As the Texans guided their horses through another twist, they spotted clouds of dust billowing up in front of them. Along with the noise, that was another sign of an avalanche. All those tumbling rocks kicked up a lot of dust.
Bo reined in, and Scratch followed suit. Plunging into that blinding cloud wouldn’t do any good. They wouldn’t be able to see where they were going.
Scratch bit back a curse. “We’re gonna have to wait for some of that dust to blow away,” he said.
“Yeah, but it shouldn’t take long,” Bo said. “Not with the way the wind’s blowing through this canyon.”
It was true. The cloud of dust began to drift down the canyon. As it did, the sudden, sharp rap of gunshots made the Texans stiffen in their saddles.
“The Devils are tryin’ to finish off the troopers who survived the rockslide!” Scratch said.
“Come on!” Bo called as he urged his horse into motion again. “We’ll give them a hand!”
Now that they knew at least some of the cavalrymen had survived the avalanche but were still in danger from the outlaws, there was no time to waste. Bo and Scratch galloped down the canyon and came in sight of a huge pile of rocks that filled the cleft from one side to the other. Muzzle flashes stabbed into the gloom from some of the rocks at the edge of the slide and were answered by more orange tongues of flame from the rimrock.
Bo and Scratch left the saddles while their horses were still running and landed with their rifles in hand. They snatched their hats off their heads, slapped at the horses and yelled, and sent the animals galloping back up the canyon, out of the line of fire.
The Texans ran behind some rocks just beyond the bend and opened fire on the bushwhackers along the rimrock. A haze of dust still hung in the air, stinging eyes and noses and making it harder to see. But that was true for the men up on the canyon walls, too. They had to be having trouble picking out targets down below.
A man suddenly staggered into view on the rimrock, clutching at his belly. A bullet had found him, and he was mortally wounded. With a terrified scream, he toppled off the sheer cliff and plunged to the canyon floor, landing on the massive pile of rocks with a grisly thud that silenced him in mid-shriek.
That was one of the varmints down, anyway, Bo thought.
But there were still plenty more up there, and they continued to pour lead down into the canyon.
“This ain’t doin’ any good, Bo!” Scratch called.
“I know! We need to get up there somehow.”
“There ain’t no way!”
Bo looked at the rough canyon walls and said, “Not for a man on horseback, but a fella might be able to climb!”
Scratch looked at him like he’d gone loco. “A mountain goat, maybe, but not a man!”
“I’m going to give it a try anyway. Stay here and do what you can to help those troopers!”
Without giving Scratch a chance to argue any more, Bo lunged out from behind the boulder where he had taken cover and raced around the bend in the trail. A bullet whined over his shoulder as he did so. The Devils up on the rimrock probably thought he was giving up and fleeing while he had the chance.
He hoped he would be able to give them a nice hot lead surprise before too much longer.
When Bo was safely around the bend, he paused and took off his belt, then used it to rig a sling for the Winchester so he could carry it over his shoulder. His eyes searched the canyon walls for footholds and handholds he could use in his climb. It wouldn’t be easy, and he knew he ought to be twenty years younger to be trying such a fool stunt, but if something didn’t happen to change the odds a little, the Devils could perch up there on the rimrock and take all day to wipe out the patrol if they needed to.
Bo settled on his route and went over to the wall. He took his hat and coat off and dropped them on the ground. The cold wind cut through his shirt and vest, but the coat would be a hindrance while he was climbing. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and reached up to grip the first handhold he had spotted.
Bo’s muscles protested as he lifted himself, but they would just have to get used to it. He wedged his foot against a rocky knob and shoved himself higher. Now he could reach the next handhold and grip it firmly to haul himself up.
Around the bend, the gunfire continued without slacking off. The troopers were putting up a good fight. Bo hoped that meant quite a few of them had survived the avalanche. If Sergeant Gustaffson was among them, they might have a chance to hold off the outlaws long enough for Bo to reach the rimrock and lend them a hand.
The wall rose about fifty feet above the canyon floor. Some stretches were almost sheer, but other parts were easier going. Bo climbed doggedly, never looking down but keeping his eyes on the wall above him. He didn’t even let himself think about how there was nothing underneath him but empty air.
There was one especially bad moment when a rock he was gripping shifted a little under his hand, threatening to throw him off balance, but the rock didn’t pull loose and he was able to press himself against the wall until the frenzied thudding of his heart slowed slightly. He had two good footholds at the moment, so he tested the rock again. This time it held, and he was able to use it to pull himself higher.
He had no idea how long he had been climbing, so it took him a little by surprise when he suddenly reached the rimrock and rolled over the edge. With solid ground under him again, he lay there for a moment catching his breath. Then he rolled over and pushed himself up onto one knee.
The Devils were all on the other side of the canyon. They gathered among the rocks where they had started the avalanche, using the remaining boulders for cover. They were still firing down into the canyon and didn’t seem to have noticed Bo reaching the top on the other side.
In the weak light of the overcast afternoon, he could see several of the outlaws. They weren’t wearing their usual bandana masks, but he couldn’t make out enough details of their faces to recognize any of them. The rimrock rose a little on this side of the canyon, enough to give him some cover if he stretched out behind it. As he did so, he picked his targets and worked out in his mind the order in which he would take them.
Some fast, accurate shooting on his part was really the only chance those troopers down there had.
