Sidewinders by William W. Johnstone

and point out exactly where everything happened. But you know we can’t pay you.”
    Chloride licked his lips again. “You could maybe cut me in on whatever reward you make out of the deal, though, couldn’t you?”
    Bo and Scratch looked at each other. Scratch shrugged his agreement. Bo said, “That’s assuming we even make anything.”
    â€œSure, sure, I understand that.”
    â€œDo you have a horse?”
    â€œI got a mule. Ain’t very comfortable for ridin’, but it’ll go all day.”
    â€œIs it here at the livery?”
    Chloride shook his head. “No, I got a little shack up the gulch a ways. Some prospector must’ve had a claim there back in the old days, but he didn’t find no color and abandoned the place.” His bushy eyebrows rose as a thought obviously occurred to him. “Say, you boys could stay there if you want, and save a little money. You’d have to spread your bedrolls on the floor, but I wouldn’t charge you nothin’.”
    Bo and Scratch shared a glance again. If they could get a refund from Hanson, they’d be able to eat for a few days longer without having to accept credit from Sue Beth Pendleton.
    â€œThat sounds like a good idea,” Scratch said. He turned to the hostler. “What’s your name, amigo?”
    â€œEsteban Gonzalez, señor,” the man replied.
    â€œWell, Esteban, tell your boss we won’t be needin’ to stay here after all, and we’ll be takin’ our horses with us.”
    â€œHe can take out for the feed he’s already given them,” Bo said, “but we’ll expect the rest of our money back when we come by here in the morning.”
    Gonzalez looked doubtful. “I don’t know, señores. Once Señor Hanson has money in his pocket, it is always very reluctant to come out again.”
    â€œJust tell him what we said,” Bo requested. “We’ll be by early.”
    The hostler sighed. “Sí, señor. I will tell him.”
    Bo and Scratch saddled their mounts and led them out of their stalls. “You can ride double with me, Chloride,” Bo offered. He swung up into the saddle and helped the old-timer climb on behind him.
    They rode out of Deadwood with Chloride giving them directions. Despite the town’s façade of respectability during the day, at night it was obvious that this was still a mining town. The saloons were all busy as the Texans and their elderly companion rode past.
    As they started up the gulch along Deadwood Creek, Bo said, “I’ve got an idea where you might be able to get a job as a driver, Chloride.”
    â€œWhere’s that? I tried ever’body in town.”
    â€œWhat about the Golden Queen?”
    Chloride grunted. “Except that ’un! That’s a hoodoo outfit, boys. Bad luck all around.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?”
    â€œTheir wagons have been held up more’n any of the other mines, and besides, it’s run by a gal! Women is bad luck. You been around long enough, you ought to know that.”
    â€œThe only reason Miss Sutton’s running the company is because her father died,” Bo pointed out.
    â€œWell, that proves my point right there, don’t it? Ol’ Mike Sutton just up and dropped dead one day. If that ain’t a hoodoo, I don’t know what is.”
    â€œAnything suspicious about his death?” Bo asked, apparently casually.
    â€œSuspicious?” Chloride repeated. “Not that I ever heard anything about. Sutton was just walkin’ along the street one day when he stopped and sorta grabbed his chest. He staggered along a couple more steps and then fell flat on his face. Doc said he was prob’ly dead when he hit the boardwalk. Heart gave out.”
    Bo nodded. “Yes, that’s what Miss Sutton told us. Do you know where he’d been just before that happened?”
    Chloride scratched his beard as