those cactus roses.
Bo winced at the sudden screeches of agony that came from Angus as his flesh was pierced by hundreds of the razor-sharp cactus needles. Angus tried to jump up, slipped and fell again, and just made his situation that much worse as he landed in the cactus again. He finally rolled clear of the spiny plants but continued shrieking in pain.
Some of the roses had been crushed. Bo shook his head in regret at that. The blooms had been mighty pretty.
He turned to see how Scratch was doing and was alarmed to see that Culley had Scratch trapped in a bear hug. Bo could see Scratch’s face over Culley’s shoulder. It was almost purple from the lack of air, and Scratch’s eyes were open wide in pain and desperation.
Bo palmed out his Colt as his long legs carried him quickly to the other end of the porch. He raised the gun, reversing it as he did so, and brought the butt crashing down on Culley’s skull. Bo didn’t hold back, figuring that Culley was one hardheaded son of a gun. The blow landed with a heavy thunk!
Culley just shook his head and kept squeezing.
Bo hit him again, and this time Culley’s grip relaxed a little. It took a third wallop, though, before the baby bull finally let go. Scratch slipped out of the bone-crushing, suffocating embrace and slumped against the adobe wall of the building, his chest rising and falling violently as he tried to drag air back into lungs that were starved for it.
Culley swung around ponderously toward Bo. His little piglike eyes still glittered with fury, but they glazed over as he took a step forward. The damage he had taken finally soaked all the way into his brain, and he pitched forward to land at Bo’s feet, out cold.
Bo stepped over to Scratch and put a steadying hand on his friend’s arm. “You all right?” he asked.
Scratch managed a shaky nod. “I…I will be…once I…catch my breath.”
“Hey!” That was Dave Sutherland again. “You can’t do that!”
Bo turned toward the young man, and saw that Dave seemed more sober now. Seeing his two friends being defeated like that must have gotten to him. Culley was unconscious, and Angus was curled up in a ball on the ground. He had stopped screaming, but was still whimpering pathetically.
Furious, Dave reached for the gun holstered on his hip. Before he could even touch it, Bo’s Colt had flipped around again so that his hand was curled around the walnut grips and he had a finger on the trigger. The barrel was centered on the young man’s chest.
“Don’t do it, Dave,” Bo said in a quiet, solemn tone. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I won’t stand here and let you shoot me or Scratch either.”
Dave stared at him, taken by surprise yet again. Clearly, he hadn’t expected Bo to react so swiftly. His hand hovered over the butt of his gun as he visibly struggled with the decision of what to do next.
He was saved from having to make it by the sharp, angry voice that cut through the air. “Mr. Creel! What are you doing threatening my son?”
CHAPTER 4
Bo glanced to the right and saw Abigail Sutherland striding quickly along the street toward the stage line office. The old-timer, Ponderosa Pine, trailed several yards behind her, his right arm now in a sling and bandages swathing his wounded shoulder.
Bo’s eyes flicked back to Dave, and saw that the youngster was trying to take advantage of the distraction. He had gripped the revolver on his hip and was hauling it out as fast as he could.
The Colt in Bo’s hand roared. Dave let out a startled yelp, and clumsily dropped his gun as his hat went flying off his head. The weapon thudded to the ground at his feet.
Abigail stopped short and gave a frightened cry before rushing forward again to get between her son and Bo. “Dave! Are you hurt?”
Numbly, Dave shook his head. “No, I…I don’t think so.”
Abigail spun around to glare at Bo, who had lowered his Colt but hadn’t holstered it yet. “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded. “Why would you try to kill my son?”
“No offense, ma’am,” Bo said, “but if I’d wanted to kill him, he’d be dead now. I was just trying to shock a little sense into him.”
“By shooting at him?”
“Didn’t shoot at him,” Bo said. “I shot at his hat.”
Abigail didn’t look like she thought there was much of a distinction there, but of course there was. She was just too mad to see it. She waved a hand at the still-whimpering Angus and said, “What happened here? What’s wrong with Angus?”
Ponderosa had caught up by now. With a sour grin, he said, “Looks to me like that bullyin’, no-account varmint your boy calls a friend finally got his needin’s handed to him. He’s liable to be pickin’ cactus needles outta his mangy hide for a week, he’s got so many stuck in him.”
Scratch had gotten his breath back. He said, “Beggin’ your pardon, Miz Sutherland, but Bo and me sure didn’t mean to cause any trouble. These two seemed bound and determined to start a ruckus, and we were just defendin’ ourselves.”
“Is that Culley Blake up there on the porch?” Abigail asked. “What happened to him? 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
