Chloride licked his lips under the bushy white mustache. “Talkin’ always goes better with a mite of lubrication, if you get my drift.”
“If you want whiskey, you’ll have to provide your own,” Bo said. “We can’t afford it.”
“Oh, well.” Chloride heaved a sigh. “You know what we was talkin’ about earlier?”
“Which part?”
“The part about me helpin’ you fellas track down the Deadwood Devils. You still interested in that?”
“Maybe,” Bo allowed. “But I thought you were going to be too busy with your new job to give us a hand.”
“Well, as it turns out, there ain’t any openin’s for drivers right now, so I got more time than I figured I would.”
Based on what Martha Sutton had told them about the difficulty she had encountered in hiring drivers for the Golden Queen, Bo suspected the other mining companies in town were having the same trouble. Nobody wanted to risk his life serving as a target for the Deadwood Devils.
So the fact that Chloride couldn’t get a job as a driver probably meant that word had gotten around town about Davenport’s suspicions of him. Even though Bo instinctively believed the old-timer’s story about the way the holdup had happened, the mine owners had to be worried that Chloride was tied in with the gang somehow. Otherwise under the circumstances they should have jumped at the chance to hire an experienced driver.
“We’d be pleased to have you ride out there with us in the morning, Chloride,” Bo said. “You can help us take a look around and point out exactly where everything happened. But you know we can’t pay you.”
Chloride licked his lips again. “You could maybe cut me in on whatever reward you make out of the deal, though, couldn’t you?”
Bo and Scratch looked at each other. Scratch shrugged his agreement. Bo said, “That’s assuming we even make anything.”
“Sure, sure, I understand that.”
“Do you have a horse?”
“I got a mule. Ain’t very comfortable for ridin’, but it’ll go all day.”
“Is it here at the livery?”
Chloride shook his head. “No, I got a little shack up the gulch a ways. Some prospector must’ve had a claim there back in the old days, but he didn’t find no color and abandoned the place.” His bushy eyebrows rose as a thought obviously occurred to him. “Say, you boys could stay there if you want, and save a little money. You’d have to spread your bedrolls on the floor, but I wouldn’t charge you nothin’.”
Bo and Scratch shared a glance again. If they could get a refund from Hanson, they’d be able to eat for a few days longer without having to accept credit from Sue Beth Pendleton.
“That sounds like a good idea,” Scratch said. He turned to the hostler. “What’s your name, amigo?”
“Esteban Gonzalez, senor,” the man replied.
“Well, Esteban, tell your boss we won’t be needin’ to stay here after all, and we’ll be takin’ our horses with us.”
“He can take out for the feed he’s already given them,” Bo said, “but we’ll expect the rest of our money back when we come by here in the morning.”
Gonzalez looked doubtful. “I don’t know, senores. Once Senor Hanson has money in his pocket, it is always very reluctant to come out again.”
“Just tell him what we said,” Bo requested. “We’ll be by early.”
The hostler sighed. “Si, senor. I will tell him.”
Bo and Scratch saddled their mounts and led them out of their stalls. “You can ride double with me, Chloride,” Bo offered. He swung up into the saddle and helped the old-timer climb on behind him.
They rode out of Deadwood with Chloride giving them directions. Despite the town’s facade of respectability during the day, at night it was obvious that this was still a mining town. The saloons were all busy as the Texans and their elderly companion rode past.
As they started up the gulch along Deadwood Creek, Bo said, “I’ve got an idea where you might be able to get a job as a driver, Chloride.”
“Where’s that? I tried ever’body in town.”
“What about the Golden Queen?”
Chloride grunted. “Except that ’un! That’s a hoodoo outfit, boys. Bad luck all around.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Their wagons have been held up more’n any of the other mines, and besides, it’s run by a gal! Women is bad luck. You been around long enough, you ought to know that.”
“The only reason Miss Sutton’s running the company is because her father died,” Bo pointed out.
“Well, that proves my point right there, don’t it? Ol’ Mike Sutton just up and dropped dead one day. If that ain’t a hoodoo, I don’t know what is.”
“Anything suspicious about his death?” Bo asked, apparently casually.
“Suspicious?” Chloride repeated. “Not that I ever heard anything about. Sutton was just walkin’ along the street one day when he stopped and sorta grabbed his chest. He staggered along a couple more steps and then fell flat on his face. Doc said he was prob’ly dead when he hit the boardwalk. Heart gave out.”
