Sidewinders by William W. Johnstone Page A

the gun.
    The Texans and Chloride stayed where they were, standing next to their mounts, as Bardwell and the other men rode up. Bardwell reined in. His companions followed suit. The engineer had a dark scowl on his face as he demanded, “What are you three doin’ out here?”
    â€œThat’s our business,” Bo said. “We could ask the same of you fellas.”
    Bardwell sneered. “Last I heard, we had honest jobs. You’re just a couple of saddle tramps from Texas and an old man who can’t be trusted.”
    Chloride’s beard bristled belligerently as he exclaimed, “Why, you goldurn—”
    Bo put out a hand to stop him as the old-timer took a step forward. “Take it easy, Chloride,” he said. To Bardwell, he went on, “I reckon you haven’t heard. We’ve got jobs. We’re working for Miss Martha Sutton at the Golden Queen.”
    Bardwell frowned in surprise. “Marty? Why would she—Wait a minute. She didn’t hire the three of you to get her gold to town, did she?”
    â€œThat’s right,” Bo said. Bardwell probably would have heard that news in Deadwood anyway, and Bo was interested in the man’s reaction.
    â€œI knew she was getting desperate, but I didn’t know she had turned into a fool,” Bardwell snapped. “It’s all over this part of the country about how Coleman’s tied in with the Devils, and for all anybody knows, you two are part of the gang yourselves!”
    Chloride shook a gnarled fist at him. “By jingo, if I was twenty years younger, I’d hand you your needin’s, you overgrowed varmint! I never had no truck with outlaws, and that’s more’n you can say!”
    Bardwell’s face darkened again as he said, “What’re you talkin’ about, you old pelican?”
    â€œYou know dang good an’ well what I’m talkin’ about! That no-good brother of yours!”
    Fury mottled Bardwell’s face. His hands clenched into massive fists for a second before he started to swing down from his horse. But before he could dismount, one of the men with him edged his horse up alongside and said, “Probably ought to forget it, boss. Mr. Nicholson’s expecting you, and he won’t like it if you’re late.”
    Bardwell eased back into his saddle. “I suppose you’re right,” he rumbled. He pointed a thick, blunt finger at Chloride. “But you just watch your mouth, old man. Keep runnin’ it and you’re liable to be sorry.”
    Chloride just snorted in contempt.
    Bardwell and the men with him rode past and headed on down the gulch toward the settlement. Bardwell glanced back one last time to glare at the Texans and Chloride. The other men didn’t pay any more attention to them, which reinforced Bo’s hunch that they were hired guns. Men like that didn’t care about anything unless they were paid to.
    Chloride swiped the back of a hand across his mouth. “Sorry about that, boys,” he said. “Almost talked my way into a ruckus, didn’t I?”
    â€œWe couldn’t have stopped Bardwell if he’d gone after you,” Bo pointed out. “Not with our fists, anyway. That means guns would have had to be involved, and then those other hombres would have taken a hand.”
    â€œCould’ve been bullets flyin’ everywhere, Chloride,” Scratch added.
    â€œYeah, yeah, I know,” the old-timer said. “I’m a mite too touchy. Always have been. Bardwell just rubs me the wrong way, though.”
    â€œI understand the feeling,” Bo said as he put his foot in the stirrup. He swung up and went on, “Let’s get going.”
    They forded the creek and headed up the narrow, twisting side canyon toward the Golden Queen. As they rode, Bo asked, “What was that about Bardwell’s brother?”
    â€œThere was a rumor goin’ around the camp that he had a