“We missed that one,” Bo said.
“We’d done fought the Mexicans already, at a little place called San Jacinto,” Scratch added. “Figured it would be all right if we sat the next one out.”
“Texans, eh?”
“I ain’t,” Chloride said. “I’m just ridin’ with ’em these days.”
Gustaffson grinned. “That’s even worse. You’ve got a choice in the matter.”
“There are some as might take offense at that,” Scratch said. “We’ll let it pass, though, figurin’ that bein’ a ignorant Scandahoovian you just don’t know any better.”
Sue Beth arrived at the table with cup and saucer and the coffeepot. She filled the sergeant’s cup. Gustaffson said, “I’m much obliged to you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome, Sergeant,” she told him. “Thank you for not causing a scene.”
Now that Gustaffson had unbent a little, Bo found himself instinctively liking the man. If Gustaffson had been in the army for more than thirty years as he indicated, he had probably been as many places and seen as many things as the Texans had. That meant there was a certain kinship between them, a bond that existed between veteran frontiersmen. It would be enjoyable to sit down sometime and talk to the sergeant about his military career.
But not right now. Bo was more interested in other things at the moment.
When Sue Beth had gone back to the counter, he asked, “Are you sure you don’t know why the lieutenant wants to see us, Olaf?” In Bo’s experience, non-coms usually knew more about what was really going on than anyone else in a uniform.
“Well . . .” Gustaffson hesitated. “I’m not sure, but when I got back to the hotel to report to the lieutenant that the camp was set up, I heard him and that Nicholson fella talking about how the three of you are the only ones who have taken on these so-called Devils and lived to tell the tale. I won’t swear to it, but I’ve got a hunch Lieutenant Holbrook wants to draft you fellas into scouting for us.”
“To help you find the Devils’ hideout, you mean?”
Gustaffson nodded. “Wouldn’t surprise me a bit.”
“We’ve looked for it already,” Scratch said. “Nary any luck so far.”
“They’ve got to be around here somewhere, otherwise they couldn’t keep holding up those gold shipments. And all the gold they’ve already stolen has to be somewhere, too.”
Gustaffson had just put into words one of the things Bo had been thinking about. Even though he believed that some of the outlaws were spending most of their time here in town, the gang had to have a place where they cached their loot, and it was unlikely they would leave it unguarded. Some of them probably stayed at the hideout all the time, some stayed in town, and others moved back and forth carrying messages. If the cavalry could locate the hideout, they could recover the stolen gold and break the back of the gang. They might not ever be able to round up all the members, but at least the threat of the Deadwood Devils would be over.
“We’ll help, if that’s what the lieutenant wants,” Bo said. “Otherwise we’re going to risk getting in each other’s way, because Scratch and I intend to keep looking for the gang.”
“What about this old fella?” Gustaffson asked as he gestured toward Chloride.
“I can speak for myself,” Chloride said. “And I’m goin’ back up to the Golden Queen mine to wait for the next shipment o’ gold to be ready. I ain’t no dang outlaw-hunter like these two.”
Gustaffson’s eyes narrowed as he looked back at the Texans. “After a bounty, eh?”
“That’s not exactly how he meant it,” Bo said.
“But if there’s a reward, we wouldn’t mind claimin’ it,” Scratch added.
Gustaffson shook his head. “You’ll have to talk to somebody else about that. The only money I ever see is my wages, and damned little of that.” He swallowed the rest of his coffee and got to his feet. “You’re done eating. Come on.”
As they went out, the sergeant nodded to Sue Beth and added, “Mighty fine coffee, ma’am.” He jerked a thumb at Bo, Scratch, and Chloride. “It’s on these fellas.”
Sue Beth smiled and told him, “I already added it to their tab, Sergeant.”
“Good-lookin’
The four men huddled in their coats as they walked along the street to the Grand Central Hotel. The wind whipping through Deadwood’s streets clawed at them like icy fingers. Bo was glad to get back inside and relished the warmth coming from the stoves scattered around the hotel’s lobby and dining room.
Sergeant Gustaffson pointed to a doorway in the dining room. “Lieutenant Holbrook and that fella Nicholson are in a private room over there.” He went to the closed door and knocked, and when there was a muffled response from within, he said, “It’s me, Lieutenant. I’ve got those men you sent me to find.”
Holbrook must have told him to bring them in, because Gustaffson opened the door and gestured for Bo, Scratch, and Chloride to go in.
The lieutenant and Lawrence Nicholson were seated at a table with glasses and a bottle of whiskey in front of them. With his hat off, Holbrook looked even younger, if that was possible. He had sandy hair and a somewhat angular face, and if he had been out of West Point for more than a year, Bo would be shocked.
Holbrook got to his feet and said, “Please, gentlemen, come in.” He gave Gustaffson a curt nod. “That’ll be all, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir,” the non-com said. He had been dismissed, and now he had to go back to his tent and hope that it would keep a little of the frigid wind out. Bo didn’t blame him for being reluctant to leave. All the troopers were in the same situation, though, and there wasn’t a thing Bo or anyone else could do about it.
