“Mister,” Scratch warned, “you better watch what you say about Texas.”
“Or what?” Bardwell shot back with a sneer. “You can’t start the ball any more than we can. Not without those gals gettin’ killed.”
“Here’s the deal,” Bo said. “Let the women go, and you can take the gold that’s in the cabin and ride out of here. I give you my word on that.”
Up there on the rimrock, Gustaffson was probably seething at the possibility of the men who had nearly wiped out the patrol getting away, but right now Bo’s only concern was saving the lives of Martha and Sue Beth.
“If we kill you, what’s to stop us from just takin’ the gold?” Bardwell demanded.
A few minutes earlier, Bardwell had accused Bo of bluffing. Now Bo was ready to run a real bluff, one that had just occurred to him based on what was most important to these outlaws.
“You’ll never be able to get to it,” he said with a confident smile. “It’ll be blown to kingdom come. There are five kegs of blasting powder in there, and the fuses attached to them are already lit. They’ve got maybe another two minutes to burn. Maybe.”
Bardwell stiffened in the saddle and let out a curse. “You can’t . . . You fools! The blast’ll kill you, too!”
“We’ll chance it,” Bo snapped. “Now what’s it going to be?”
He saw Bardwell wavering and knew the man was about to agree to the deal. But bad luck chose that moment to crop up, as Sue Beth Pendleton’s nerve finally broke under the strain of being a prisoner. She screamed, “Oh, my God! We’re all going to die!” and yanked her horse around. She drove her heels into the animal’s flanks and sent it lunging against the horse of one of the outlaws surrounding her and Martha Sutton. The man cursed and instinctively jerked his gun up toward her.
The muzzle of Scratch’s rifle tracked swiftly to the side and gouted flame as he fired. The .44-40 round smacked cleanly through the head of the outlaw threatening Sue Beth and exploded out the other side, taking a fist-size chunk of skull with it and killing the man instantly. He toppled out of the saddle.
The explosion of the shot set off a frenzy of violence. Several of the outlaws jerked their guns out and started blazing away at Bo and Scratch, who had no choice but to return the fire as they backed hurriedly toward the door of the cabin.
At the same time, Gustaffson and the rest of the troopers opened up on the gang. Some of the Devils twisted in their saddles to return that fire as well. Not Black Tom Bardwell, though. He whirled his mount and spurred back down the canyon, obviously trying to escape the deadly crossfire. As bullets whipped around him, he leaned over and grabbed the trailing reins of the horse belonging to the man Scratch had shot.
The Texans had reached the doorway and crouched just inside it, using the jambs as cover while they battled with the outlaws. Bo caught a glimpse of Bardwell leading that riderless horse and knew the packs on the animal must hold some of the loot they had taken from the bank in Deadwood. Some of the other men were fleeing, too, including a couple who had hold of the reins attached to the horses carrying Sue Beth and Martha.
Bo tried to line up a shot at them, but he held off on the trigger as he realized he couldn’t risk it. There was too great a chance of hitting one of the women instead. Grimacing, he switched his aim to one of the outlaws who was firing a six-gun at him and blew the man out of the saddle.
The roar of the shots was deafening and seemed to go on forever, but in reality the battle lasted only moments. Bo and Scratch held their fire as they realized that five of the outlaws were down, and the others, along with Sue Beth and Martha, were already a considerable distance down the canyon and getting farther away by the second.
“We gotta go after ’em!” Scratch said as he lowered his rifle.
“Yeah,” Bo agreed. As he came out of the cabin he shouted, “Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”
Some of the troopers were still throwing lead after the fleeing outlaws and their hostages. As far as Bo had been able to tell, neither Sue Beth nor Martha had been hit, but he couldn’t be sure of that. The way lead had been flying around, it was a pure miracle neither of the women had been killed.
Gustaffson bellowed for his men to stop shooting, too. As the firing finally died down, Bo and Scratch ran for the trees where their horses were hidden along with the other mounts. There was no time to waste.
One of the cavalrymen who had been concealed in the trees was down, thrashing around. Another lay close by, motionless. Splashes of blood crimsoned the white snow around them. The third trooper knelt beside the wounded one, trying to help him. Bo wished he and Scratch could stop and help, but the lives of the two women were still at stake.
They jerked their reins loose and swung up into the saddles. As they rode out of the trees, they saw Sergeant Gustaffson running toward them. “Wait a minute!” the non-com yelled. “Where are you going?”
“After the Devils,” Bo said.
“I’ve got wounded men—”
“Then tend to them and guard the gold in the cabin,” Bo snapped. “We’re going after the Devils.”
“Blast it, I’m coming with—”
The Texans didn’t wait any longer. They thundered after the outlaws, leaving Gustaffson behind them with his mouth still open.
“That was a hell of a bluff you came up with!” Scratch called over the pounding hoofbeats. “For a second there you almost had me believin’ we was about to get blowed up! That boss outlaw believed it, too!”
“Yeah, I know!” Bo replied. “I just wanted to get the women out of the line of fire!”
“Almost worked!”
Yes, Bo thought, almost . . . but not quite. And for now, at least, that made all the difference.
It was easy to follow the trail left in the snow by the fleeing outlaws and their prisoners. Bardwell must have decided to cut his losses. He had most of the loot the Devils had taken from the Deadwood bank, and he had a
