Sidewinders by William W. Johnstone

way they could have set it all up beforehand. In order to do that, they would have had to know that you and I were coming back to Bear Creek. And when that first girl was murdered, you and I didn’t even know that yet.”
    Scratch grimaced and said, “Dadgum it, Bo, we keep comin’ up with these ideas, and then they don’t pan out.”
    â€œThat’s what makes the whole thing a mystery, I reckon.”
    â€œWell, I know one thing that ain’t a mystery,” Scratch said. “It ain’t gonna be safe to leave you here, not with a lynch mob in the makin’ across the creek.”
    â€œYou’re not thinking about trying to bust me out of jail, are you?” Bo asked with a frown.
    â€œIf that’s what it comes down to—”
    â€œNo,” Bo said. “You’ll just get yourself hurt . . . or killed. I don’t want that.”
    â€œI don’t want those varmints stringin’ you up, either, and that’s what’s liable to happen if you have to stay in here for very long.”
    Wearily, Bo scrubbed a hand across his face and then said, “Let’s see what happens when you get back from Hallettsville with that wire from the judge. That’s the next step. I think I’ll be safe enough this afternoon.”
    Scratch thought it for a moment and then nodded.
    â€œYeah, it’ll probably take until after dark for that bunch across the creek to soak up enough liquid courage,” he said. “I’ll be back before then, one way or another.”
    Bo extended his hand through the bars.
    â€œThanks, Scratch. I knew I could count on you.”
    Scratch gripped his friend’s hand and said, “Just like I know I could count on you if it was me on the other side of those dang bars.”
    From the office, Marshal Haltom called through the open cell block door, “Are the two of you about done back there? You’re trying my patience, Morton.”
    Scratch nodded to Bo and said, “I’ll see you later.”
    â€œ Hasta la vista, amigo. ”
    Scratch walked into the marshal’s office. Haltom glared at him and said, “I was starting to think I might have to run you out of there at gunpoint.”
    Scratch ignored that comment.
    â€œDo you have any deputies, Marshal?” he asked.
    Haltom frowned and shook his head.
    â€œNo, the town doesn’t see fit to pay for any. But I’ve never had any trouble doing my job without them,” he said. “What business is it of yours?”
    â€œIt’s just that I’d feel a little better about you protectin’ this jail if you weren’t by yourself.”
    The lawman snorted contemptuously.
    â€œI don’t need any help doing what needs to be done. No lynch mob is getting in here. Me and my shotgun will see to that.”
    Scratch just hoped that Haltom was right. He thought the man’s overconfidence might turn out to be dangerous for all concerned, especially Bo.
    â€œI’ll be back,” he said as he buckled on his gun belt. “And when I get here, I’ll have a wire from Judge Parker with me.”
    â€œYou do that,” Haltom said, but Scratch could tell from the marshal’s condescending tone that Haltom didn’t expect him to be successful. Haltom’s mind was set so firmly in its belief that Bo was guilty, he couldn’t allow himself to believe even for a second that he might be wrong.
    Scratch left the office, pausing on the boardwalk to heave a sigh. He and Bo had found themselves neck-deep in trouble many times before, but usually he’d been able to rely on Bo to figure out what they should do next.
    This time it was all up to him, and Scratch didn’t care for the feeling.
    One step at a time, he told himself, and as Bo had said, the next step was getting in touch with Judge Parker. Scratch stepped down from the boardwalk and reached toward the hitch rail for his horse’s reins.
    A