Sidewinders

“You can rest assured of that, sir,” Holbrook said, “on both counts.”

Bo still thought they should wait until morning to begin the search, but Holbrook wouldn’t hear of it. He liked Bo’s idea that the outlaw hideout was located somewhere on top of one of the ridges and wanted to put it to the test.

As the troops got ready to move out, Chloride came up to Bo and Scratch and said quietly, “You fellas be careful out there. I’ve seen men like that lieutenant before. They think they know everything, and before you know it, they’re neck-deep in trouble. Don’t let him get you killed.”

“We’ll try not to,” Scratch said.

Bo added, “I’ve got a hunch Sergeant Gustaffson knows what he’s doing. He can steer the lieutenant in the right direction.”

Chloride grunted. “If Holbrook will listen to him. I’m bettin’ the odds are against that.”

“Don’t worry about us, old-timer,” Scratch said with a grin. “We can take care of ourselves.”

Chloride snatched his hat off his head and said, “There you go again with that old-timer business! I swear—” He stopped short and shrugged. “What the hell. I am older than you. Probably ain’t many who can say that!” He clapped his hat back on his head and stuck out his hand. “Good luck, boys.”

The Texans both shook with him, then mounted up. Gustaffson had the troopers ready to ride. Holbrook said, “Give the order, Sergeant.”

Gustaffson bellowed the command and waved the men forward as Holbrook, Bo, and Scratch led the way. Some of the miners turned out to watch. They waved their caps over their heads as the cavalrymen trotted away, moving deeper into the canyon.

As Keefer had said, after the riders had gone about a mile, the slope of the canyon to their right fell away at a gentler angle. It was still covered with trees and rocks, but Bo thought that if the troopers dismounted, they might be able to lead their horses to the top. He pointed that out to Holbrook and suggested, “Let Scratch and me try it first.”

“Very well,” the lieutenant agreed. He signaled a halt.

The Texans rode to the base of the slope and swung down from their saddles. Holding tight to the reins, they started up. The horses balked a little at first but soon came on, climbing the slope with relative ease. Bo and Scratch tried to pick the route that would give the animals the least trouble.

When they made it to the top of the ridge, they found themselves with a spectacular view spread out before them. The late afternoon sun washed over the Black Hills in all their rugged glory. Down in the gulches, people got used to being closed in with dark slopes all around them and only a strip of sky above. Up here a man could breathe better, it seemed to Bo.

“Do we have to go back down there and fetch that stiff-necked lieutenant?” Scratch asked.

Bo chuckled. “I reckon we’d better. He and those troopers will come in handy when we find the Devils.”

“You don’t figure we could handle that bunch of owlhoots by ourselves?”

“Well, maybe. But I’d rather have the cavalry on our side, too.” Bo handed Scratch his reins. “I’ll go back down. You take a look around up here.”

Going down the hill was almost as painful for stiff joints as climbing up it, but Bo was soon back on the floor of the canyon with Lieutenant Holbrook, Sergeant Gustaffson, and the rest of the patrol. Bo told them that the way up was manageable, then said, “Follow me.”

The soldiers led their mounts by the reins like Bo and Scratch had. It was slow going, since they had to proceed single file, but eventually all the troopers made it to the top of the ridge.

By that time the sun had sunk considerably lower. Bo said, “If we keep going, Lieutenant, we run the risk of falling off a cliff in the bad light. It would be better to make camp here.”

He could tell that Holbrook wanted to squeeze out every minute of the day, but after a moment the young officer nodded. “All right,” Holbrook said. “Sergeant, tell the men to make camp. There’s enough level ground here to pitch the tents.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was true. The ridge was almost a mile wide, Bo knew from studying the map in Andrew Keefer’s office, and while it was covered with thick stands of trees and a jumble of boulders, it was fairly level, unlike some of the ridges that came to an almost razor-like crest. This one twisted off to the southwest for several miles before rising into higher, even more rugged terrain.

As Gustaffson ordered the men to pitch their tents and build cook fires, Scratch advised, “It might be a good idea to keep those fires small, Sergeant. Hide ’em amongst the rocks, too.”

Holbrook overheard the advice and said, “Why would we want to do that?”

“Build big fires and you’re telling the world where you are,” Bo said.

“You mean we’ll be announcing our position to the enemy.”

“That’s what he just said,” Scratch drawled.

“It’s cold up here. The men need hot food, and they need warmth from the fires as well. Sergeant, have the men build their fires as big as they can.”

“Lieutenant—” Bo began.

“Really, Mr. Creel,” Holbrook interrupted, “if these so-called Devils are as cunning as everyone seems to believe they are, don’t you think they already know we’re out here looking for them?”

As much as Bo hated to admit it, Holbrook had a point. Everybody in Deadwood had heard about how the cavalry was riding out today to look for the outlaws and their hideout. At the very least, the Devils had spies in the settlement. If Bo’s hunch was correct, some of the gang even lived there. No doubt the word had already long since gone out to the members of the gang at the hideout.

Still, having the Devils know that they were somewhere in the Black Hills was a heap