Deadwood Gulch

CHAPTER 19

They jerked their horses around and sent the animals galloping back down the canyon. It was clear what had happened: the outlaws had been hidden up on the rimrock, possibly on both sides of the canyon, and had let Bo and Scratch ride past without springing the trap. The Devils were after a bigger payoff than just two Texans.

Then, when Lieutenant Holbrook had led his men up the canyon as well, the outlaws had struck. Scratch had said all along that they weren’t going to any trouble to hide their trail, and now it was obvious why. They had this plan ready to fall back on if their ambush of the night before failed, and Holbrook’s impulsive actions had played right into their hands.

“Dang fool couldn’t wait!” Scratch shouted over the pounding hoofbeats. Bo nodded grimly. The avalanche’s roar was louder now. Bo knew that any men and horses caught in its path wouldn’t stand much of a chance. It was probably too late already to help any of the troopers, but he and Scratch had to try.

They raced around the bends in the canyon at breakneck speed. The terrible rumbling began to subside. Avalanches were horribly destructive but usually didn’t last all that long. This one seemed to be coming to an end.

As the Texans guided their horses through another twist, they spotted clouds of dust billowing up in front of them. Along with the noise, that was another sign of an avalanche. All those tumbling rocks kicked up a lot of dust.

Bo reined in, and Scratch followed suit. Plunging into that blinding cloud wouldn’t do any good. They wouldn’t be able to see where they were going.

Scratch bit back a curse. “We’re gonna have to wait for some of that dust to blow away,” he said.

“Yeah, but it shouldn’t take long,” Bo said. “Not with the way the wind’s blowing through this canyon.”

It was true. The cloud of dust began to drift down the canyon. As it did, the sudden, sharp rap of gunshots made the Texans stiffen in their saddles.

“The Devils are tryin’ to finish off the troopers who survived the rockslide!” Scratch said.

“Come on!” Bo called as he urged his horse into motion again. “We’ll give them a hand!”

Now that they knew at least some of the cavalrymen had survived the avalanche but were still in danger from the outlaws, there was no time to waste. Bo and Scratch galloped down the canyon and came in sight of a huge pile of rocks that filled the cleft from one side to the other. Muzzle flashes stabbed into the gloom from some of the rocks at the edge of the slide and were answered by more orange tongues of flame from the rimrock.

Bo and Scratch left the saddles while their horses were still running and landed with their rifles in hand. They snatched their hats off their heads, slapped at the horses and yelled, and sent the animals galloping back up the canyon, out of the line of fire.

The Texans ran behind some rocks just beyond the bend and opened fire on the bushwhackers along the rimrock. A haze of dust still hung in the air, stinging eyes and noses and making it harder to see. But that was true for the men up on the canyon walls, too. They had to be having trouble picking out targets down below.

A man suddenly staggered into view on the rimrock, clutching at his belly. A bullet had found him, and he was mortally wounded. With a terrified scream, he toppled off the sheer cliff and plunged to the canyon floor, landing on the massive pile of rocks with a grisly thud that silenced him in mid-shriek.

That was one of the varmints down, anyway, Bo thought.

But there were still plenty more up there, and they continued to pour lead down into the canyon.

“This ain’t doin’ any good, Bo!” Scratch called.

“I know! We need to get up there somehow.”

“There ain’t no way!”

Bo looked at the rough canyon walls and said, “Not for a man on horseback, but a fella might be able to climb!”

Scratch looked at him like he’d gone loco. “A mountain goat, maybe, but not a man!”

“I’m going to give it a try anyway. Stay here and do what you can to help those troopers!”

Without giving Scratch a chance to argue any more, Bo lunged out from behind the boulder where he had taken cover and raced around the bend in the trail. A bullet whined over his shoulder as he did so. The Devils up on the rimrock probably thought he was giving up and fleeing while he had the chance.

He hoped he would be able to give them a nice hot lead surprise before too much longer.

When Bo was safely around the bend, he paused and took off his belt, then used it to rig a sling for the Winchester so he could carry it over his shoulder. His eyes searched the canyon walls for footholds and handholds he could use in his climb. It wouldn’t be easy, and he knew he ought to be twenty years younger to be trying such a fool stunt, but if something didn’t happen to change the odds a little, the Devils could perch up there on the rimrock and take all day to wipe out the patrol if they needed to.

Bo settled on his route and went over to the wall. He took his hat and coat off and dropped them on the ground. The cold wind cut through his shirt and vest, but the coat would be a hindrance while he was climbing. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and reached up to grip the first handhold he had spotted.

Bo’s muscles protested as he lifted himself, but they would just have to get used to it. He wedged his foot against a rocky knob and shoved himself higher. Now he could reach the next handhold and grip it firmly to haul himself up.

Around the bend, the gunfire continued without slacking off. The troopers were putting up a good fight. Bo hoped that meant quite a few of them had survived the avalanche. If Sergeant Gustaffson was among them, they might have a chance to hold off the outlaws long enough for Bo to reach the rimrock and lend them a hand.

The wall rose about fifty feet above the canyon floor. Some stretches were almost sheer, but other parts were easier going. Bo climbed doggedly, never looking down but keeping his eyes on the wall above him. He didn’t even let himself think about how there was nothing underneath him but empty air.

There was one especially bad moment when a rock he was gripping shifted a little under his hand, threatening to throw him off balance, but the rock didn’t pull loose and he was able to press himself against the wall until the frenzied thudding of his heart slowed slightly. He had two good footholds at the moment, so he tested the rock again. This time it held, and he was able to use it to pull himself higher.

He had no idea how long he had been climbing, so it took him a little by surprise when he suddenly reached the rimrock and rolled over the edge. With solid ground under him again, he lay there for a moment catching his breath. Then he rolled over and pushed himself up onto one knee.

The Devils were all on the other side of the canyon. They gathered among the rocks where they had started the avalanche, using the remaining boulders for cover. They were still firing down into the canyon and didn’t seem to have noticed Bo reaching the top on the other side.

In the weak light of the overcast afternoon, he could see several of the outlaws. They weren’t wearing their usual bandana masks, but he couldn’t make out enough details of their faces to recognize any of them. The rimrock rose a little on this side of the canyon, enough to give him some cover if he stretched out behind it. As he did so, he picked his targets and worked out in his mind the order in which he would take them.

Some fast, accurate shooting on his part was really the only chance those troopers down there had.

Lying on his belly, Bo propped himself on his elbows and snugged the butt of the Winchester against his shoulder. The rifle already had a bullet in the firing chamber. He took a deep breath, settled his sights on the first man he was going to try to take down, and squeezed the trigger.

Before the whipcrack of the shot could even start to echo through the canyon and join the echoes of all the other shots, Bo had worked the Winchester’s lever and shifted his sights. A second shot blasted out. He didn’t take the time to see if his bullets found their targets. Instead he jacked the lever and fired again and again and again, so that the shots formed a continuous roar.

Bo didn’t stop shooting. He had reloaded the rifle before starting his climb, so he’d had a full sixteen rounds in it, one in the chamber and fifteen in the magazine. He fired all sixteen shots in that many seconds, maybe a little less. From this angle, even the outlaws he couldn’t see were in danger from the storm of lead because the bullets were bouncing around among those rocks on the other wall.

Bo counted off the shots, and when the Winchester was empty he quickly scooted backward, knowing that the Devils would return his fire. Dirt and pebbles leaped into the air as bullets chewed into the edge of the rimrock. Bo stayed as low as he could. He heard slugs whining through the air just above his head. Where he was, though, they couldn’t reach him.

Of course, he couldn’t stick his head up, either, not without getting a bullet through the brain.

While he was lying there, he thumbed fresh cartridges through the Winchester’s loading gate. A sudden outburst of firing from the opposite wall of the canyon made him glance in that direction. For a second he thought some of the Devils had moved down there to get better shots at him, but then he saw a familiar figure kneeling behind a rock on that side and directing his fire toward the outlaws.

Scratch!

The silver-haired Texan ducked lower behind the rock as his rifle ran dry. Bo shouted over to him. “What in blazes are you doing up there?”

Scratch flashed a grin back at him. “I was always a better climber than you!” he called. “Figured if you could do it, I could, too, and we could lay into the varmints from two directions at once!”

Actually, it wasn’t a bad idea, Bo thought, although Scratch was in more danger because he was on the same side of the canyon as the Devils.

But it appeared they had the outlaws on the run again. The shooting had died down, and when Bo risked a look, he spotted several of the figures in their long coats dashing away from the edge of the canyon. He opened fire on them again, hoping to bring down one or two more, but they were out of sight too quickly for that.

“Varmints are lightin’ a shuck!” Scratch called as hoofbeats sounded.

“I know. Did you see how many of them got away?”

“Half a dozen, I reckon. Maybe one or two more.”

They had to have wiped out at least half the gang, Bo thought. But that left a number of them still on the loose, free to raise more hell. Also, there was no way of knowing how many confederates the Devils might have who were still back in Deadwood.

Right now, though, since the shooting had stopped, the immediate problem was helping the survivors of the avalanche. That meant climbing back down into the canyon.

“I’ll keep an eye out in case they double back,” Bo called across to Scrach. “You can climb down first.”

Scratch reached down to the ground and lifted a coil of rope. “I brought my lariat with me,” he responded. “I’ll tie it on to something and get down that way. Won’t take long.”

“Good idea,” Bo told him. He held his rifle ready and scanned the opposite ridge while Scratch made the rope fast to a rock and went down it hand-overhand, using his feet to hold himself away from the canyon wall.

When Scratch was down, Bo went back to the spot where he had climbed up. Since he knew all the handholds and footholds now, the descent went slightly faster, but he still had to take it slow and be careful. He didn’t want to fall and break a leg or worse now that the fight with the Devils was over.

By the time Bo reached the canyon floor, Scratch had already gone to see what the situation was at the site of the avalanche. Bo joined his old friend and found Scratch talking to Sgt. Olaf Gustaffson. Relief went through Bo at the sight of the non-com, who had a bloody scratch on his head but otherwise appeared to be all right. Several of the troopers were nearby, searching through the rockslide.

Gustaffson gave Bo a curt nod. “Glad to see you’re all right, Creel. And thanks for giving us a hand like that. If you hadn’t come back to help us, those outlaws would’ve sat up there like buzzards and picked us all off sooner or later.”

“I’m glad you made it, too, Sergeant,” Bo said. “Where’s the lieutenant?”

Gustaffson grimaced and nodded toward the huge pile of rocks in the center of the canyon. “Under there somewhere. His horse went down while we were making a run for it. I turned back to try to pick him up, but before I could get there, a bunch of rocks swept right over him.” Gustaffson sighed. “I didn’t like him, but Lord, I wouldn’t wish something like that on anybody.”

“You and those other men are the only ones who made it?”

“Yeah. Less than a third of the patrol. And it was pure luck that we survived. The edge of the slide didn’t miss us by more than ten feet. Some of the smaller rocks pelted us.” Gustaffson gestured toward the cut on his head. “That’s how I got this. The other men are beaten up, too. But we’re alive, and that’s more than you can say for anybody who got caught under that. I told the men to look for more survivors, but between you and me, they’re not going to find any.”

Bo had to agree with that grim assessment. He asked, “You have your horses?”

“Yeah, our mounts got clear with us.”

“Then you can get back to Deadwood. With the canyon blocked off, you may have to go a long way around, but you should be able to make it.”

“What about the two of you?” Gustaffson asked.

Bo and Scratch exchanged a glance. “I reckon we’re still goin’ after the Devils,” Scratch said.

Bo nodded. “That’s right. They have even more to pay for now.”

“Our orders were to find those outlaws and deal with them,” Gustaffson said with a scowl.

“The lieutenant’s dead, and so are most of your troop.”

“That doesn’t change the orders,” Gustaffson said. “I’m in command now, and I say we’re going after them. Some of them were killed, too. The odds ought to be close to even.”

The sergeant had a point. Over the past week, the Deadwood Devils had been dealt considerable damage. If the remainder of the cavalry patrol could catch up to the gang now, they might be able to put the Devils out of commission permanently.

“All right,” Bo said, “but if we’re going after them, we can’t waste any time. Your men might be able to recover some of the bodies and give them proper burials if they stay here, but they probably wouldn’t be able to catch up to the Devils.”

Gustaffson heaved a sigh and nodded. “I know. And as much as I hate to leave the bodies, we don’t have any choice in the matter. I’ll tell the men to abandon the search and mount up.”

While Gustaffson was doing that, Bo and Scratch retrieved their horses. Five minutes later, they rode up the canyon at the head of a small column that included Sergeant Gustaffson and seven of the cavalry troopers. Ten men in all, counting the Texans. The Devils couldn’t number much more than that after all the men they had lost in recent days.

Quietly, Scratch said to Bo, “We may have another problem that ain’t been talked about yet. What if this canyon’s a dead end? We can’t go back the other way. It’d take a week to dig out enough of that rock slide for the horses to get through.”

Bo nodded. “I know. We’ll just have to hope there’s a way out at the other end.”

They followed the canyon on its twisting path into the hills. Bo kept an eye out for a place where the walls were gentle enough for horses to make it. Eventually the canyon petered out in a long slope where an avalanche had taken place sometime in the past. The ground was loose rock, and Bo could tell by looking that it would be easy to trigger another slide. But they had no choice except to try to get out of the canyon this way.

“Have your men dismount,” he told Gustaffson. “We’ll take it slow and easy, one at a time, leading the horses. Everybody back off while I go first.”

Bo picked his way up the slope, talking quietly and calmly to his horse as he did so to keep the animal from spooking. The climb was actually an easy one, only about a hundred yards and not very steep, but it took several nerve-racking minutes anyway before Bo finally reached the top. He had recovered his hat and coat earlier, so now he took off the black Stetson and waved it over his head to let Scratch know he had made it safely to the top. Scratch started up next.

It took most of the rest of the afternoon, but Gustaffson and the other survivors from the patrol were able to climb out of the canyon without any mishaps. When they were all up, Bo said, “We’ll backtrack now and pick up the Devils’ trail at the place where they started that avalanche.”

Gustaffson looked at the sky. “We’re going to run out of light,” he said. “I don’t like the look of those clouds, either. I think they’ve got snow in them.”

Scratch chuckled. “You sound like old Chloride, Sarge. But I got a hunch you’re right.”

Bo said, “You won’t have any trouble following the canyon from up here, Olaf. Scratch and I will go ahead and try to pick up the trail. We’ll leave markers for you to follow us.”

Gustaffson looked like he was going to argue, but then he shrugged and said, “I hate to split up such a small force, but you two seem to know what you’re doing. We won’t be far behind you.”

The Texans lifted a hand in farewell and then galloped ahead of the patrol. In the fading light, it wasn’t long before the troopers were out of sight behind them.

It was only a few minutes later when Bo felt the first snowflake plant a cold kiss on his face.