Sidewinders

will wait in the cabin. We’ll confront the Devils first.”

“You’ll take the most dangerous job, in other words,” Gustaffson said.

Bo shrugged. “Or the easiest, depending on how you look at it. We’ll have a good position to defend if we have to, and once the Devils see that we’ve got their loot and they’re caught in a crossfire, maybe they’ll surrender. Quien sabe?”

Gustaffson let out a skeptical grunt and said, “Yeah, sure they’ll surrender. You really think that bunch of murdering thieves will give up?”

“Probably not,” Bo admitted.

“Likely it’ll take shootin’,” Scratch said.

“Call in your sentries,” Bo went on. “We’ll all get in position, and then we’ll be as ready as we’ll ever be. All we can do then is wait.”

Gustaffson nodded. “All right. I still think you two are running the biggest risk, but I don’t suppose there’s any point in arguing.”

“None at all,” Scratch said with a grin.

Even with the snow on the ground, the Devils ought to be able to make better time today than they had the night before, Bo thought. Added to that was the fact that they might have a posse on their trail, which would make them move even faster. Despite that, it would take them at least half the day to get back from their raid on the bank in Deadwood. Bo didn’t expect them to show up at the hideout until sometime in the afternoon.

That gave everyone time to take advantage of the supplies stored in the cabin and have a hot meal of bacon, beans, and coffee. After that, the cavalrymen took their positions, and Bo and Scratch settled down to wait in the cabin.

Scratch opened the shutter on the window a couple of inches so he could keep a watchful eye on the approach through the canyon. As he stood there, he asked, “You given any more thought to who’s really behind all this trouble, Bo? We know the Devils are workin’ for somebody.”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about it a lot,” Bo replied. “I’d still say Nicholson is the mostly likely suspect, but something about the whole situation makes me think he’s not the hombre in charge.”

“Maybe we can take one or two of those owlhoots alive. Most fellas get mighty talkative when they’re starin’ a hangrope in the face.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” Bo said. “The law would need evidence to convict the ringleader, and the testimony of a couple of the Devils might be enough.”

Scratch tapped a fingertip against the ivory-handled butt of one of his Remingtons. “This law don’t need a lot of evidence. Just the truth.”

Bo shrugged. A lot of times, gunplay was what it all came down to. Someday the frontier would be completely civilized, he supposed, and such rough justice would no longer be needed. But that day was still a long way off, he sensed, and even when most people thought it had arrived, there would still be evil out there that required good men to take up the gun and face it down. Bo wasn’t sure that would ever change.

The hours dragged, as they always did when violence loomed but the time of its arrival was uncertain. The sky brightened slightly as the sun climbed to its highest point, but the clouds never really broke. And then the light began to dim again.

Bo and Scratch took turns watching from the window. Bo was standing there when a flicker of movement from down the canyon caught his eye. Earlier he had seen a couple of birds flitting around, and once a rabbit had hopped across the canyon floor. This was different. This was a bigger shape moving around down there.

This was a man on horseback.

“Scratch,” Bo said quietly.

Scratch was sitting at the table. He got up and came over to join his old friend at the window. “One rider,” Bo went on. “About three hundred yards down the canyon.”

“Yeah, I see him,” Scratch said. “You reckon he’s alone?”

“He’s probably a scout. Since we can see him, that means he can see the cabin. It’ll look to him like nothing’s changed since the gang left.”

The Texans continued watching as the man rode closer. A moment later he reined his horse to a halt and sat there motionless in the saddle.

“Could be studyin’ the place through field glasses,” Scratch said, pitching his voice quietly even though the rider was well out of earshot.

“Yeah,” Bo agreed. “I hope all those troopers stay out of sight.”

“At least the sun ain’t shinin’ bright. It won’t reflect off a rifle barrel or anything like that.”

The rider took his time assessing the situation in the canyon. The minutes that he sat there on his horse passed even more slowly than they had while Bo and Scratch were waiting for someone to show up.

Finally, the man turned his horse around, drew his rifle from its saddle boot, and raised the weapon over his head, pumping it up and down three times. It was an unmistakable signal to someone who was still out of sight.

Not for long, though. Several more men on horseback appeared and joined the first one. They rode toward the cabin at a fairly leisurely pace.

“I only count four of ’em,” Scratch said. “You reckon the others got killed when they hit the bank in Deadwood? That’d make things easier for us. They might give up for sure when they see we got ’em outnumbered more than two to one.”

“Maybe,” Bo said. “Or maybe they’re just being careful.”