She held up a hand to stop him before he dug himself a deeper hole. “Please. What I want to ask you gentlemen is if you’d consider going to work for me.”
“I sort of saw that coming,” Bo said. “Gil told us about how Rance Judson and his gang have been running roughshod over this part of the territory for a while. He said that you’re having trouble finding men who are willing to work for you anymore.”
“I reckon most of ’em are worried that they might get shot right off the driver’s seat the next time those owlhoots try to hold up one of your stages,” Scratch put in.
Abigail nodded. “That’s exactly the case. I can’t say as I blame them either. Judson and his men are bloodthirsty bandits who don’t hesitate to gun down anyone who gets in their way.”
“Talk like that’s not really likely to make us want to take the job, ma’am,” Bo said with a smile.
“I’m not going to lie to anybody,” Abigail said. “If you’re going to help me, I want you to know exactly what you’re getting into.”
“The danger didn’t seem to bother Ponderosa.”
Abigail laughed softly. “Ponderosa came west with us, and even before that he and my husband worked together on the Butterfield line. We’re all the family he has, even if we’re not really related.”
“With him laid up, you’re going to be more short-handed than ever.”
“That’s right. I don’t have a shotgun guard, so I suppose Gil’s going to have to keep on driving every run by himself.”
“You have two sons,” Bo pointed out.
Abigail grimaced. “Dave helps out some here around the Red Butte station, but he won’t take any of the runs.”
“And he’s too big to take a switch to his behind, ain’t he?” Scratch said.
For a second, Abigail looked utterly weary and despairing. “That’s right,” she said. “I can’t force him to help me.”
Bo and Scratch glanced at each other again, both men thinking that a good, sound butt-kicking might make Dave Sutherland more inclined to be helpful. But it wasn’t their place to interfere in family matters.
Lending a hand to Abigail Sutherland, though, that was a different story entirely. Scratch said, “It just so happens we’ve worked on stage lines before. We can both handle a team, and we’re handy with scatterguns, too.”
“If you could find one more good man who’s willing to help out,” Bo said, “you could switch out the runs and give Gil a break. But even if it’s just me and Scratch signing on, we should be able to help out quite a bit.”
Abigail smiled. “You’ll do it then? I warn you, I can’t pay much in the way of wages right now. Business has been slow because of those outlaws…”
“So what you’re askin’ us,” Scratch said with a chuckle, “is to take on a mighty dangerous job for not much money?”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
Scratch didn’t hesitate in his reply. “We’ll do it.” Beside him, Bo nodded gravely.
“There is one more thing you need to know about,” Abigail said. “A little matter of a war…”
CHAPTER 5
In the grim silence that followed Abigail’s words, Bo said, “The last real war we were mixed up in was the one between the Blue and the Gray…and that one’s been over for fifteen years.”
“O’course,” Scratch added, “we’ve gotten tangled up in a range war or two since then.”
Abigail smiled, but there was no real humor in the expression. “What I’m talking about is more along the order of a range war. There’s a man here in Red Butte who’d like to see the Sutherland Stagecoach Line out of business, and I think he’d go to just about any lengths to make sure that happens.”
“I doubt if it’s going to make any difference—” Bo began.
“Yeah, we’ve already said we’re gonna work for you, and we don’t go back on our word,” said Scratch.
“But you’d better tell us what you’re talking about,” Bo concluded, even as he nodded in agreement with what Scratch said.
“All right. There’s a man named Jared Rutledge who has a freight line that runs between Red Butte, Chino Valley, and Cottonwood. He established it not long before Will and the boys and I moved here to start the stage line. As it turns out, Mr. Rutledge planned to begin running stagecoaches in addition to his freight wagons, but our arrival ruined that for him.”
Bo nodded and said, “I can see where there wouldn’t be enough business in these parts to support two stage lines.”
“Sometimes, it seems like there’s not enough to support one,” Abigail went on with a faint smile. “But that didn’t stop Mr. Rutledge from buying a coach and trying to compete with us anyway. In fact, he tried to buy us out after we got the mail contract from the government. That brings in more money for us than the passengers we carry.”
“Rutledge probably wanted it, too,” Scratch said.
“That’s right. My husband Will was still alive then, and he turned down Mr. Rutledge’s offer, of course. That just made Mr. Rutledge more angry with us. He swore that his stagecoach would be running long after we were out of business.” She paused. “He made it sound like a threat.”
Neither Bo nor Scratch said anything for a moment as they mulled over what Abigail had told them. Then Bo said, “Gil mentioned that his father took sick and passed on. Was there anything suspicious about what happened to your husband, ma’am?”
“You mean, did Jared Rutledge poison him somehow?” Abigail shook her head. “I trust Dr. Chambers, and he said Will died from the same fever that took the lives of several other people here in Red Butte about the same time. The doctor was worried that it might develop into a full-blown epidemic, but then the sickness seemed to pass. It does that way sometimes, Dr. Chambers said.”
Bo nodded. “That it does.”
“Anyway, I don’t believe that Jared Rutledge would ever resort to something like poison. I wouldn’t put it past him to shoot someone he considers an enemy, but he’s too full of bluster to act in such an underhanded manner.”
“So why do you say he’s wagin’ war against you?” Scratch asked.
“We’ve had some incidents of sabotage. There was a fire in the barn that could have gotten out of hand and burned it to the ground if Ponderosa hadn’t happened to discover it in time. Both of our coaches were parked in the barn at the time. They would have been destroyed, too. I was suspicious about that right away and went to the marshal.”
“Let me guess,” Bo said. “Rutledge claimed he didn’t have anything to do with the fire and had an alibi for the time it was set.”
“Of course. Without any proof, there was nothing Marshal Harding could do.”
“Anything else?” Scratch asked.
“Some other minor incidents, harnesses cut and things like that. Enough to cause delays and annoyances, but nothing that would put us out of business.” Abigail’s lips tightened. “Then Rance Judson and his crew of killers showed up. That’s what’s going to cause the stage line to fail, if things keep up like they’re going now.”
“Wait a minute,” Bo said. “Are you saying that there’s some connection between Rutledge and Judson?”
“I think it’s possible.”
Scratch