peaceful down there.”
“Yeah, that’s not what you thought the last time we were there and all those hombres tried to kill us,” Bo pointed out.
“Well, everywhere has its drawbacks, I suppose.”
Something else occurred to Bo. Quietly, he said to Gustaffson, “Trooper Wilson did a good job taking care of those wounded men. Almost like he had medical training.”
Gustaffson looked around to make sure no one was riding very close to them before he said, “Yeah, Wilson’s good enough at patching up wounds that it’s almost like he was a surgeon back during the War Between the States. I’ll bet some of those doctors who wore Confederate gray changed their names and came west after the war. A cavalry troop would be mighty lucky to have a fella like that join up with them.”
“As long as some of the men who still hate Rebels didn’t know about it,” Bo said.
Gustaffson nodded. “Yeah. As long as that was true.”
Satisfied now, Bo let the subject drop. But it was good to know that they had a man with the knowledge and skill to treat the wounded with them.
Because there was no doubt in Bo’s mind that more blood would be spilled before this was over.
By late morning, the patrol reached a spot where several ridges came together. Craggy cliffs rose above them. A number of canyons cut into those cliffs, the walls leaning toward each other like the jaws of a trap about to snap shut.
Lieutenant Holbrook reined in and signaled for the patrol to halt. He turned to Bo and Scratch and said, “I suppose now it’ll become more difficult to follow the trail, since there are several ways they could have gone.”
“Yeah, they may have even split up,” Scratch said.
“That wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” Bo added.
The silver-haired Texan swung down from his saddle. “Let me take a look around,” Scratch said.
For several minutes Scratch walked back and forth, studying the ground. Large stretches of it were too rocky to take a print, but there were other ways of following a trail. Finally, Scratch rejoined Bo and the lieutenant and said, “It looks like they stayed together and rode into that center canyon.”
He pointed out the opening in the cliffs he was talking about. It was twenty feet wide and ran straight for perhaps fifty yards before it took a sharp turn.
“Are you sure?” Holbrook asked. “I don’t see any tracks at all.”
“Horses can’t travel over rocky ground without turnin’ over some of the rocks, and their shoes leave little nicks and scratches on the rocks, too,” Scratch explained. “And there are places where there’s enough dirt to pick up part of a hoofprint. I can see enough sign to tell that a bunch of riders came through here in the past twelve hours, and there ain’t nothin’ pointin’ to any of those other canyons.” Scratch nodded. “That’s the way they went, all right. You can count on it.”
“And if Scratch says it, you can believe it,” Bo put in. “He’s a fine tracker. Always has been.”
“All right,” Holbrook said. “That means we go after them.”
“Hold on a minute,” Bo said. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
Holbrook frowned at him. “What do you mean? We came out here to track down the Deadwood Devils, didn’t we? Who else could it have been that attacked us last night?”
“I’m not saying it wasn’t the Devils,” Bo replied. “I’m saying it might not be a good idea to follow them into that canyon. Can’t you see that it’s a perfect setting for another ambush?”
Scratch added, “They haven’t gone to any trouble to cover their trail, Lieutenant. It’s sorta like they want us to follow ’em.”
“Nonsense,” Holbrook said. “They were just in a hurry to get away once it became obvious that their ambush wasn’t going to work.”
“I don’t know,” Bo said. “Maybe they thought it would be easier just to lure you into a trap.”
Sergeant Gustaffson had listened to the conversation with great interest. Now he spoke up, saying, “Beggin’ your pardon, Lieutenant, but what these fellas are saying makes sense. If those outlaws really wanted to get away, they could have split up here and gone half a dozen different directions. Instead they stayed together and rode into that canyon.”
“Which is probably where their hideout is located,” Holbrook said with irritation and impatience in his voice. “You men don’t seem to understand. This is our chance to catch them all together and wipe them out. The best time to attack is when the enemy is concentrated in one spot. You’d understand that if you’d been trained in tactics like I have.”
Scratch and Gustaffson both looked like they were about to lose their tempers. Bo was more than a mite annoyed himself at Holbrook’s smug certainty that he was right. Keeping a tight rein on his own anger, Bo said, “Maybe you’d better let Scratch and me do a little scouting before you go charging in there, Lieutenant. That’s why you brought us along, isn’t it?”
Holbrook shrugged. “I suppose so. I don’t want to waste this opportunity, though. I’ll give you a few minutes to reconnoiter in that canyon, but then I’m leading my men in pursuit of the enemy.”
“Just wait until we get back,” Bo suggested.
“And if you hear shots, don’t come chargin’ in there,” Scratch added. “We’ll get back to you if we can. If we can’t, then you’ll know it was a trap and we’ve sprung it.”
“Go ahead,” Holbrook said. Bo noted that the lieutenant didn’t actually promise to go along with what they had asked, and that left him with an uneasy feeling as Scratch mounted up and the two of them rode toward the dark
