Mankiller, Colorado

CHAPTER 15

The special was beef stew, and it was as good as the food they’d had here the day before. Bo and Scratch enjoyed the meal and mopped the last drops of stew from their bowls with pieces of sweet cornbread.

Lucinda had had to tend to the needs of other customers seated at the counter, but as the Texans finished their food, she came back over to them and said quietly, “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about. I’ll discuss it with the others, and with my daughters, and if we’re all in agreement, I’ll run for mayor.”

“It could be dangerous,” Bo pointed out. “Especially if you wind up running against Jackson Devery.”

She laughed. “It was your idea, Mr. Creel. Are you trying to talk me out of it now?”

Bo shook his head. “No, ma’am. I still think you’d make a fine mayor. I just want to be sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“I promise you, I know. It’ll be worth a little risk if we can work together and make Mankiller a decent place to live.”

“There’s one other thing you can talk to the business owners about, if you don’t mind. If it’s possible, Scratch and I could use a little advance on our wages.” Bo grunted and shook his head. “After that run-in at the livery stable, we’re flat broke.”

“I’ll see what I can do. We should be able to get a little money together.” Lucinda frowned. “If you know it was the Deverys who attacked and robbed you, can’t you arrest them for that?”

“Edgar Devery claims that we started the fight and that his son and the others just came in to help him. He says he doesn’t know anything about what happened after we were dragged out of the barn.”

“What about Luke and Thad and the others?”

Bo stroked his jaw as he thought. “We saw Luke and Thad on the street, but we didn’t question them about what happened.” He looked over at Scratch. “We ought to do that, just to see what they’ll say.”

“Whatever it is, I reckon there’s a good chance it’ll be a lie,” Scratch replied.

“I wouldn’t mind getting a look at this Jackson Devery, too. He’s the leader of that bunch, so we’re going to have to deal with him sooner or later.”

Lucinda’s eyes widened. “You’re going up to the Devery house?”

“I think it’d be a good idea.”

“Be careful. Those people are vicious.”

“We’ve stepped plumb into a den of rattlers before, ma’am,” Scratch said. “I reckon we’ll be all right.”

They left the café and turned toward the big house at the top of the hill. As they walked in that direction, Bo asked, “When we were looking at the Devery place before, did you notice someone watching us from one of the second-story windows?”

Scratch shook his head. “Can’t say as I did. You see somebody up there?”

“I thought I did,” said Bo, “but I’m not sure.”

The shoot-out with Finn Murdock and his friends was the talk of the town. Bo heard the low-voiced comments behind them as they passed knots of townspeople but paid little attention to them. As he and Scratch continued toward the house, people began to follow them. It was obvious that they were heading for the old Devery place, and the citizens of Mankiller were curious to see what was going to happen.

“Appears we’re drawin’ a crowd,” Scratch said quietly after glancing over his shoulder.

“I know. I don’t much like it, either, but I’m not sure what we can do about it. Folks have a right to walk where they want to.”

It wasn’t just pedestrians following them. Men on horseback fell in with the followers, and a couple of wagons joined the procession, too.

“Dang it, it’s startin’ to look like we’re leadin’ a parade!”

Bo sighed. “If there’s any gunplay, they don’t want to miss it.”

“You reckon there will be? Any gunplay, that is?”

“That depends on how hotheaded Jackson Devery is. I’ve got a hunch the rest of his family will follow his lead.”

They had almost reached the house. An unpainted picket fence enclosed the weed-grown yard in front of the place. The pickets had been nailed on carelessly, so some of them stood at angles, and the gate sagged loosely on its hinges. There was no walk inside, only a narrow path beaten down by the feet of those who lived here.

Bo was reaching for the gate when Scratch said, “Hold on. Look up yonder on the porch.”

Bo looked and saw movement in the shadows cast by the porch roof. Two huge black dogs were lying there, their heads raised now as they stared at the Texans.

“If we set foot in there, them hounds are liable to come after us,” Scratch warned. “They got a mean look about ’em.”

“What else would you expect, considering who their masters are?” Bo asked. He raised his voice, calling, “Hello, in the house!”

There was no response except a pricking forward of the dogs’ ears.

“Devery!” Bo shouted. “Jackson Devery! Come on out here!”

He glanced toward the second-story windows, halfway expecting to see the curtains move again, but they hung motionless behind the glass.

“Devery! Come on out in the name of the law!”

After another long, tense moment ticked by, the front door opened with a squall of rusted hinges. The man who stepped out onto the porch regarded Bo and Scratch with such a powerful, visceral hatred that they could feel it like a physical blow, clear across the front yard.

“I’m Jackson Devery,” the man said. “What do you want?”

He was tall, broad-shouldered, a man still vital and fit despite his obvious age. Like the farmer he had once been, he wore overalls and a white shirt. His brown, leathery face was as sharp as the blade of an ax. Long white hair swept back in wings from his high forehead. Bushy side whiskers of the same snowy shade crawled down onto his strong jaw. He was clean shaven other than that and had the piercing eyes and arrogant confidence of an Old Testament prophet.

“I’m Deputy Creel, Mr. Devery,” Bo said. “This is Deputy Morton.”

“I know who you are,” Devery rumbled. “My brother came crawlin’ up here beggin’ me to let him take those horses back. I asked what you want.”

“We came to talk to your son Luke and your nephew Thad. Are they here?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Law business,” Scratch snapped. “Better trot ’em out here, Devery.”

The patriarch’s eyes narrowed. “By what authority? You can’t just pin on a badge and call yourself a deputy. Who hired you?”

“Sheriff O’Brien swore us in,” Bo said, dodging the question a little. “It was legal and proper.”

Devery’s upper lip curled. “I’m not sure anything that drunken fool does has any legal standing.”

“He’s the duly elected sheriff,” Bo pointed out. “From what I’ve heard, you even backed him for the position.”

“Well, if he hired a couple of mossbacked saddle tramps for deputies, I’m not sure he’s fit to hold the office. Maybe we need to have ourselves another election around here.”

Bo smiled. “Now that’s not a bad idea,” he said, and saw the frown that the words put on Devery’s hatchet face. “Right now, though, O’Brien’s the sheriff, we’re legally appointed deputies, and we want to talk to Luke and Thad.”

“You don’t want to obstruct justice, now do you, Mr. Devery?” Scratch added in a mocking drawl.

Devery’s already florid face turned an even darker shade of red as blood and fury rushed into it. But he kept a visibly tight rein on his temper and turned his head to shout into the house, “Luke! Thad! Get your sorry asses out here!”

Bo and Scratch kept their hands on their guns, just in case Luke and Thad came out shooting. After a minute, the two younger men shuffled out onto the porch and cast baleful looks at the Texans. Neither of them appeared to be armed.

Jackson Devery waved a knobby-knuckled hand at Bo and Scratch. “These here deputies—” He let scorn drip from the word. “—want to talk to you boys.”

“Why do we have to talk to ’em?” Luke asked in a surly voice. “They’re just a couple of troublemakin’ drifters. They ain’t real deputies.”

“They claim they are,” Devery said. “Just humor ’em…for now.” That last was added with a tone of definite menace.

Luke and Thad stepped to the edge of the porch. “What the hell do you want?” Luke demanded. The big dogs stood up and flanked him, growling low in their throats and looking at Bo and Scratch as if thinking that the Texans would make tasty little snacks.

“All our money and gear back would be a good start,” Scratch said.

Luke sneered and shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about, mister.”

“The two of you and some of your relatives attacked us at the livery stable yesterday,” Bo said.

“No, we didn’t. We went in there to help my Uncle Edgar after you two saddle tramps started tearin’ up the place. That’s what happened.”

“That’s a damned lie,” Scratch said. “You jumped us from behind when we weren’t doin’ anything except talkin’ to Edgar.”

Luke’s face turned almost as red as his beard. “You’d best watch who you’re callin’ a liar, old man. The way I told it is the way it happened, and I got half a dozen witnesses to back it up.”

“The men who helped you try to kill us, you mean? The ones who beat us senseless, stole everything we had, and dumped us in a damn mudhole for the hogs to eat?” Scratch’s voice shook with anger as he spoke, and Bo knew that his old friend was barely holding in the rage he felt.

Luke shook his head. “If that really happened, we didn’t have nothin’ to do with it. We just dragged you outta Uncle Edgar’s barn and left you in the alley beside it.” He laughed coldly. “There’s lots of shady characters in Mankiller these days. Ain’t no tellin’ who did those other things…if they really happened.”

“Yes, you’ve made it plain you don’t believe us,” Bo said.

“And you can’t prove a damned thing otherwise,” Luke gloated.

“Why, you—” Scratch began.

Bo put a hand on his arm. “Take it easy. His word against ours, remember? And we swore to uphold the law.”

Scratch drew in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh of frustration. “All right,” he said. “For now.”

Bo looked at Luke and Thad and went on, “If you boys happen to come across any of our belongings, we’d really appreciate it if they were returned.”

Luke laughed again. “Yeah, sure. We’ll do that, won’t we, Thad?”

Thad just sneered and didn’t say anything.

“In the meantime—and this goes for you, too, Mr. Devery—Deputy Morton and I want you all to know that we’ll be helping Sheriff O’Brien enforce the law and keep the peace around here. If you have any problems, you come to us and let us handle them. Nobody takes the law into their own hands in Mankiller anymore.”

“Is that so?” Jackson Devery demanded. “You know who founded this town, don’t you, Deputy?”

“I do,” Bo said, “but that doesn’t make any difference. The founder of a town isn’t above the law.”

“For a long time, I was the only law in Mankiller!” Devery thundered.

Calmly, but loudly enough that the whole crowd could hear, Bo said, “Well, sir, those days are over.”

Devery glared at the Texans for a moment, then snapped, “Is there anything else you want?”

“Not right now,” Bo replied.

“Then get the hell away from my house. I’m done talkin’.”

With that, Devery turned on his heel and stalked back into the house. Luke and Thad went inside, too, sneering and glowering at Bo and Scratch along the way, slamming the door violently behind them.

“Well, that didn’t do us a damn bit of good,” Scratch said quietly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bo said. “We got a look at the old man, and we know now that Luke and Thad aren’t going to tell the truth about what happened yesterday.”

Scratch snorted. “Hell, we knew that anyway.” He paused. “You see those dogs on the porch?”

“It’d be hard to miss them.”

“They’re damn near as big as horses!”

“Bull mastiffs,” Bo said. “They have hungry looks in their eyes, too. I’ll bet they’d come after anybody who walked through that gate. But there are other ways in, if it comes to that.” He smiled. “And who knows, maybe we can make friends with them.”

Scratch just looked doubtful about that idea.

As they turned away from the old house, they saw that the crowd that had followed them up the street was still there, at least for the most part. Folks were lingering, as if they were waiting to see what the Texans would do.

Bo smiled at them and said, “You folks go on about your business now. There’s nothing to see here.”

One man with a balding head and a prominent Adam’s apple stared at them and asked, “Are you fellas really deputies?”

Bo nodded. “Duly appointed and legally sworn.”

“And you’re gonna stand up to the Deverys?”

“We’re going to enforce the law and keep the peace,” Bo said. “That applies to the Deverys the same as it does anyone else.”

The man looked at them for a moment longer, then asked, “Have you met Sam Bradfield?”

“Move along!” Scratch growled. “Or we won’t be the ones needin’ the undertaker.”

The crowd started to break up as Bo and Scratch strode through it, heading back down the hill. They went to the sheriff’s office and found that Biscuits O’Brien had not returned. He was probably in one of the saloons guzzling down rotgut, and he might even be passed out somewhere.

The Texans spent the rest of the afternoon organizing and cleaning up the office, which looked like it hadn’t been swept out in months. There were two cells in the back. Bo took the mattresses from each bunk outside and gave them a good shaking to get rid of as much dust and as many bedbugs as he could. Scratch found a ratty broom in a closet and swept the place, then they both tried to wipe the grime off the windows. By the time they finished, the office and jail didn’t look exactly clean, but at least they weren’t filthy anymore, either.

Late in the afternoon, a man came in and introduced himself as Harlan Green, the owner of the Rocky Mountain Hotel. “Mankiller’s best,” he added with a wry smile, “which doesn’t mean quite as much when you realize that there are only two hotels in town.”

“Plus some flophouses,” Bo said as he returned the smile. “Or so we’ve heard.”

“What can we do for you, Mr. Green?” Scratch asked.

Green, who had graying, pomaded hair parted in the middle and a mustache, drew a couple of keys from the pocket of his coat and held them out. “It’s more a matter of what I can do for you, gentlemen. Two rooms in the hotel, for you to use free of charge as long as you’re working as deputies.”

“Lyle Rushford talked to you, didn’t he?” Bo asked, remembering what the saloon keeper had said that morning.

“Actually, Lyle and Wallace Kane both paid visits to me and explained the situation. I want to be part of the little group of concerned citizens that Mrs. Bonner has put together, and so does Jessie Haynes-worth, who owns the other hotel in town.” Green paused. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t see how two men can clean up the lawless elements in this town and also stand up to Pa Devery and his clan, but if there’s any chance of you being successful, I want to help as much as I can. Mankiller has the potential to grow into a fine town, but that’ll never happen like it is now.”

“We’re obliged to you, Mr. Green,” Bo said as he and Scratch took the keys.

“Now, those aren’t fancy rooms,” Green warned them. “And they’re on the ground floor, in the rear, as well as being rather small.”

“They’ll be fine,” Bo assured him.

“All we need’s a place to lay our heads at night,” Scratch added. He grinned. “Anyway, if Mankiller’s as wild a place as we’ve heard it is, we may not be doin’ much sleepin’ for a while.”

“It’s wild, all right,” Green said. “In spades.”

A short time later, after Green had returned to the hotel, the Texans walked across the street to have supper at Lucinda Bonner’s café. When they came in, all the tables were full, and so were the stools at the counter. But Lucinda’s daughter Callie met them with a smile and said, “Ma told me to tell you if you came in just to go around back. She and Uncle Charley are in the kitchen, and you can eat back there if you don’t mind.”

“We don’t mind at all,” Bo told her. He and Scratch did as Callie said, knocking on the back door they had gone in through for the meeting earlier in the day. Lucinda called, “Come in.”

They stepped into an atmosphere of warmth and delicious aromas. The room had two stoves in it, and both of them were going, Lucinda working at one of them and her brother Charley Ellis at the other. Lucinda smiled over her shoulder at Bo and Scratch and said, “Just sit down at the table. We’ll have food ready in a minute.”

Scratch returned the smile as he pulled back a chair. “Just like bein’ back home,” he said.

“And this way we don’t take up valuable table or counter space,” Bo added.

A few minutes later Lucinda brought them platters of thick steaks, fried potatos, biscuits, and gravy. After she had put the food on the table in front of the appreciative Texans, she reached into a pocket on her apron and brought out a small roll of bills.

“That’s the best we can do in the way of an advance,” she said as she handed the money to Bo.

“That’ll be fine, ma’am,” he told her. “What with Mr. Green giving us places to sleep in the hotel and the way you’ve been feeding us, I feel a little bad about taking wages from you folks as well.”

Lucinda shook her head. “Don’t feel bad about it, Mr. Creel.”

“Might as well call me Bo.”

“And I’m Scratch,” the silver-haired Texan put in.

“All right,” Lucinda said. “Bo and Scratch. I like those names.” She grew sober again. “But like I said, don’t worry about taking the wages we’ll pay you.”

“Why not?” Bo asked.

“Because if you stay in Mankiller for very long, I know good and well that you’re going to earn every penny of them!”