Sidewinders. William W. Johnstone

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      “But the same thing would have been true today if they’d succeeded in stopping your coach,” Bo pointed out.

      “Yes, that’s true. But they would have gotten the mail pouch, and that’s important.”

      Bo nodded. “Because if you lose it often enough, the government will cancel its contract with you and award it to Rutledge’s line.”

      “Exactly. Without that contract, this business can’t survive. We’d have to give up…and Mr. Rutledge would win, just as he swore he would.”

      “Sounds to me like somebody ought to go pay this Rutledge fella a visit and read him the riot act,” Scratch declared.

      An expression of concern appeared on Abigail’s face. “No, that’s not what I want,” she said quickly. “Mr. Rutledge has half a dozen men working for him, and they’re all dangerous. I suspect some of them are gunfighters. It’s bad enough that I’m asking the two of you to risk your lives by working for me. I don’t want you confronting those killers in their lair.”

      “Sounds to me like what you really need around here is a better lawman,” Bo commented.

      “Tom Harding does the best job he can. He keeps the peace here in town, and that’s the only jurisdiction he has. The county sheriff and his deputies never get over this way, or at least so seldom it might as well be never. The sheriff took a posse into the badlands once to look for Judson’s hideout, but never found it.”

      Bo put his hands on his knees and said, “Well, ma’am, you’ve told us a lot, but none of it changes anything. You asked us for help, and we agreed to give it to you. We’ll stick by our word.”

      “Darned right we will,” Scratch said.

      “Thank you both. I’ll pay you what I can—”

      Scratch waved a hand. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll work for room and board until you get the stage line back on its feet. Ain’t that right, Bo?”

      “That’ll be fine,” he said with a nod.

      Abigail looked a little flustered. “You’re sure—”

      “Yes, ma’am,” Scratch broke in. “Certain sure.”

      “Well…all right. Ponderosa bunks in the barn…”

      “That’s good enough for us,” Scratch said. He pretended not to hear the faint sigh that came from Bo.

      Boot heels sounded on the porch outside, and Gil Sutherland came into the office. “Ponderosa and I finally got Culley woke up and sent him packing,” he reported.

      “Is Dave back yet?”

      Gil grimaced. “No, and I can still hear the yells coming from down at the doc’s house. I figure Angus is still getting cactus needles plucked out. Dave will probably stay with him until Doc Chambers is finished, and then they’ll go off to Sharkey’s so Angus can numb the pain with a couple of bottles of whiskey.”

      The disapproval was evident in Gil’s face and voice. Bo said, “Sharkey’s is one of the local saloons, I reckon?”

      “My little brother’s home away from home.”

      “Gil!” his mother scolded. “There’s no reason to talk like that.”

      “Why not?” he asked as he turned toward her. “It’s true, isn’t it? Dave spends more time down there guzzling who-hit-John than he does here working. If he’d pitch in more, maybe you and I wouldn’t be running ourselves ragged.”

      “I’ve done something about that,” Abigail said. She nodded toward Bo and Scratch. “I’ve hired Mr. Creel and Mr. Morton.”

      Gil’s eyes widened in surprise. “Hired them? With what? We don’t have any money!”

      “We still have some,” Abigail insisted. “Anyway, they’ve agreed to work for room and board right now, until things improve.”

      That explanation didn’t make Gil any happier. He shook his head and said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Sure, they helped Ponderosa and me this afternoon, but we don’t really know these men. Why, they could be outlaws just like Judson and his gang!”

      “You said ‘could be,’” Scratch drawled, “so I don’t reckon we’ll take offense, son…this time.”

      “For the record,” Bo added, “we’re not outlaws. You can go down to the marshal’s office and check the reward dodgers he has on file if you want to. You won’t find us.”

      “That doesn’t mean anything, just because there are no wanted posters on you.”

      “Gil, I don’t know why you’re being so rude,” Abigail said. “Even if they weren’t going to be working with us, Mr. Creel and Mr. Morton are our guests. We owe them a little courtesy to go along with our thanks for helping you and Ponderosa.”

      “But Creel shot Dave’s hat off his head!” Gil protested. “Lord knows, I’ve felt like doing that and worse to him myself, but—”

      “You’ve said enough,” Abigail cut in. “The arrangements have already been made. You should be grateful that you won’t have to work quite as hard.”

      Gil didn’t look grateful. He was still fuming, in fact, although he held his tongue.

      Bo stood up, and Scratch did likewise. Abigail turned to them and said, “Supper will be in about an hour, gentlemen. The dining room is right through that door.”

      “We’ll be back,” Bo promised. “That’ll give us time to take a look around town and get familiar with the settlement.”

      “Have a drink, you mean,” Gil said, ignoring the angry glance his mother sent his way. “If you run into my brother at Sharkey’s, maybe you can bring him back with you.”

      Bo and Scratch didn’t say anything to that. Hats in hands, they nodded to Abigail. Bo said, “Ma’am,” and Scratch said, “We’re obliged to you for your hospitality, Miz Sutherland. See you later.”

      They left the office, and as they paused on the porch to put their hats on, they heard Gil through the door as he complained to his mother about her hiring a couple of saddle tramps.

      Scratch grinned and tapped the brim of his Stetson. “Boy’s got us pegged pretty good, don’t he?”

      “He’d likely be even more upset if he knew that you’re planning on romancing his mother,” Bo said as they went down the steps to the ground.

      “You heard what Miz Abigail said. It’s been over a year since her husband passed on, rest his soul. She ain’t in mournin’ anymore.”

      “That doesn’t mean she’s looking for another husband,” Bo said. He snorted. “As if you were in the market for a wife anyway!”

      “It’s true I never been the marryin’ kind,” Scratch admitted as they started along the street. “I might change, though, СКАЧАТЬ