A moment later, more riders came into view, and Bo knew his second speculation had been right. From the looks of it, the whole gang had survived, which meant that the odds had tipped slightly to the outlaws’ side.
It was even worse than that, Bo realized as a frown creased his forehead. He did a quick head count again and said, “Something’s funny here, Scratch. It looks to me like there are two more riders than left here last night. They brought a couple of people with them.”
“Who do you reckon that could be?”
“I don’t know. It might be that ringleader the Devils are working for, or they could have grabbed some hostages and brought them along—”
Bo stopped short as shock coursed through him. The second group of riders was close enough now that he could make out more details. Two figures who rode in the center of the group, surrounded by the outlaws as if they were being guarded, were hatless. Blond hair and red hair stood out as splashes of color against the snowy background. Scratch recognized the riders, too, and ripped out a curse.
“Is that—”
“Yeah,” Bo said. “Marty Sutton and Sue Beth Pendleton, and it looks like they’re prisoners.”
CHAPTER 23
Bo’s hands tightened on the rifle he held as he went on. “Those young troopers better not have itchy trigger fingers. It wouldn’t take much to get those women killed.”
“I reckon not,” Scratch said, just as tense as Bo suddenly was. “One shot would start the ball.”
Bo’s brain worked furiously. Everything had changed in the blink of an eye. Now a shootout with the Devils was the last thing they wanted.
“We’re going to have to make a trade,” he said.
“What sort of trade?”
“Gold and safe passage out of here in return for the women.”
“Safe passage for who?” Scratch asked. “Those murderin’ owlhoots?”
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Bo said, “but the first consideration is saving the lives of those hostages. When the Devils see that we’ve got them covered, maybe they’ll let Sue Beth and Marty go.”
Scratch shook his head. “I don’t think so. They’ll know that as soon as the gals are clear, all hell’s liable to break loose.”
“Probably, but we’ve got to try.” Bo took a deep breath. “I’m going out there.”
“They’ll shoot you on sight!”
“Maybe not. Somebody’s got to negotiate with them, and they’re more likely to pay attention to me if they can see me.”
“Well, then, I’m comin’, too.”
“No need for both of us to get killed in a fool play.”
“Save your breath,” Scratch said. “If we’re goin’, let’s get out there.”
He was right, Bo thought. The four men in the lead were only about twenty yards from the cabin now, and the rest of the group was about ten yards behind them. The showdown couldn’t be postponed.
“Follow my lead,” Bo said as he moved to the door, pulled the latch string, and swung it open. He stepped out into the gray light with his rifle held ready.
The Devils probably expected the two members of the gang they had left behind to greet them, so they didn’t react instantly when two figures emerged from the cabin. Only a heartbeat went by, though, before they realized that the Texans weren’t the ones they were expecting.
By that time, Bo and Scratch had lifted their rifles to their shoulders and drawn beads on the men in the lead. “Hold it!” Bo shouted, his voice echoing back from the canyon walls and reaching the cavalry troopers in the trees and those on the rimrock. “Everybody hold your fire and stay calm!”
That order was meant as much for Gustaffson and his men as it was for the Devils.
Several of the outlaws started to reach for their guns. It was an instinctive reaction when they were threatened. But one of the riders who had led the way up the canyon flung out a hand and gestured sharply.
“Hold it!” he echoed Bo. “They wouldn’t step out in the open like that if they didn’t have more guns pointed at us!”
“You’re right about that, mister,” Bo said as he peered at the man over the barrel of his Winchester. “There are enough rifles pointed at you right now to shoot all of you into little pieces.”
The outlaws weren’t wearing their bandana masks now. Their faces were uncovered, and they were a hard- looking bunch. The one who seemed to be the boss was tall and powerfully built, with a close-cropped dark beard and mustache. Something about him was familiar, and Bo had a pretty good hunch what it was. He stole a look at the man’s left hand holding the reins and saw that the little finger was missing.
A smile crept across Black Tom Bardwell’s craggy face. “Includin’ those two women?” he asked. “Because I guarantee you, Tex, if we get shot to pieces, they will, too.”
“Maybe nobody has to get killed,” Bo suggested. “Let the women go and we’ll talk about it.”
Bardwell snorted. “Like hell! We let the women go and your bushwhackers’ll open up on us a second later.” He frowned at Bo and Scratch. “That’s assumin’ you’ve even got any bushwhackers hid out. Maybe the whole thing’s just a bluff after all. Maybe it’s just you two trouble-makin’ pieces of Texas trash tryin’ to get in our way.”
