Mankiller, Colorado

CHAPTER 27

The campaign of terror that Bo and Scratch attributed to the Deverys, even though they couldn’t prove it, subsided somewhat over the next few days. It didn’t end completely, though. A couple of miners who had spoken up against the Deverys were jumped in a dark alley one night and beaten and kicked until one of them died and the other would probably never be more than a shell of a man. A mysterious fire nearly burned down the assay office. Francis O’Hanrahan, who had been an outspoken critic of the Deverys for a long time, limped into town one day with a bloody bandage tied around his leg. A bushwhacker had put a bullet through his thigh.

Bo knew good and well that Jackson Devery was orchestrating the whole thing, but the old devil was cunning. He didn’t leave any tracks, and since the murder of the miners who had started the fight at Bella’s, he didn’t enlist any outsiders in his cause, either. There wouldn’t be any more witnesses who had to be disposed of.

Slowly but surely, the brutal tactics began to have an effect. Everyone in Mankiller had been excited at first by the prospect of an election and a real town government. If the talk could be believed, Lucinda and the others were going to be elected in a landslide.

By the time the election was only a day away, though, more people were saying that it might be better to vote for the Deverys. The excuse they gave was that Jackson Devery and his family had founded the town, after all, and so shouldn’t they be the ones to run it?

Bo didn’t believe for a second that people really felt that way. They were just afraid of what could happen if the Deverys lost. Mankiller might become a gun-blazing battlefield. Some of the citizens declared their intention to not even vote and advised their neighbors to do the same. That way, if anything bad happened, it wouldn’t be their fault.

Bo overheard so many conversations like that that he began to grow disgusted. It would serve those folks right, he thought, if the election were called off and he and Scratch just rode away and left the town gripped in the iron fist of Jackson Devery. Biscuits O’Brien would be happy if that happened. He could go back to drinking himself to death.

But Bo knew that he and Scratch wouldn’t abandon the town. They had made too many friends here in Mankiller, among them Lucinda Bonner. She had been deftly fending off Scratch’s romantic overtures, and Bo didn’t blame her for that. She had more than enough on her plate right now as it was. He felt sort of sorry for his friend, though. Scratch was a hopeless romantic and always would be, and any time a woman didn’t return his affections, he honestly couldn’t understand it.

The rally was still scheduled for that night. The speakers’ platform had been erected in front of the Colorado Palace Saloon, and the red-white-and-blue bunting was draped from the balcony railing. Bo was worried that the Deverys would do something to try to disrupt the speeches, but there was no way to protect against that ahead of time. They would just have to wait and see what happened and deal with it then.

Late that afternoon, the Texans dropped in at the café to see how Lucinda was doing. She was working behind the counter as usual, but she seemed nervous.

“I don’t know how in the world I got talked into this,” she said with a little laugh as she poured coffee for Bo and Scratch. “I never made a speech in my life, and at my age I’ve got no business starting now.”

“What do you mean, at your age?” Scratch asked. “A beautiful woman is eternally young, Lucinda, and you certainly qualify.”

“I don’t need any flattery right now, Scratch Morton,” she told him sternly. Then her expression softened and she added, “But I appreciate it, anyway.” She looked at Bo. “What time is all this silly hoopla supposed to start?”

“Around eight o’clock, as soon as it gets dark,” Bo said. “You know that, Lucinda. You helped work out the time.”

“Oh, I suppose I did. I’m so flustered I just can’t remember anything right now.”

“You’re going to do just fine,” Bo told her. “Remember, folks in this town like you and want to see you win.”

“Some of them do. The girls and I have heard a lot of people say that they’re voting for the Deverys.”

Bo couldn’t deny that, since he’d heard the same thing. So he just shrugged and said, “When it’s over, we’ll count up the votes and see what the outcome is. That’s the way it’s supposed to work.”

Lucinda planned to close the café early to give her time to prepare for the rally. She shooed everybody out a short time later, including the Texans. They went back to the sheriff’s office.

“You’re going to have to continue keeping an eye on things, Biscuits,” Bo told the sheriff. “Scratch and I will be making sure that nobody causes any trouble at the rally.”

Biscuits nodded. “I know. I’ve gotten used to it. I reckon if I was gonna be a real lawman, I’d be best as a jailer. I seem to be able to handle that job.”

“You are a real lawman,” Scratch said, “and you can handle whatever it is you need to handle. Why, it’s been a week since you took a drink.”

“Yeah, and it’s been one hell of a year.”

“I said a week.”

“I know what you said,” Biscuits replied, “and I know what it feels like.” He held out his hand, palm down. It still trembled a little, but not nearly as much as it had been a few days earlier. “Look at that. It hasn’t been long since that thing would bounce around like it was full of Mexican jumpin’ beans.”

“Pretty impressive,” Bo agreed. “We’re proud of you, Biscuits.”

The sheriff grunted. “Better wait until I’ve actually done somethin’ worth it before you’re proud of me.”

“Reckon we’ll be the judge of that,” Scratch said.

A crowd began to gather in the street as twilight settled over the town. A feeling of celebration was in the air, sort of like Fourth of July. Bo hoped that no kids would start setting off firecrackers. The popping scared horses and could be mistaken for gunfire, which might prompt some trigger-happy hombre to slap leather himself.

Carrying Winchesters, Bo and Scratch walked over to the saloon and took up positions on its porch. From there they could see the townspeople in front of them in the street. Bo glanced up the hill at the Devery house. It squatted there silently, a couple of windows glowing with lamplight so that they looked like the eyes of a malevolent frog.

Lyle Rushford came out onto the porch and hooked his thumbs in his vest. “Looks like we’re going to have quite a turnout,” he said.

“Close to half the town’s here already,” Scratch said, “and quite a few of the miners have come in from the hills, even though they can’t vote in the election. Can’t blame ’em for bein’ interested in how it all turns out, though. What happens here in town has an effect on them, too.”

“Have you spoken to Mrs. Bonner lately? I know she was nervous about making a speech tonight.”

“She still is,” Bo said. “I’m sure she’ll do fine, though.”

“Of course she will. Lucinda Bonner is a very intelligent and decent woman, in addition to being undeniably lovely.”

Scratch’s eyes narrowed. “You sound like you’re a mite sweet on her, Rushford.”

The saloon keeper chuckled. “Well, can you blame me? I’m not sure she’d ever have anything to do with an old reprobate like me, but I’ve been thinking lately that I ought to find out for sure.”

“I don’t know that I’d advise that—” Scratch began, but Bo interrupted him.

“Lucinda’s a grown woman. I’m sure she can make up her own mind about such things.”

“That’s what I thought,” Rushford said. He took out a cigar, lit it, and then sauntered back through the batwings into the saloon.

In a low voice, Scratch said, “Dadgummit, you know Lucinda can do better than a saloon man, Bo.”

“Yeah, like some old mossback of a fiddlefooted Texan,” Bo said with a grin. “We’ll be moving on one of these days. Rushford looks like he’s going to be here for a while. Maybe from now on.”

“Yeah, yeah, I reckon you’re right about that,” Scratch said grudgingly. “And you’re right about it bein’ up to her, too. But that don’t mean I’m givin’ up.”

“Never thought you would,” Bo said.

The candidates began to show up. Wallace Kane and Harlan Green were first, followed shortly thereafter by Sam Bradfield.

“Doc Weathers will be here in a little while,” the undertaker reported with a grin. “He’s got a baby he’s delivering at the moment.”

“That’s a heap more important than speechifyin’,” Scratch said.

Colonel Horace Macauley was the next one to join them at the steps leading up to the back of the speakers’ platform. The elderly lawyer was even more of a dandy than usual this evening, sporting a fancy vest and a silk cravat with a big diamond stickpin in it.

“I see that Mrs. Bonner isn’t here yet,” he commented. “No doubt like any woman, she wants to make an impressive entrance.”

“It hasn’t been long since she closed up the café,” Bo pointed out. “I imagine she just had a lot to do.”

Dr. Weathers showed up a few minutes later, passing around cigars bestowed on him by the proud new father of the baby he’d just delivered. “Mother and infant are doing fine,” he said in response to a question. “Mankiller has a new citizen this evening, a fine, healthy baby boy.”

That just left Lucinda, Bo thought as he slipped his watch out of his pocket and opened it. Almost eight o’clock, and there were at least three hundred people gathered in the street, waiting to hear what the candidates had to say.

A stirring in the crowd made him glance up. He snapped his watch closed and put it away as he saw Lucinda making her way across the street, with her daughters Callie and Tess following her. All three women wore simple gowns that they made look expensive and elegant. They looked lovely.

Someone began applauding, and a cheer suddenly went up to greet them. By the time the three women reached the back of the platform, Lucinda was blushing furiously.

“I’m not sure I can go through with this,” she said.

“Sure you can,” Scratch told her. “I got all the faith in the world in you, Lucinda.”

“So do I,” Bo added.

“We need to discuss the order in which we’ll speak,” Colonel Macauley said. “Why don’t I go first? I’m accustomed to speaking in court, so I can make a few opening remarks, then introduce the rest of us in turn.”

“That sounds good to me,” Wallace Kane said. “I don’t think it matters which order the rest of us go in, except that Mrs. Bonner needs to speak last, since she’s running for mayor.”

Bo wasn’t sure that was a good idea, since it would give Lucinda even more time for her nerves to act up, but the others all quickly agreed with Kane’s proposal.

Chairs had been set up on the platform, three on each side of a pulpit borrowed from the First (and only) Baptist Church. Macauley went up the stairs with a sprightly step and positioned himself behind the pulpit, raising his hands for silence as more cheers and applause came from the crowd. He let the noise go on for a minute, then motioned for quiet again. This time he got it.

“I guess we’re actually going through with this,” Lucinda whispered to Bo and Scratch.

“Yes, ma’am,” Scratch said. “Don’t you worry about a thing. Bo and me will be keepin’ an eye out for trouble.”

The Texans split up, going to either end of the platform as Colonel Macauley began his remarks in a booming voice that carried easily, having been trained in courtroom oratory.

“My friends and fellow citizens of Mankiller! I have unexpected but splendid news to report to you this evening! Our respected and beloved physician, Dr. Jason Weathers, has just told me that we have a newcomer among us this evening! A fine, healthy baby boy was added to our population a short time ago! Let’s hear it for the lad!”

That brought on a new round of whooping, hollering, and clapping. When it died away, Macauley continued, “Yes, a new baby was born in Mankiller today, which is always a cause for rejoicing!” The colonel poked a finger in the air dramatically. “But ask yourselves this question, my friends, for it holds tremendous importance! Ask yourselves…what kind of town will that child grow up in?”

The intensity of that question made the crowd remain silent. Macauley allowed that moment to stretch out for several seconds, then thundered, “Will that child grow up in a town ruled by gun and knife and fist? Will he grow up fearing for his very life because Mankiller is ruled by bloody-handed barbarians who utilize threats and intimidation and violence…even murder…to enforce their greedy, corrupt tyranny?” The colonel’s nostrils flared above his sweeping mustache as he drew in a deep breath. “Or will that child come to manhood in a community where law and order is the rule of the day, where justice is served, where people are free from the threat of wanton brutality? Think hard on each and every one of those questions, my friends, because the answers to them can be found in only one place!” Again he paused to let the tension and drama increase, before finally leaning forward and saying in an intimate tone, “The answers, my friends, can be found only in the hearts of each and every one of you.”

Bo suppressed the grin of admiration he felt trying to stretch his mouth. The colonel was good at what he did. Like a hellfire-and-brimstone preacher, he had the audience right in the palm of his hand.

Macauley took off his top hat, pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his vest, and mopped sweat from his forehead. That was a calculated move, giving the crowd time to buzz a little about what he had just said. Then he replaced the handkerchief, put the hat back on, and said, “Now, let me introduce to you the people whose mission it is to transform Mankiller into that town of law and order and justice of which I just spoke. As you know, I am a humble candidate for the office of judge, and these gentlemen want the opportunity to serve you in the positions of town councilmen. Dr. Jason Weathers! Harlan Green! Sam Bradfield! Wallace Kane!”

Each of the men climbed to the platform as Macauley called their name. They waved and smiled and looked embarrassed by the applause and cheers. As Bo looked on, he wondered why nobody had thought to have a brass band here. That was all this spectacle needed. Maybe Mankiller didn’t have enough musicians to form one.

“And now, last but certainly not least, the person who will lead us as our mayor! You all know her and respect her and enjoy the food that she and her lovely daughters and her brother serve in their café…Mrs. Lucinda Bonner!”

Lucinda cast frantic glances at Bo and Scratch, both of whom smiled reassuringly at her. Callie and Tess urged her toward the steps. Lucinda went up them like she was climbing the thirteen steps to a gallows.

Her face lit up with a smile, though, when she reached the top. The biggest cheers of all went up from the crowd.

It was so noisy that Bo couldn’t make out the words when Scratch turned and called to him. He recognized the alarm on Scratch’s face, though, so he hurried over to join his old friend.

“What is it?” Bo asked, leaning close so that he and Scratch could hear each other.

“Look up yonder!” Scratch said, pointing up the hill with the barrel of the Winchester in his hands.

Bo looked and felt his heart sink. A large group of men, at least twenty strong and led by Jackson Devery, had emerged from the old house at the top of the hill. They were marching steadily toward the rally.

And they all had guns in their hands.