“Yeah,” Scratch said. “Let’s go.”
They resumed their climb. In places it was so steep they had to reach out and give each other a hand. But in time they came to the ledge Chloride had mentioned. It was narrow, maybe ten feet deep and twice that long. The Texans pressed their backs against the cold rock wall and rested there, catching their breath again.
“We’re gettin’ . . . a mite too old for this,” Scratch said in a whisper.
“Yeah,” Bo agreed, “but I reckon it’s better than not living this long.”
“Amen.”
They took their hats off, stretched out on the snow-covered ledge, and bellied up to the edge so they could look over. Bo had already smelled smoke, so he wasn’t surprised when he saw a small fire built in a ring of rocks that had been stacked up to hide the flames. No one would be able to see the fire from the main trail below. Bo and his companions had a bird’s-eye view from up here, though.
The orange glow from the flames filtered out over the big, level area that formed the top of the so-called wolf’s head. Men moved around down there, talking quietly and drinking coffee from the pot sitting at the edge of the fire. The horses were off to the left, tied to a rope that was strung between two trees. Half a dozen pines bordered the open space on that side.
Sue Beth Pendleton and Martha Sutton were sitting with their backs to two of those trees, huddled in their coats. Bo couldn’t tell if they were tied to the pines or if the outlaws had left them loose because there was no place for them to go if they tried to escape. The Devils were between the women and the narrow path that led down to the main trail.
Scratch leaned his head close to Bo’s and whispered, “If we can get down there without them seein’ us, we can grab the gals, hustle ’em behind those trees, and throw down on the varmints. Maybe ventilate a couple of ’em before they even know what’s goin’ on.”
“That’s the way I figure it, too,” Bo replied, his voice so quiet that only Scratch and Chloride could hear him. “That was a good guess you made about them being here, old-timer.”
“Now don’t you start—” Chloride began. “Ah, never mind. You gonna shoot without givin’ ’em a chance to surrender?”
“After all the things they’ve done, you really reckon we ought to worry about that?” Scratch asked.
“I ain’t goin’ to. I was just askin’ if you were.”
“We’re not officially deputized,” Bo pointed out, “so Sheriff Manning doesn’t need to know every little detail about what happens up here.”
“That sounds good to me,” Chloride said. “I ain’t forgot how that big varmint carved those pitchforks on my friends. Don’t know if I ever will forget it.” The old-timer gave a little shake of his head, as if to get that image out of his thoughts. He pointed and went on. “You can see what I mean about the rock bulgin’ out a little. Ain’t no way to climb down.”
“And even using the lasso, it’s going to be hard to get down there quietly,” Bo said. “We’re going to have to rig a loop under the arms of one of us, dally the rope around a rock, and let him down slow and easy.”
“That’ll work while there’s still two hombres up here to hold the other one’s weight and lower him,” Scratch pointed out. “Chloride ain’t big enough to handle that chore by himself.”
“I’m willin’ to give it a try,” Chloride said.
Bo shook his head. “No, we’d just wind up making a racket and alerting the Devils, and the second man would probably fall fifty or sixty feet, to boot. It looks like this is going to be a one-man job.”
“Blast it, Bo—” Scratch said.
“The second man can get in the fight from up here,” Bo cut in. “And that’ll be you, Scratch.”
“How come?”
“I’m a little lighter than you are.”
“Not so’s you’d notice,” Scratch insisted. “I’ll bet there ain’t ten pounds’ difference between us. Never has been.”
“Ten pounds can be a lot when you’re lowering a fella on the end of a rope,” Bo said. “Don’t worry, you’ll still get to shoot some of those road agents. In fact, you’ll have an even better shot at them from up here.”
“Well . . . you got that right, anyway.” Scratch sighed. “All right. Me and Chloride’ll lower you down there. When are you goin’?”
Bo thought it over and said, “Probably be better to go ahead and do it now. If we wait for morning, they’ll be more likely to spot me. I see some rocks down there where I can hide until I’m ready to make my move. That won’t be until the rest of the posse gets here. Everything has to seem normal until then.”
“All right,” Chloride said. “Let’s find some place to dally that lasso.”
Bo couldn’t see the grin on Scratch’s face, but he could hear it in his friend’s voice as Scratch said, “I always knew at least one of us would wind up at the end of a rope, Bo, but I always figured it’d be me!”
CHAPTER 26
Bo took off his hat and coat and set them aside on the ledge. He would be cold down there without his coat, but he wanted the rope to have a nice secure fit around his chest and under his arms while Scratch and Chloride were lowering him.
Chloride had found a little pinnacle of rock at the back of the ledge that would work as a place to secure the rope. He passed one end around it, gripped both parts of the rope, and leaned hard on it to make sure it would stand the strain of Bo’s weight. The rock didn’t budge.
Meanwhile, Scratch fashioned the loop in the other end of the rope and lowered it over Bo’s upraised arms. He snugged it tight under Bo’s arms and said, “All right, you’re ready to go.”
Bo went over to the brink and sat down. Scratch and Chloride took up their positions, back a few feet from the rock spire. They gripped the rope tightly as Bo turned around and wriggled backward, letting his legs go off the ledge first. Carefully, Scratch and Chloride let the rope slide a little around the rock. Supported by the lasso, Bo slipped completely off the ledge and dangled there just under the rim. He nodded to Scratch and Chloride to let them know he was all right, although he wasn’t sure they could see the gesture in the thick darkness. He gave the rope a sharp tug, the signal for them to let it down some more.
It was a very uncomfortable feeling, having nothing but fifty or sixty feet of empty air under your boots. Without really thinking about it, Bo held his breath during the slow descent. He managed to turn around so he could look down and see what was going on in the camp below him. Several of the outlaws had turned in for the night, brushing snow off the ground so they would have clear spots for their bedrolls. Three men hunkered beside the little fire, drawing what warmth they could from the flames. Over by the trees, the prisoners appeared to be asleep now, too, huddled at the base of those pines.
Bo had let himself over the edge above a small cluster of rocks. They weren’t quite big enough to be called boulders, but he thought they would do to keep him hidden unless one of the outlaws decided to walk over there to relieve himself or something like that. If Bo was discovered, he and Scratch and Chloride would have to give as good an account of themselves as they could. With the other two covering him, Bo thought he at least stood a chance of making it to the trees and getting Sue Beth and Martha behind the pines.