CHAPTER 23
Bo’s hands tightened on the rifle he held as he went on. “Those young troopers better not have itchy trigger fingers. It wouldn’t take much to get those women killed.”
“I reckon not,” Scratch said, just as tense as Bo suddenly was. “One shot would start the ball.”
Bo’s brain worked furiously. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye. Now a shootout with the Devils was the last thing they wanted.
“We’re going to have to make a trade,” he said.
“What sort of trade?”
“Gold and safe passage out of here in return for the women.”
“Safe passage for who?” Scratch asked. “Those murderin’ owlhoots?”
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Bo said, “but the first consideration is saving the lives of those hostages. When the Devils see that we’ve got them covered, maybe they’ll let Sue Beth and Marty go.”
Scratch shook his head. “I don’t think so. They’ll know that as soon as the gals are clear, all hell’s liable to break loose.”
“Probably, but we’ve got to try.” Bo took a deep breath. “I’m going out there.”
“They’ll shoot you on sight!”
“Maybe not. Somebody’s got to negotiate with them, and they’re more likely to pay attention to me if they can see me.”
“Well, then, I’m comin’, too.”
“No need for both of us to get killed in a fool play.”
“Save your breath,” Scratch said. “If we’re goin’, let’s get out there.”
He was right, Bo thought. The four men in the lead were only about twenty yards from the cabin now, and the rest of the group was about ten yards behind them. The showdown couldn’t be postponed.
“Follow my lead,” Bo said as he moved to the door, pulled the latch string, and swung it open. He stepped out into the gray light with his rifle held ready.
The Devils probably expected the two members of the gang they had left behind to greet them, so they didn’t react instantly when two figures emerged from the cabin. Only a heartbeat went by, though, before they realized that the Texans weren’t the ones they were expecting.
By that time, Bo and Scratch had lifted their rifles to their shoulders and drawn beads on the men in the lead. “Hold it!” Bo shouted, his voice echoing back from the canyon walls and reaching the cavalry troopers in the trees and those on the rimrock. “Everybody hold your fire and stay calm!”
That order was meant as much for Gustaffson and his men as it was for the Devils.
Several of the outlaws started to reach for their guns. It was an instinctive reaction when they were threatened. But one of the riders who had led the way up the canyon flung out a hand and gestured sharply.
“Hold it!” he echoed Bo. “They wouldn’t step out in the open like that if they didn’t have more guns pointed at us!”
“You’re right about that, mister,” Bo said as he peered at the man over the barrel of his Winchester. “There are enough rifles pointed at you right now to shoot all of you into little pieces.”
The outlaws weren’t wearing their bandana masks now. Their faces were uncovered, and they were a hard-looking bunch. The one who seemed to be the boss was tall and powerfully built, with a close-cropped dark beard and mustache. Something about him was familiar, and Bo had a pretty good hunch what it was. He stole a look at the man’s left hand holding the reins and saw that the little finger was missing.
A smile crept across Black Tom Bardwell’s craggy face. “Includin’ those two women?” he asked. “Because I guarantee you, Tex, if we get shot to pieces, they will, too.”
“Maybe nobody has to get killed,” Bo suggested. “Let the women go and we’ll talk about it.”
Bardwell snorted. “Like hell! We let the women go and your bushwhackers’ll open up on us a second later.” He frowned at Bo and Scratch. “That’s assumin’ you’ve even got any bushwhackers hid out. Maybe the whole thing’s just a bluff after all. Maybe it’s just you two trouble-makin’ pieces of Texas trash tryin’ to get in our way.”
“Mister,” Scratch warned, “you better watch what you say about Texas.”
“Or what?” Bardwell shot back with a sneer. “You can’t start the ball any more than we can. Not without those gals gettin’ killed.”
“Here’s the deal,” Bo said. “Let the women go, and you can take the gold that’s in the cabin and ride out of here. I give you my word on that.”
Up there on the rimrock, Gustaffson was probably seething at the possibility of the men who had nearly wiped out the patrol getting away, but right now Bo’s only concern was saving the lives of Martha and Sue Beth.
“If we kill you, what’s to stop us from just takin’ the gold?” Bardwell demanded.
A few minutes earlier, Bardwell had accused Bo of bluffing. Now Bo was ready to run a real bluff, one that had just occurred to him based on what was most important to these outlaws.
“You’ll never be able to get to it,” he said with a confident smile. “It’ll be blown to kingdom come. There are five kegs of blasting powder in there, and the fuses attached to them are already lit. They’ve got maybe another two minutes to burn. Maybe.”
Bardwell stiffened in the saddle and let out a curse. “You can’t . . . You fools! The blast’ll kill you, too!”
“We’ll chance it,” Bo snapped. “Now what’s it going to be?”
He saw Bardwell wavering and knew the man was about to agree to the deal. But bad luck chose that moment to crop up, as Sue Beth Pendleton’s nerve finally broke under the strain of being a prisoner. She screamed, “Oh, my God! We’re all going to die!” and yanked her horse around. She drove her heels into the animal’s flanks and sent it lunging against the horse of one of the outlaws surrounding her and Martha Sutton. The man cursed and instinctively jerked his gun up toward her.
The muzzle of Scratch’s rifle tracked swiftly to the side and gouted flame as he fired. The .44-40 round smacked cleanly through the head of the outlaw threatening Sue Beth and exploded out the other side, taking a fist-size chunk of skull with it and killing the man instantly. He toppled out of the saddle.
The explosion of the shot set off a frenzy of violence. Several of the outlaws jerked their guns out and started blazing away at Bo and Scratch, who had no choice but to return the fire as they backed hurriedly toward the door of the cabin.
At the same time, Gustaffson and the rest of the troopers opened up on the gang. Some of the Devils twisted in their saddles to return that fire as well. Not Black Tom Bardwell, though. He whirled his mount and spurred back down the canyon, obviously trying to escape the deadly crossfire. As bullets whipped around him, he leaned over and grabbed the trailing reins of the horse belonging to the man Scratch had shot.
The Texans had reached the doorway and crouched just inside it, using the jambs as cover while they battled with the outlaws. Bo caught a glimpse of Bardwell leading that riderless horse and knew the packs on the animal must hold some of the loot they had taken from the bank in Deadwood. Some of the other men were fleeing, too, including a couple who had hold of the reins attached to the horses carrying Sue Beth and Martha.
Bo tried to line up a shot at them, but he held off on the trigger as he realized he couldn’t risk it. There was too great a chance of hitting one of the women instead. Grimacing, he switched his aim to one of the outlaws who was firing a six-gun at him and blew the man out of the saddle.
The roar of the shots was deafening and seemed to go on forever, but in reality the battle lasted only moments. Bo and Scratch held their fire as they realized that five of the outlaws were down, and the others, along with Sue Beth and Martha, were already a considerable distance down the canyon and getting farther away by the second.
“We gotta go after ’em!” Scratch said as he lowered his rifle.
“Yeah,” Bo agreed. As he came out of the cabin he shouted, “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”