Head Rock in about an hour if nothing had happened to delay them.
Bo heard men talking and moving around. Carefully, he raised his head enough to look over the rock at the camp. A couple of the Devils hunkered next to the fire, getting some coffee boiling. The rest of the outlaws were over by the jutting rock that formed the wolf’s “snout.” One man crouched behind an “ear,” keeping an eye on the trail.
Bo looked toward the trees and saw that Sue Beth and Martha were awake again and sitting up. One of the men at the fire stood up and walked toward them carrying cups of coffee. Bo hoped the women hadn’t been trifled with. So far it appeared there was a good chance they had been left alone.
When they took the coffee, Bo saw that their hands were tied together in front of them. That wasn’t too bad. As long as their ankles weren’t tied, he would be able to get them up and onto their feet without too much trouble.
Having checked out the camp, Bo turned his head and tilted it back so he could look at the cliff looming above him. With the rope pulled back up, he couldn’t see any sign of Scratch and Chloride, which was what he expected. As long as they stayed away from the rim, the chances of the outlaws spotting them were pretty small.
Bo stretched as much as he could while staying hidden, trying to loosen up muscles grown stiff from sleep and cold. He caught the scent of the coffee and craved a cup of the hot, black brew. Although it would probably take at least a whole pot to thaw him out, he thought.
Now it was just a matter of waiting.
The snow had stopped during the night, and as the sky grew lighter, Bo saw that there were openings in the clouds. The overcast promised to break at last. It might even warm up enough during the day to melt some of the snow. The first real storm of the season was over. Bo hoped that was a good omen. He was going to take it for one, anyway.
He could tell now that the man who had taken the coffee to the women was Tom Bardwell. He was still standing there talking to them. After a moment Bardwell threw his head back and laughed, obviously amused by something he had just said.
Bo didn’t feel much like laughing. He would have much rather drawn his Colt and put a bullet through the outlaw’s head.
Bardwell turned and walked back to the fire. The other man had some breakfast ready by now. Bo’s stomach growled as he watched the Devils take turns eating. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had any food. It was the middle of the day before, at the hideout, he figured out.
This was hardly the first time in his life he’d been hungry, he reminded himself. And it probably wouldn’t be the last . . .
Unless he didn’t live through the next hour or so, of course.
Bardwell took what appeared to be biscuits to the women. They were able to handle them with their hands tied. Bardwell was still standing there talking to them when one of the other men called, “Tom!”
Bardwell swung around and hurried to join the rest of the gang. They all picked up rifles and moved closer to the point that overlooked the trail. Bo knew what that movement had to mean.
The outlaws had spotted Manning and the other members of the posse riding toward Wolf Head Rock.
Bo could imagine what was going through the heads of the posse members right now. They didn’t know whether the Texans and Chloride had managed to get into position to disrupt the ambush. For all they knew, they were riding right into a trap that was about to slam shut on them. But for the plan to work, Manning, Gustaffson, Ramsey, Keefer, and Reese Bardwell had to keep moving as if they weren’t worried about anything except catching up to their quarry.
Bo wondered briefly what Reese Bardwell would do when and if he saw his brother again. Would he take part in the battle, knowing that it might be his own bullet that ended his brother’s life, or would he hang back because of that?
Or would he betray the men who were supposed to be his allies?
The chill inside Bo deepened even more as that thought went through his head. It might have been smarter to send Reese back to Deadwood. But it was too late to do anything about that now. The Devils were hiding behind the rocks and aiming their rifles down at the trail. None of them looked toward the trees where the women sat. It was time for Bo to make his move.
Cold, cramped muscles caused him to stumble a little as he came out from behind the rocks and broke into a crouching run toward the trees. His eyes cut toward the outlaws. He expected one of them to spot him and let out a shout of alarm at any second, but they continued staring down at the trail. Thirty yards, twenty, ten . . . Sue Beth and Martha saw him coming by now and stared at him in wide-eyed shock. To them it must have seemed as if he had appeared out of thin air.
Martha was closer. He dropped to a knee beside her and pulled the clasp knife from his pocket. His gloved fingers fumbled with it as he tried to open it. The fact that his fingers were half-frozen didn’t help matters. Despite the cold, he yanked the glove off his right hand and finally managed to open the blade. So far neither of the women had said a word. They had to know that the longer it was before the Devils realized Bo was there, the better.
That was what Bo thought, anyway. But sometimes he was wrong, and this was one of those occasions. Wrong about a lot of things, in fact, but when he heard the metallic ratcheting of a gun being cocked and looked up to see Sue Beth Pendleton holding a small revolver in both hands and pointing it at him, everything snapped into place in his brain. All the questions that had bothered him had answers . . . now that it was too late.
“Drop the knife, Bo, and don’t reach for your gun,” Sue Beth said. “I’ll kill you both if I have to.”
CHAPTER 27
A gaping Martha managed to gasp out, “My God, Sue Beth! What are you—why—”
“Because she’s the real leader of the Deadwood Devils,” Bo said. “Isn’t that right, Sue Beth?”
The friendly, attractive woman was gone, replaced by a hard-faced killer. She ignored the questions and grated, “I said, drop the knife.”
