top of the ridge. They retraced their path, looking down on the creek from high above now, until they reached the spot where the ambush had taken place.
“The ground’s pretty rocky here,” Scratch observed. “It won’t be easy followin’ them, but we’ll give it a try.”
With Scratch leading the way, they trailed the would-be killers into the rugged hills that bordered Deadwood Gulch. The going was slow. More gulches, many of them choked with brush, cut through the hills and formed obstacles. Finally Scratch reined in, sighed, and shook his head.
“I’ve lost the trail,” he said. “We can back up and try to find it again, but it ain’t likely to do us much good. There are too many rocks, too many creeks, and too many places where a fella can hide his tracks. My hunch is that they’ve done given us the slip, Bo.”
“Mine, too,” Bo agreed. “Let’s head back to those trees where they ambushed the wagon yesterday and try to follow that trail.”
They spent several hours doing that as the tracks of the outlaw gang wound into the rugged area between Deadwood Creek and Whitewood Creek. This trail was a little easier to follow because there had been more riders, but eventually it petered out, too, as the tracks branched in different directions as Scratch had predicted they would.
“Well, we didn’t find their rendezvous after all,” Scratch said as they sat on their mounts trying to figure out their next move. He glanced up at the sun. “Missed lunch, too.”
“We might as well head back to Deadwood,” Bo said.
“And do what?” Chloride asked. “How are we gonna earn any money if we can’t find those no-good skunks?”
Chloride was including himself now as if they were partners, Bo noted. That was all right. He felt an instinctive liking for the crusty old-timer, and Chloride had handled himself all right during the battle with the bushwhackers. Besides, Chloride had a definite part to play in the plan that was forming in Bo’s brain.
“There’s more than one way to find the Deadwood Devils,” Bo said as he smiled. “I think I know how we can make them come to us.”
Scratch frowned and asked, “Does this idea of yours have anything to do with us gettin’ shot at again, Bo?”
“It just might,” Bo said.
CHAPTER 8
“Dadgummit, I ain’t a-gonna do it!” Chloride insisted as they rode along Deadwood’s Main Street. He had been arguing with Bo’s plan all the way back to the settlement. “I already lived through one of those holdups when nobody else has. You reckon I want to push my luck by trying to do it again?” The old-timer shook his head stubbornly. “Besides, I done told you and told you, the Golden Queen is a hoodoo outfit. Just plain bad luck.”
“And it’s also the only mining operation that’s desperate enough to hire you as a driver,” Bo pointed out.
He had tried that reasoning on Chloride before, and this time it drew the same sort of disgusted snort as a response. “The gal can’t pay no wages. She’s flat broke.”
“She’s still feeding the men who work for her, and they have a place to stay,” Bo said. “Besides, if the Golden Queen is producing much ore, it’s probably piling up out there because there’s nobody to bring it to town. If Miss Sutton could get a shipment or two in the bank, I’ll bet her finances would look a lot better.”
“Maybe,” Chloride allowed. “The problem is gettin’ it here.”
“With you drivin’ the wagon and me and Bo guardin’ it, it’ll get here,” Scratch said. “You can bet that scroungy ol’ hat of yours on that.”
“Don’t you go sayin’ bad things about my hat! Me and this hat been through a heck of a lot together!”
“I believe it. It’s probably as old as you are.”
They had reached the office of the Golden Queen Mining Company, so Bo reined in and said, “We can argue about Chloride’s hat later. Right now we need to go in and talk to Miss Sutton. Chloride, I’ll ask you again to come with us. It’ll be a lot easier getting the gold here if we have you along to drive the wagon. Otherwise one of us will have to handle that chore and there’ll only be one of us left to keep an eye out for trouble.”
Chloride scowled and tugged on his scraggly beard. “You’re bound and determined to go through with this, ain’t you?”
“We need jobs, even if they don’t pay anything but room and board, and Miss Sutton needs help, if she’ll unbend enough to accept it.” Bo shrugged. “Seems like a good solution all the way around.”
“Other than the probably gettin’ killed part,” Chloride shot back.
“Man takes a chance ever’ time he gets out of bed in the mornin’,” Scratch drawled. “Leastways with this one, there might be a nice payoff at the end.”
Chloride jerked his head in a curt nod. “All right,” he said. “We’ll give it a try. But when you got a bullet in your belly and you’re breathin’ your last, just remember I told you it was a loco idea.”
“Were you born with that sunny disposition,” Scratch asked as he dismounted, “or did it just come to you?”
Bo led the way into the mining company office. It was late in the afternoon by now, but Martha Sutton was still there. In fact, she was on her feet and had an angry expression on her face as she looked at a man who stood in front of the desk.
“It’s a good offer, Miss Sutton,” the man was saying as the Texans and Chloride came in. He glanced over his shoulder at them but continued talking to Martha. “I’d advise you to take it. I don’t know how long Mr. Nicholson will be in such a generous mood.”
