest under his arms in case he fell. He made his way carefully, sliding his feet along the ground through the snow. The flakes stung his face, and he knew that he and the other men risked frostbite on any exposed skin.
After an unknowable time, Bo bumped into something hard and unyielding. He tipped his head back and saw something dark looming over him. Resting his gloved hands on the surface, he explored it until he was convinced it was a huge slab of rock. If they could get on the side of the rock where it blocked the wind, they might be able to build a fire and thaw out a little.
Bo worked his way along the rock. For all he knew, it was a cliff that ran for miles. But luck was with him, and after only a few yards he felt the surface curving under his hands. He followed it, and gradually the wind died down as the rock blocked the icy gusts. Bo kept moving until he couldn’t feel the wind at all. He tugged on the rope to signal Scratch that the rest of the group should follow him.
Moments later, Scratch and the troopers arrived. Bo was already feeling around, searching for something that would burn. He found some brush and broke off a few of the bare branches. Huddling next to the rock, he arranged the branches. Scratch gave him a sheet of newspaper. The Texans always carried a few old newspapers in their saddlebags to use for kindling. Bo tore the sheet into strips, piled them under the branches, and struck a match. Blocked by the rock, the wind didn’t blow out the flame. A welcome glow rose, bringing with it a little heat, as the kindling caught. After a moment the branches began to burn as well.
Bo worked patiently with the fire until he had a nice little blaze going. The men crowded around it and held out half-frozen hands. The face of the rock slab leaned out a little, which helped to trap and reflect the heat onto the men.
“My teeth were chatterin’ so bad, I thought they were gonna wear themselves down to little nubs,” Scratch said. “Feel a mite better now.”
“We lost a lot of our supplies in that avalanche,” Gustaffson said, “but I think we have some coffee and jerky left.”
“Sounds good,” Bo said.
Half an hour later, after drinking some hot coffee and gnawing on strips of jerky, the men felt considerably better. They hunkered around the fire, which Bo kept going by judiciously feeding branches into the flames.
Now that they weren’t in immediate danger of falling off a cliff or freezing to death, Gustaffson scowled and said, “I sure wish we could’ve made it back to Deadwood in time to stop that robbery.”
“So do I,” Bo said, “but I’ve been thinking. The Devils left the loot from their other robberies in that cabin Scratch and I found. I heard their leader say that they’re going back there to collect the rest of the gold before they leave this part of the country. We’re between them and that loot.”
“Son of a gun!” Scratch said. “You’re right, Bo. Maybe we can ambush them for a change.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Gustaffson nodded. “It’s a good idea. By then they’ll think they’re free and clear. They won’t be expecting us to be waiting for them. I say we do it.”
“We’ll have to wait for morning, so we can see where we are. There’s no telling where we wandered during that storm. We’ll need to find the canyon where the hideout is.”
“Shouldn’t be too far off,” Scratch said. “It seemed like we slogged a long way, but I don’t reckon we really covered all that much ground.”
“That’s what I think, too,” Bo agreed. “For now, we need to get some rest. Scratch, you and I will take turns standing guard.”
Gustaffson said, “Some of us could do that.”
Bo shook his head. He thought it was highly unlikely any of the outlaws would be coming back this way tonight, but it didn’t pay to take chances. Somebody had to keep the fire going, too. He didn’t figure it was a good idea to trust their safety to a bunch of young, inexperienced cavalrymen.
“That’s all right, we’re used to it,” Bo said. “You and your men get some sleep if you can, Sergeant.”
He could tell that Gustaffson knew what he was thinking. The non-com nodded and said, “All right, but if you need somebody to lend a hand, wake me up. I don’t mind.”
“I might do that,” Bo said.
The troopers rolled up in their blankets. So did Scratch, as Bo stood the first watch. As he knelt next to the fire and fed branches and twigs into it, he was careful not to look directly into the flames. That ruined a man’s night vision quicker than anything. Instead he peered off into the snowy night.