Sidewinders. William W. Johnstone

Is he still alive?”

      “He’s breathin’,” Scratch said. “That was almost more’n I could say. He got me in a bear hug and likely would’ve busted all my ribs if Bo hadn’t buffaloed him with a gun butt.”

      Abigail gave Bo a withering look. “So you assaulted poor, slow-witted Culley, too?”

      “You’re not listening,” Bo snapped. “They attacked us.”

      Abigail turned to her son. “What happened, Dave? Maybe I can get a straight answer from you.”

      He had retrieved his hat by now but hadn’t put it back on yet. Instead, he stood there looking at the neat hole in the crown that Bo’s bullet had drilled on its way through. He swallowed and turned pale for a second, as if realizing just how close he had come to having his brains splattered all over the street.

      “Dave, I asked a question.”

      He looked up. “Sorry, Ma. I came along and found these two old saddle tramps sitting on the porch. They said they weren’t looking to buy tickets on the stage, so I told them to move along. That’s when they started mouthing off and causing trouble.”

      Bo started to say that that wasn’t quite the way things had happened, but then he decided to remain silent instead. Abigail Sutherland was either going to believe her son or she wasn’t, and there didn’t seem to be anything Bo could say that would make a whole lot of difference one way or the other.

      “So you sicced Angus and Culley on them.”

      “They’re my friends,” Dave said in a sullen voice. “Sure, they stuck up for me.”

      Ponderosa slapped his thigh with his good hand. “And got whipped good an’ proper, from the looks of it!” He cackled with laughter, ignoring the glare that Dave sent in his direction.

      Dave turned back to his mother and said, “I didn’t figure you’d want worthless trash like these two hanging around the place. If I hadn’t come along, they might have gone inside and tried to steal something.”

      “What do we have that’s worth stealing, little brother?”

      Gil Sutherland’s question made Abigail, Dave, and Ponderosa turn around. Bo and Scratch had seen Gil coming along the street, returning from the post office, where he had delivered the mail pouch, but the others hadn’t noticed his approach.

      “What do you mean, Gil?” Dave demanded. “There’s money in there—”

      “Not much,” Gil said. “We’d have to be turning a profit for there to be much cash on hand.” He nodded toward Bo and Scratch. “Anyway, these two men aren’t thieves. They helped fight off Rance Judson and his men when those outlaws tried to hold up the stage this afternoon.”

      Dave looked surprised. “Judson hit us again?”

      “Tried to. He didn’t get away with it this time, thanks to Mr. Creel and Mr. Morton.”

      “Yeah,” Ponderosa put in. “Blasted owlhoots might’ve murdered us both if those two fellas hadn’t come along when they did.”

      Dave looked down at the ground. “I reckon I was wrong,” he said grudgingly.

      “You mean you were drunk and looking for trouble,” Gil snapped.

      “That’s enough,” Abigail said. “Regardless of who started the trouble, Angus is in pain. Dave, get him up and help him down to the doctor’s house.”

      “We’re givin’ Doc Chambers plenty o’ business today,” Ponderosa said.

      Abigail ignored him. “Gil, see if you can wake up Culley.”

      “He’s Dave’s friend, not mine,” Gil said. “Let him tend to him.”

      “Dave’s going to be busy with Angus, and I don’t want someone lying unconscious on our front porch. It doesn’t look good.”

      Ponderosa put his good hand on Gil’s arm. “Come on, fella. I’ll help you. We’ll get a bucket o’ water from the well and dump it on him. That oughta wake up even a rock-headed rascal like Culley.”

      Abigail looked up at Bo and Scratch and went on. “I’d like to talk to the two of you inside, if that’s all right.”

      Bo wanted to ask her if she planned to yell at them some more, but since she seemed to have calmed down a mite, he supposed they could give her the benefit of the doubt and listen to whatever she wanted to say.

      Scratch felt the same way and said without hesitation, “Why, sure thing, ma’am. We’d be honored to visit with you for a while.”

      Abigail came up the steps and went between them to the door. She opened it and went inside. Bo and Scratch followed.

      The thick adobe walls of the building meant that the air inside the office was considerably cooler. Scratch still had his hat in his hand. Bo took off his black Stetson as well and looked around the room.

      It was comfortably furnished with a heavy sofa and a couple of armchairs that sported embroidered slipcovers. A colorful Indian rug was spread out on the floor. More subdued curtains hung over the windows. Those were the feminine touches. The more masculine items included a large rolltop desk, a gun rack with several rifles and shotguns resting in it against one wall, a squat, sturdy-looking safe, and a big fireplace with a cow’s skull mounted on the wall above it.

      A door led into the rear of the building. That was probably where the family’s living quarters were located.

      Abigail went to the desk and stood beside it rather than pulling out the swivel chair from the kneehole and sitting down. She gestured toward the sofa and told the two drifters, “Please, gentlemen, have a seat.”

      Scratch shook his head and said, “That sort of goes against the grain for us, ma’am, while you’re still standin’.”

      “This is my office, sir. I’ll stand if it pleases me.”

      “Yes, ma’am, but—”

      Bo tugged on Scratch’s sleeve and said, “Sit down and shut up. The lady has something she wants to say.”

      Abigail smiled thinly as Bo and Scratch sat down. “Thank you, Mr. Creel. And I suppose I should thank you as well for not blowing out what passes for my son Dave’s brains.”

      “I never meant to hurt him, Mrs. Sutherland. But I wasn’t going to stand there and let him start shooting at us for no good reason either.”

      Abigail shook her head. “No, of course not.” She sighed as she leaned a hip against the desk. “I owe you an apology for the way I acted out there. It’s just that I came up and saw you pointing a gun at my son, and Angus and Culley were hurt and there had obviously been a fight of some sort…”

      Her voice trailed away into an uncomfortable silence. Bo broke it after a moment by saying, “I imagine those two get into fights pretty often.”

      “They’re no-account bullies, just like Ponderosa said. I wish Dave had never started spending time with them. But what can I do? He’s a grown man.”

      Bo and Scratch exchanged a glance. As far as they were concerned, Dave Sutherland might be a grown man, as his mother said, but he sure as blazes wasn’t acting like one. Hanging around saloons, getting drunk, partnering up with violent trash like Angus and Culley…They had seen youngsters act like that in the past, hombres from good families who strayed into bad company.

      Of course, neither of them wanted to climb up on a high horse either. They had spent more than their share of time in saloons, dance halls, and gambling halls over the years. They didn’t have much room to talk when it came to behavior that proper folks would consider disreputable.

      “Anyway,” Abigail went on, “the reason I wanted to talk to the two of you wasn’t just to apologize for how I acted outside. I was thinking about something while I was down at the doctor’s