“Not at all. But it’s important to be practical in life. Going into something as significant as marriage all starry-eyed can lead to a great deal of hardship and heartbreak.”
“So can having cold water in your veins instead of blood.”
Cecilia’s lips tightened. Bo could tell she was about to make some angry retort to Rose’s blunt comment, so he said quickly, “I was thinking that tomorrow morning we might have some more target practice before we pull out.”
“Oh, I’d like that,” Rose said. She looked at Luella. “I want another chance to show everybody that I’m a better shot than some people around here.”
Luella sniffed and said, “It’s results that count, not words.”
“And we’ll see what the results are next time. That’s all I’m saying.”
To head off any further wrangling, Scratch said, “I reckon it’s about time to turn in.”
“Why don’t you let us stand guard tonight?” Beth suggested. “The two of you probably need a good night’s sleep by now.”
Bo and Scratch had split the guard duty at night so far. If they were by themselves, they would rely on their horses to warn them if any sort of threatening presence came around, but with the added responsibility of the ladies’ safety, they weren’t going to take that chance.
Bo said, “That’s all right. We’re used to it.”
“Yeah, we’ve rode many a night herd in our time,” Scratch said. “We get a fair amount of sleep.”
“And that’s part of what we’re getting paid for,” Bo added.
“But it’s not fair,” Beth said, “and it’s not necessary, either. Rose and I are perfectly capable of standing guard. We can split up the duty, just like the two of you do.”
“What about the rest of us?” Cecilia wanted to know. “We’re not capable of keeping our eyes and ears open?”
“I was just thinking that if there were any trouble, Rose and I are the best shots—”
“No, I am,” Luella said.
“I keep telling you, that was just luck,” Rose objected.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
Bo said, “Ladies, there’s no point in arguing about it. Scratch and I will keep on standing guard like we have been. But if things get to where we feel like we need help, we’ll let you know. You have my word on that.”
“All right,” Beth said grudgingly. “But we really don’t mind helping.”
“You help a lot just takin’ turns drivin’ the wagon,” Scratch told her.
The rest of that night passed peacefully, and in the morning, after breakfast, Bo assembled the young women alongside the wagon, as he had before. They had their pistols and were ready for more practice, although Jean looked a little like she wished she was doing something else.
Bo had them take turns, as they had before. Luella was eager to go first this time. They didn’t have any cactus to shoot at, so Scratch stuck a mesquite branch in the ground and put an empty airtight on it.
“That can’s a smaller target,” Bo warned Luella as she took aim.
“I can hit it,” Luella said. She took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger.
The can didn’t move, and there was no sound of the bullet striking it.
Rose said, “Evidently, you can’t.”
Luella glared back at her over her shoulder and then said, “Let me try again.”
“Go ahead,” Bo told her.
Luella frowned in intense concentration. She took her time about aiming but finally squeezed the trigger again.
The empty can still didn’t move.
“All right, let me do it,” Rose said as she strode forward. Luella looked like she wanted to argue, but Bo motioned for her to step back.
Rose lifted her pistol and peered over the barrel. She made a face and said under her breath, “It really is smaller, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think you can hit it, either,” Luella said in a surly tone.
“Just wait,” Rose snapped. She drew a bead on the airtight and finally squeezed the trigger. The can jumped and spun so hard that it came off the mesquite branch.
Rose cried out in triumph and said, “I told you I could do it!”
“Luck,” Luella said.
“Ha!”
Scratch said, “Point the gun at the ground, and I’ll go put the can back on the stick.”
He did so. Since Rose had already hit the can once, Bo told her to step back and let someone else have a turn. Beth went next, and although it took her two shots, she hit the can.
Cecilia stepped up to the mark, aimed, and missed with three shots.
“This is ridiculous,” she declared. “I’d say that it’s an impossible shot—”
“But you saw Beth and me make it,” Rose said.
Cecilia looked over at Bo and said, “One more try?”
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Cecilia took several deep breaths before she even started aiming. When she finally pressed the trigger, the gun barely jumped in her hand as the shot cracked.
If nothing else, she was learning how to control the recoil, Bo thought.
And this time, the can spun on the branch.
Scratch grinned and said, “It’s got a new hole in it. I can see it from here.”
Cecilia sighed and looked relieved. She said to Bo, “I’ll never be a good shot.”
“Only the very best are good starting out,” he told her. “Handling a gun is like anything else. You’ve got to work at it.”
That left Jean, and once again she burned through all six rounds in her cylinder without once coming close to the target, as far as Bo could tell. She didn’t look as despairing this time, because that was the result she seemed to have been expecting.
With that done, the ladies turned toward the wagon, obviously thinking that it was time for them to get started on their journey again.
But Bo said, “Hold on a minute.”
They stopped and looked around at him.
Cecilia asked, “What is it?”
Scratch appeared puzzled, too.
“I want to try something else,” Bo said. He walked to his horse, which was already saddled and ready to ride. He reached up, took hold of the Winchester, and pulled it out of its saddle sheath. He worked the rifle’s lever and went on, “Let’s see how you do with a long gun.”
CHAPTER 15
“I’ve shot a rifle before,” Beth said as she came toward Bo. “It was just an old single-shot rifle my brothers used for hunting squirrels, though.”
“This is a Winchester seventy-three, forty-four – forty caliber. Shoots the same round as my pistol, so I only have to have one kind of ammunition. It holds fifteen rounds. The finest rifle ever made so far, in my opinion.” Bo held it out to her. “Be careful. It’s heavy, especially if you’re not used to it.”
Beth took the weapon from him. Her hands sagged a little when Bo let go of it.
“You weren’t joking. It is heavy. And long.”
“They make a carbine with a shorter barrel, but Scratch and I have always preferred this version. We’ve found it to be just a hair more accurate.”
“And sometimes a hair can make a difference,” Scratch put in.
“Can I shoot it?” Beth asked.
“That’s the idea,” Bo told her. “You need to aim for something farther out, though.” He looked around, then pointed. “See that little rock, sitting on top of a bigger rock, about twenty yards out? Try to hit it.”
Cecilia said, “That’s too far. No one could ever hit a target like that.”
Bo and Scratch glanced at each other. Either of them could knock that little rock off the bigger one with a single swift shot . . . but they’d had decades of practice.
“I’ll try,” Beth said. “The worst I can do is miss.”
She struggled to raise the rifle to her shoulder and hold it steady. The barrel wobbled back and forth wildly.
“Hold on,” Bo said. He took a couple of pi
eces of wadded-up cloth from his pocket and put one in each ear. He had thought the young women might have trouble holding the rifle, so he was prepared.
He walked in front of Beth, being careful not to get in a direct line with the Winchester’s muzzle, then bent over a little and braced his hands against his thighs.
“Rest the barrel on my shoulder.”
“Won’t that hurt you?”
“It’ll be fine,” Bo said.
“But it’ll be loud.”
“That’s why I put those plugs in my ears. Those twenty-two pistols aren’t loud enough to hurt your hearing, but if you do much shooting with the rifles, you’ll need to fix something to put in your ears, too.”
Jean said, “Now I really don’t want to do it.”
“I do,” Rose said. “I can’t wait for my turn.”
“Well, you’ll have to,” Beth said as she carefully placed the rifle’s barrel on Bo’s shoulder. “I’m doing this now.”
“It’s ready to shoot,” Bo said. “When I worked the lever, that threw a round in the chamber and cocked the hammer. So just line up both sets of sights and squeeze the trigger, like you would with the pistol.”
The rifle was a lot steadier in Beth’s grip with the barrel resting on Bo’s shoulder. He waited patiently while she aimed, and then he heard her breathe, “All right.” The next instant, the whipcrack of the shot sounded right over his shoulder, painfully loud despite the wadded-up cloth in his ears.
“Darn it!” Beth said. “The rock’s still there. I didn’t hit it.”
Scratch said, “You were only a few inches off, though, judgin’ by where the bullet hit on the other side of the rocks.”
“How do you know where it hit?”
“I saw it kick up dust.”
“So did I,” Cecilia said. “I think Mr. Morton is right.”
Beth moved the barrel from Bo’s shoulder, giving him the chance to straighten up again.
“Work the lever,” he told her. “Push it all the way down, and then bring it back up sharply. It’ll probably seem a little stiff to you, but you can do it.”
With a small grunt of effort, Beth did so. Then Bo leaned over again to provide a rest for the Winchester. She drew a bead and fired, and this time the slug whanged off the side of the bigger rock underneath the smaller one.
“That’s better,” Bo said. “Try it again.”
The lesson continued. It took Beth three more shots, which got closer each time, and finally, the smaller rock leaped in the air and fell out of sight behind the bigger one as a bullet struck it. Beth was excited beyond words.
Rose pushed forward, saying, “All right, you hit it. It’s my turn now. Somebody go out there and put that little rock back on the big one.”
“I’ll do it,” Luella volunteered. She walked briskly out to the spot where the rocks were, rounded the bigger one, which came up almost to her waist, and suddenly stopped short as a frightened cry came from her lips.
“What is it?” Bo asked, instantly alert.
“There’s a . . . a snake back here!”
Even at that distance, Bo and Scratch heard the faint, unmistakable buzzing that told them Luella had almost stumbled over a rattlesnake.
“Don’t move!” Scratch told her urgently. “Is he coiled up?”
“Y-yes,” Luella quavered.
“Stay here,” Bo snapped at the other young women. From the looks of them, he didn’t have to worry about them disobeying that order. They all seemed terrified, and they couldn’t even see the snake.
As Bo and Scratch started quickly for the rocks, Bo said, “Stand just as still as you possibly can, Miss Luella. He’s ready to strike, or he wouldn’t be rattling like that, but he might not if you don’t move.”
They drew their revolvers as they split up and closed in on the rock from opposite directions. Bo was on the side where Luella was standing. Scratch came up behind the snake.
As Bo rounded the bigger rock, he saw the thick, mottled shape coiled up on itself. The snake’s head was raised, its tongue was flickering in and out of its mouth, and the rattles on its tail were vibrating so fast they were just a blur. The varmint was ready to strike, all right, but somehow the clearly terrified Luella had managed to hold still enough not to provoke the rattler.
Quietly, Scratch said, “I don’t have a shot, Bo. Too big a chance I’d hit Miss Luella.”
“All right,” Bo said. “Step on back. Miss Luella, you’re doing fine. You just keep on being still—”
It didn’t really matter anymore, though, because the snake had run out of patience. The wedge-shaped head flashed forward.
The Colt in Bo’s hand boomed. The rattlesnake’s head disintegrated in a bloody spray just before it was able to sink its fangs in Luella’s leg. Even though she was safe now, the shot made her nerves snap. She screamed and leaped backward so violently, she lost her balance and sat down hard.
“Luella!” Cecilia cried as she ran toward the rocks, her fear momentarily forgotten. The other three young women trailed behind her.
“She’s all right,” Scratch called as he holstered his Remingtons and hurried to intercept the young women. “It’s all over.”
The now headless rattlesnake flopped around grotesquely. Bo caught it by the tail, pulled out his knife, and cut off the rattles. Then he dropped it back on the ground, turned to Luella, and reached down to give her a hand getting to her feet.
“I . . . I was never so scared in all my life,” she said as she stared wide-eyed at the still thrashing snake.
“You had good reason to be scared,” Bo told her. He held up the rattles. “They add one for each year they’re alive. That old boy has been around for ten years. You’d have been mighty sick if he’d bitten you . . . assuming you pulled through.”
“One thing it’d be good for you to remember,” Scratch said as the others gathered around them, “and this goes for all you ladies . . . is if you see a cluster of rocks, or even just one good-sized one, in this part of the country, there’s a good chance there’s a rattler somewhere around it.” He pointed down at Rose’s feet. “You want to watch out for those varmints, too.”
Rose looked down, saw the scorpion, which was a good two inches long, scuttling over the toe of her right shoe, and shrieked. She jumped, and the scorpion went flying off.
Scratch was ready when it landed. He brought his bootheel down on it and twisted back and forth, crunching the venomous little devil into oblivion.
“This is insane,” Cecilia said. “Just how many ways are there to die out here in the West, anyway?”
“Too many to count,” Bo said.
* * *
After what easily could have been a fatal encounter between Luella and the rattlesnake, nobody felt like doing any more practicing with the Winchester, not even Rose. Bo and Scratch hitched up the team, and soon they were rolling west again.
It was a subdued bunch of mail-order brides who rode toward Silverhill, Bo thought. Maybe they had begun to realize that surviving on the frontier was a serious business most of the time.
Over the past couple of days, a dozen riders had passed them, also heading west. Some had just ridden on by, casting curious glances at the five lovely young women in the wagon but not stopping to chat. Others had ridden alongside to pass the time of day briefly before urging their mounts on.
Several of the men had admitted that they were headed to Silverhill to check out the boom there and maybe stake a claim that would make them a fortune. Bo had a hunch that most, if not all, of the others were bound for the same destination. They were also bound for disappointment, more than likely, but that had never stopped any man who dreamed of finding a fabulous bonanza of his own.
They hadn’t met anyone coming from the opposite direction, though, which was something of a surprise. That changed in the middle of the afternoon, when Scratch nodded toward something ahead of them and said, “Riders comin’.”
Bo had spotted the figures on horseback just a second a
fter his old friend did. The day was hot enough that faint distorted heat waves rose from the ground in the distance, so at first the men were nothing more than small dark blurs. As the space between them and the wagon closed, however, Bo was able to make out more details.
There were three riders, two wearing tall, steeple-crowned sombreros.
Scratch said quietly, “If we were south of the border, I’d say those hombres look like Rurales.”
“I don’t reckon we’ve strayed that far off course,” Bo said.
“Shoot, we couldn’t get that lost if we were ridin’ in our sleep.” Scratch paused. “Fella in the middle is a white man, judgin’ by his hat.”
“Yeah, I agree. A couple of vaqueros and one puncher who ride for a spread north of here?”
The terrain in this area was too arid for raising cattle—not enough graze—although some bullheaded men had attempted that in the past and probably would again. Off to the right, though, lay a low gray line that marked a long range of hills where conditions were better and a few ranches had been established.
“Could be,” Scratch said. “They’re headed the wrong direction to be fellas who figure on makin’ a fortune minin’ for silver.”
“Yeah, there’s nothing behind us but a bunch of empty land, all the way to El Paso.”
“Well, there’s one way to find out who they are and where they’re headed.”
“Yeah,” Bo said. He reached for the rifle in the saddle scabbard, loosened it a little, and rode on.
CHAPTER 16
Bo’s wariness grew stronger the closer he and Scratch came to the three riders. He said, “Drop back beside the wagon, and tell Rose that when I rein in to talk to those gents, she should stop the team, too.”
“Got it,” Scratch said. “You think they could be lookin’ for trouble?”
“Don’t know, but I don’t want those girls crowding us from behind if they are.”
Scratch turned his horse and rode back to join the young women. Bo continued moving steadily forward. He held the reins in his left hand. His right rested on his thigh, not far from the butt of the holstered Colt.
The two Mexicans were both bearded. One was burly and broad shouldered, the other smaller and wiry. Bo didn’t like the looks of either of them. He had run into too many hard cases who resembled them.
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