Sidewinders by William W. Johnstone Page B

it?”
    It really hadn’t been that late when they got their horses, but Bo nodded anyway and said, “Fine.” He was ready to get started on the search for the Devils of Deadwood Gulch, and he knew Scratch was, too.
    When they had settled with the liveryman, they rode out of town the same way they had ridden in, heading west along the gulch where Deadwood Creek flowed. Roughly paralleling it to the south lay Whitewood Gulch, formed by the creek of the same name. Four years earlier, miners had thronged to Whitewood Gulch as well and some of them had found gold there. Several successful mines had been established. Small camps had sprung up all over both gulches and the surrounding hills, but they had died out gradually as the town of Deadwood had grown in both size and importance until it was the main supply point for the entire area, as well as the center of banking and commerce for this part of the Black Hills.
    The three riders passed by Chloride’s shack and continued on up the gulch. The old-timer pointed out some small mining claims that were still being worked and said, “Most of the color’s done gone from down here. The big mines are farther up. That’s why it’s a pretty good run into town when they want to bring their gold in. Lots of places betwixt here and there where the Devils can hide to ambush the shipments.”
    â€œWhy don’t the mines cooperate and go in together on their shipments?” Bo asked. “They could assemble a little wagon train and hire a couple of dozen guards.”
    Chloride nodded. “Yeah, that might work, but it’d mean they’d have to get along, and they don’t. Mining’s been such a cutthroat business around here for so long, none of the owners trust each other. So they’re tryin’ to go it alone as long as they can.”
    â€œThere’s an old sayin’ about cuttin’ off your nose to spite your face,” Scratch pointed out.
    Chloride laughed. “Don’t I know it! But that’s the way it is in these parts.”
    So far during the ride, they hadn’t met any wagons or even anyone on horseback. They could see smoke from chimneys and hear work going on at some of the claims they passed, but the trail seemed to be deserted. Bo commented on that.
    â€œFolks are scared to ride out here,” Chloride explained. “The Devils have killed more’n a dozen men so far. Nobody wants to be next.”
    â€œYes, but have they ever jumped any solitary travelers ?” Bo asked. “Or do they just rob stagecoaches and gold wagons?”
    â€œWell . . . as far as I know, they’ve only gone after the coaches and the wagons. But maybe any lone pilgrims they massacred just ain’t never been found. There are plenty of places in these hills where a body could disappear for good.”
    â€œThey’ve never tried to hide their other victims, have they?”
    Chloride shook his head. “Nope.”
    Scratch put in, “Seems to me like they want folks to find the poor varmints who run afoul of ’em. Otherwise what’s the point of carvin’ pitchforks in their foreheads?”
    â€œMaybe so,” Chloride said. “I don’t know how some bunch of dang desperadoes thinks, because I ain’t one of ’em! All I know is that folks are mighty leery about ridin’ this trail these days because they don’t want to wind up sportin’ one of those bloody pitchforks!”
    â€œTake it easy,” Bo advised. “We believe your story about the robbery, remember? That’s why we asked you to come with us. And you agreed to it. Aren’t you worried about riding this trail, Chloride?”
    The old-timer snorted in contempt. “It’ll take more than them Devils to scare me off. I’ve seen and done plenty of things in my life, boys, and I ain’t afraid to die.”
    â€œNeither am I,” Scratch said, “but I