Deadwood Gulch

CHAPTER 8

“Dadgummit, I ain’t a-gonna do it!” Chloride insisted as they rode along Deadwood’s Main Street. He had been arguing with Bo’s plan all the way back to the settlement. “I already lived through one of those holdups when nobody else has. You reckon I want to push my luck by trying to do it again?” The old-timer shook his head stubbornly. “Besides, I done told you and told you, the Golden Queen is a hoodoo outfit. Just plain bad luck.”

“And it’s also the only mining operation that’s desperate enough to hire you as a driver,” Bo pointed out.

He had tried that reasoning on Chloride before, and this time it drew the same sort of disgusted snort as a response. “The gal can’t pay no wages. She’s flat broke.”

“She’s still feeding the men who work for her, and they have a place to stay,” Bo said. “Besides, if the Golden Queen is producing much ore, it’s probably piling up out there because there’s nobody to bring it to town. If Miss Sutton could get a shipment or two in the bank, I’ll bet her finances would look a lot better.”

“Maybe,” Chloride allowed. “The problem is gettin’ it here.”

“With you drivin’ the wagon and me and Bo guardin’ it, it’ll get here,” Scratch said. “You can bet that scroungy ol’ hat of yours on that.”

“Don’t you go sayin’ bad things about my hat! Me and this hat been through a heck of a lot together!”

“I believe it. It’s probably as old as you are.”

They had reached the office of the Golden Queen Mining Company, so Bo reined in and said, “We can argue about Chloride’s hat later. Right now we need to go in and talk to Miss Sutton. Chloride, I’ll ask you again to come with us. It’ll be a lot easier getting the gold here if we have you along to drive the wagon. Otherwise one of us will have to handle that chore and there’ll only be one of us left to keep an eye out for trouble.”

Chloride scowled and tugged on his scraggly beard. “You’re bound and determined to go through with this, ain’t you?”

“We need jobs, even if they don’t pay anything but room and board, and Miss Sutton needs help, if she’ll unbend enough to accept it.” Bo shrugged. “Seems like a good solution all the way around.”

“Other than the probably gettin’ killed part,” Chloride shot back.

“Man takes a chance ever’ time he gets out of bed in the mornin’,” Scratch drawled. “Leastways with this one, there might be a nice payoff at the end.”

Chloride jerked his head in a curt nod. “All right,” he said. “We’ll give it a try. But when you got a bullet in your belly and you’re breathin’ your last, just remember I told you it was a loco idea.”

“Were you born with that sunny disposition,” Scratch asked as he dismounted, “or did it just come to you?”

Bo led the way into the mining company office. It was late in the afternoon by now, but Martha Sutton was still there. In fact, she was on her feet and had an angry expression on her face as she looked at a man who stood in front of the desk.

“It’s a good offer, Miss Sutton,” the man was saying as the Texans and Chloride came in. He glanced over his shoulder at them but continued talking to Martha. “I’d advise you to take it. I don’t know how long Mr. Nicholson will be in such a generous mood.”

“I promise you, Mr. Ramsey, I’m not at a point where I need to rely on the generosity of Mr. Nicholson—or of you!” Martha shot back. “Tell your employer that I decline his . . . offer.” Her voice dripped with scorn on the final word.

“You’re certain?” Ramsey said.

“There’s no doubt in my mind.”

Ramsey shrugged and turned away. He was young, around twenty-five, with blond hair and a tall, lean body clothed in a gray tweed suit. He put on a narrow-brimmed hat that matched the suit and stepped past Bo, Scratch, and Chloride, regarding them now with definite curiosity. He didn’t ask them who they were, though, just nodded and said, “Gentlemen.” Then he paused in the doorway and added to Martha, “If you change your mind, Miss Sutton, I’m sure Mr. Nicholson will be happy to discuss the matter with you.”

“I won’t be changing my mind,” Martha snapped.

Ramsey smiled and went out, closing the door behind him. With a weary sigh, Martha sank into the chair behind the desk and looked up at her new visitors with a mixture of anger and resignation.

“What do you three want?” she asked. Then she looked more closely at Chloride and added, “You’re the Argosy driver who was held up yesterday, aren’t you?”

Chloride said, “Yes’m, I am. But I ain’t workin’ for Argosy no more, as of yesterday, too.”

Martha looked surprised. “Lawrence Nicholson fired you because you got held up? Or because you didn’t give your life for the Argosy Mining Company like the guards did?”

“I dunno, miss, he just told me I wasn’t workin’ for him no more.”

“So you’re looking for a job like these two?” Martha said as she nodded toward Bo and Scratch.

Bo said, “Actually, Miss Sutton, Chloride gave us a hand today when we rode out to see if we could pick up the trail of the Deadwood Devils.”

Martha sat up straighter and looked interested in spite of herself. “Did you have any luck?” she asked.

“If you call almost getting our hair parted with lead lucky,” Bo replied with a faint smile. “Four men ambushed us while we were looking around the place where the Argosy wagon was held up yesterday.”

“You don’t look like you’re hurt.”

“That really was lucky,” Bo said. Quickly, he explained what had happened when they were ambushed. “We tried to follow those men who shot at us,” he concluded, “but we lost the trail. The same thing happened when we backtracked the outlaws who attacked the Argosy gold wagon yesterday. Following a trail in rugged country like this is pretty hard.”

Martha looked at them solemnly. “When you said you were going to try to find the Deadwood Devils, you weren’t joking, were you?”

“We generally don’t, leastways not about the important things, miss,” Scratch said.

“I appreciate your efforts, and I’m certainly sorry your lives were in danger . . . but I’m afraid I can’t offer you any sort of compensation for what you’ve done.”

“We’re not asking for any,” Bo said. “We haven’t earned anything . . . yet.”

Martha frowned. “I don’t understand. Are you going to keep looking for the thieves?”

“Not exactly. I had another idea. You said you were having trouble finding anybody to bring your gold into town from the mine . . . ?”

“That’s right. All my drivers have quit, and no one wants to hire on as guards . . .” Martha’s eyebrows rose as she realized what Bo was suggesting. “Are you saying that the three of you want to volunteer?”

Chloride shuffled his feet. To keep the old-timer from saying anything about hoodoos, Bo replied quickly, “You need a driver and some guards, and we need jobs.”

Impatiently, Martha said, “I’ve told you, I can’t afford to pay wages.”

“But you said you’ve been feeding the fellas who work for you, and I reckon they have places to stay out at the mine.”

She shrugged. “That’s true. You’d work for room and board?”

“And the promise of back wages once you’ve got plenty of gold in the bank and the company is back on solid footing,” Bo said. He looked at his two companions. Scratch nodded and added, “That’s right, ma’am.” Chloride didn’t say anything, but at least he didn’t object.

Martha said, “It’s true I might be able to feed three more mouths, and there’s plenty of room in the bunkhouse out at the mine. But aren’t you afraid of the Devils? They’re liable to try to hold up the first shipment into town.”

“To tell you the truth, Miss Sutton,” Bo said, “we’re sort of counting on that.”

“You still want to find out who they are and where they’ve been hiding all the loot they’ve stolen, don’t you?”

Scratch said, “We don’t cotton to bein’ shot at. Makes us take things real personal-like.”

Bo nodded. “That’s true.”

“Well . . . I suppose we could give it a try. I don’t like the idea of you putting your lives at risk, but if I don’t get a shipment or two out pretty soon, the company can’t keep going.”

“Sounds like we’ve got a deal, then,” Bo said with a smile.

Martha stood up and extended her hand across the desk. “My father always shook on it whenever he made a deal.”

“Your father sounds like a good man,” Bo said as he gripped her hand.

“He was. I don’t want to let him down by losing the mine or being forced to sell out to someone like Lawrence Nicholson.”

“That was one of Nicholson’s men you were talking to when we came in, wasn’t it?” Bo asked. “What was that about? Did the Argosy make an offer to buy your mine?”

“That’s exactly what Phillip Ramsey did,” Martha snapped. “And as for who that little weasel is, he’s Nicholson’s chief bookkeeper and secretary. Ramsey runs the office, Reese Bardwell runs the mine.”

“We’ve met Bardwell,” Bo said. “And there was somebody else in the Argosy office when we were there yesterday.”

Martha waved a hand. “There are several clerks who work there, but Ramsey is in charge of them.”

“The fella didn’t look that weaselly to me,” Scratch commented.

“Trust me, he is. I wouldn’t trust him or Nicholson or Bardwell as far as I could throw them. My father never trusted them, either.” Martha changed the subject by asking, “Are you going to ride out to the mine today? I can give you a letter explaining to my superintendent that I’ve hired you to bring in the gold shipments.”

“It’s a little late to be starting out there today,” Bo said. “But if you could write that letter, we can pick it up first thing in the morning when we ride out.”

Martha nodded. “I’ll have it ready for you.” She hesitated. “Do you have enough money to eat tonight? I might be able to find a little money . . .”

“That won’t be necessary,” Bo assured her, thinking about the coins they had gotten back from the liveryman, Hanson, early that morning. “We’ll be fine.”

“All right then,” she said, obviously relieved. “I hope you men don’t have reason to regret going to work for me.”

Chloride was muttering something under his breath as they left the office. Bo didn’t ask him to repeat it.

“I hope you ain’t plannin’ to eat at my place again tonight,” the old-timer said when they were outside. “My cupboard’s pert near bare.”

“Actually,” Bo said, “I was thinking we’d treat you to a meal at the Red Top. We got enough money back from Hanson for that.”

Chloride licked his lips under the bushy mustache. “Really? Includin’ maybe a piece of one o’ those pies that widow lady bakes?”

“Including a piece of pie,” Bo said with a nod.

“I’m much obliged. Maybe throwin’ in with you fellas is gonna work out all right after all. Until the shootin’ starts again, anyway.”

They sat at an empty table in a rear corner of the Red Top this time. Sue Beth Pendleton came over, smiled at them, and said, “Where have you fellows been all day? I heard a rumor you and Mr. Morton intended to become bounty hunters and go after the Devils, Mr. Creel.”

“We thought better of it and spent the day sightseeing instead, ma’am,” Bo answered.

“That’s right,” Scratch put in. “Why go lookin’ for trouble?”

After telling Martha Sutton about it, they had agreed not to say anything about the ambush out on the trail. The fewer people who knew about their clash with the Devils, the better. That way, if anybody brought it up, that would be a potential clue to who the members of the gang might be.

Sue Beth looked at Chloride and said, “Were you the one showing them the sights, Mr. Coleman?”

“Well, ma’am, I reckon I know the country hereabouts as good as anybody in these parts,” the old-timer said.

“That’s true,” Sue Beth agreed, but judging by the shrewd look in the woman’s eyes, Bo thought she might have some suspicions of her own. It would be hard to put anything past her for very long, he decided. She went on, “Are you here for supper?”

“Yes, ma’am, and we can even pay,” Bo told her.

Sue Beth laughed. “I’ll tell Charlie, and then I’ll be back with coffee. It’s fried chicken tonight, by the way. I hope that’s all right.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Scratch said. “Nothin’ better than some good fried chicken.”

The meal lived up to its predecessors. Sue Beth kept their coffee cups filled, and when they had emptied their plates, she brought over saucers with a slice of apple pie on each of them. They didn’t even have to ask for dessert.

Chloride finally leaned back and sighed. “I reckon that’s the best meal I et in a month of Sundays. I’m obliged.”

“Don’t worry,” Bo said. “You’ll earn your keep before this is all over, I expect.”

Chloride grew more sober and said, “Yeah.” He didn’t sound enthusiastic anymore.

Bo took a sip of the coffee remaining in his cup and asked, “What about that hombre Ramsey? You worked for the Argosy. You must know him.”

Chloride shrugged. “I collected my wages from him, but that’s all. Don’t reckon we ever said a dozen words to each other.”

“Is he going to run back to Nicholson and tell him that he saw us in Miss Sutton’s office?”

Chloride thought about it for a second and said, “Yeah, he might. He ain’t exactly what I’d call a toady, but he works for Nicholson, after all, and the Golden Queen is one of the Argosy’s competitors.”

“How did Nicholson get along with Miss Sutton’s father?”

“Nicholson and Mike Sutton weren’t friends, you could sure say that much. Listen, the Argosy ain’t the biggest, most profitable outfit around here. The Homestake and the Father De Smet are both bigger. But the Argosy’s right there behind ’em, and the Golden Queen ain’t much farther back.”

Bo nodded slowly. “So if Nicholson was able to buy the Golden Queen, his operation would be the biggest around here.”

Scratch said, “Bo, you been actin’ like you think Nicholson might be tied in somehow with those road agents. That don’t make any sense when you consider what happened yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Chloride agreed. “Mitch Davis, Berkner, and Turley all wound up dead, and I come mighty close to it. And all four of us worked for the Argosy.”

“I know. The question is, would Nicholson be willing to let some of his men be killed if it helped him get what he wanted?”

“You mean the Golden Queen?” Scratch frowned. “I don’t see it. The Devils have held up shipments from every mine in the area, plus they robbed some stagecoaches, too, didn’t they, Chloride?”

The old-timer nodded. “Yep. Fact is, they hit two or three coaches on the run from here to Cheyenne before they ever held up any gold shipments. They took the express box ever’ time and killed the driver and shotgun guard.”

“What about the passengers?” Bo asked.

Chloride shook his head. “There weren’t any on those particular runs, which is mighty lucky for them ’cause any passengers likely would’ve been slaughtered, too.”

“When the bodies of the dead drivers and guards were found, did they have the pitchforks cut into their foreheads?”

“Yeah, sure. I seen some of the bodies when John Tadrack brought ’em in. Grisly work, I’m tellin’ you.”

“Bein’ an undertaker, or mutilatin’ poor hombres once you’ve killed ’em?” Scratch asked.

“Both, as far as I’m concerned.” With a slurp, Chloride drained the last of his coffee from the cup. “I reckon the gang decided they could make more money by hittin’ the gold shipments, because the stagecoach robberies stopped after the other holdups started.”

Bo nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure gold shipments are more profitable. But we’ll see if we can put a stop to that.”

They put on their hats and went over to the counter, where Bo took some coins from his pocket and paid Sue Beth for their meals. Scratch told her, “The food was mighty good, ma’am. We’ll be back, whenever we’re in town.”

“Oh? You’re leaving?” she asked.

“We’ve taken jobs out at the Golden Queen mine,” Bo said. “Chloride’s going to drive the gold wagon, and Scratch and I are going to guard the shipments.”

Sue Beth’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious! With the Deadwood Devils still on a rampage, you . . . you’ll be risking your lives!”

“Somebody’s got to do it. I figure the three of us are just the hombres to stand up to the Devils.”

Sue Beth had already put the money Bo had paid her into the cash box under the counter. She opened it now, reached in, and took the coins out again. She slid them back across the counter and said, “Here. Take your money.”

Bo frowned. “That paid for our food. Why are you trying to give it back?”

“Because I’m not going to charge men for what might be their last meals on this earth!”