Mankiller, Colorado

CHAPTER 29

The morning of June 5, election day in Mankiller, dawned beautifully. At this elevation the heat of summer hadn’t taken over yet, so there was still a pleasantly cool crispness to the air. The sky over the mountains was a deep blue, dotted here and there with white clouds swept along by a good breeze. It was the sort of day that made a man feel glad to be alive.

And if he and Scratch were still alive at the end of it, Bo reflected, he would be glad about that, too. Maybe even a little surprised.

When they got to the Colorado Palace Saloon, they found the doors closed and locked. Scratch rapped on one of the doors, and after a moment Lyle Rushford looked out the window to see who was there and then came over to unlock the door.

“We closed down a short time ago,” Rushford explained as the Texans came into the saloon. “Some of my regulars didn’t like being kicked out, but I told them we’d be open again tonight, after the election’s over.”

“Appreciate you volunteering the use of your place,” Bo said.

Rushford shrugged. “It’s the biggest room in town. Anyway, in the long run it’ll be good for business. People will hang around to find out what the results of the election are, and then they’ll already be here when they want to celebrate afterward.”

“Let’s hope there’s somethin’ to celebrate,” Scratch said.

“There will be,” the saloon keeper replied. “I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

Bo hoped Rushford was right. If the vote went against the Deverys, what could Jackson Devery do? He couldn’t seriously think that he and his family could gun down all the winning candidates, along with the town’s lawmen, and get away with it. Could he?

The problem was, Bo honestly didn’t know the answer to that question. He didn’t know how crazy drunk with power Jackson Devery really was.

The election was scheduled to last from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon. That would give every man in Mankiller enough time to vote. Bo and Scratch planned to be on hand the whole time, just to make certain there were no disturbances.

Rushford’s bartenders were moving the tables back, creating a large open space where people could line up to vote. They would be given ballots at one table, stop at another table to mark them, and then drop the ballots in a strongbox with a hole cut in the lid that sat on a third table.

“We’ll leave you to finish getting ready,” Bo told the saloonkeeper. “We’ll be back before the voting starts, though.”

Rushford nodded. “You don’t think Devery will try to keep people from voting, do you?”

“There’s no tellin’ what that varmint might try,” Scratch said.

The Texans walked up the street to the café. The place was very busy this morning. Lucinda might be the mayor of Mankiller before the day was over, but for now she was hustling to get breakfast cooked and served for all her customers. She barely had time to greet Bo and Scratch with a smile.

“Go on back to the kitchen and tell Charley I said to feed you,” she told them.

“Yes, ma’am,” Scratch said. “I ain’t gonna turn down that offer.”

They helped themselves to coffee in the kitchen, and Charley Ellis set plates heaped with food in front of them. He asked, “Does that sister of mine know what she’s doing?”

“By feedin’ us on the cuff, you mean?” Scratch shook his head. “I don’t know, she’s liable to go broke doin’ that.”

“No, I mean this loco mayor business. Devery’s not gonna let her get away with it.”

“He won’t have any choice in the matter,” Bo said. “It’s up to the voters.”

Charley’s disgusted grunt showed just what he thought of that idea.

After the Texans had eaten, they stopped at the counter in the front room long enough for Bo to ask Lucinda, “Will you be coming down to the Colorado Palace later?”

She shook her head. “It looks like I’m going to be busy here all day. Just send someone to get me when it’s all over…if you need me.”

“We will,” Scratch said confidently.

They took a quick turn around town. Most businesses were open and doing a brisk trade. The hitch rails were full, as usual, and a lot of people were on the boardwalks and in the street. An air of excitement gripped the town. Folks smiled and greeted Bo and Scratch by name.

The only Deverys they had seen so far were the trio locked up in the jail.

When they returned to the sheriff’s office, they found Biscuits O’Brien eating the breakfast that Callie Bonner had delivered to him when she brought over the prisoners’ meals. Bo thought something was different about the sheriff, and after studying Biscuits for a moment, he asked, “Did you shave and wash up?”

Biscuits grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I did.”

“And he even brushed his hair, looks like,” Scratch said. “I’ll swan, Biscuits, what’s gotten into you?”

“It’s election day,” Biscuits said. “Maybe by the time the day’s over, I’ll be a real sheriff.”

Bo told him, “You already are. You’ve done a fine job guarding those prisoners.”

“Nobody’s tried to take ’em away,” Biscuits pointed out.

“You’d better keep a close eye on them today,” Bo said. “Devery might try to take advantage of all the commotion going on and bust them out.”

Biscuits patted the stock of one of the shotguns lying on the desk. “I’ll be ready for him if he does.”

From the cell block, Thad called, “Hey, deputies! Creel! Morton!”

Scratch stepped over to the door and swung it open. “What do you want?”

Thad gave the Texans an ugly grin. “Just wanted to take one last look at you bastards. You’re about to learn that you can’t mess with the Deverys.”

“You’re on the wrong side of the bars to be sayin’ anything like that.”

“For now,” Thad said. “For now.”

Scratch slammed the door. “I shouldn’t let that ugly little varmint get under my skin,” he muttered, “but he does.”

“Come on,” Bo said. “Let’s get back over to the saloon.”

Men were already lining up outside the Colorado Palace, even though the doors were still locked and it was half an hour until they would open for voting. Bo and Scratch made their way through the crowd and knocked on the doors. Rushford let them in again. By now the room was set up the way it was supposed to be. Rushford took a big gold watch from his pocket, checked the time, and said, “Now all we have to do is wait.”

The half hour passed slowly, but it passed. And finally, when the hands of Rushford’s watch pointed at nine and twelve, he nodded to the Texans. Bo went over to the door, twisted the key in the lock, and opened it.

“The election’s on,” he called to the crowd outside, which now filled the street. Cheers and whoops went up from the townspeople. Bo thought again that they really needed a brass band here in Mankiller.

As men surged toward the door, he held up a hand to slow them down. “One at a time,” he said. “Line up Indian style, one at a time. That’s the only way this’ll work.”

With Scratch standing close to the tables where Rushford’s bartenders sat to run the election and Bo ushering the men into the saloon, the voting got under way. Bo cautioned the men not to talk about who they were voting for.

“That’s why they call it a secret ballot,” he said.

One of the men pointed to the middle table. “The fella sittin’ there can see who I put down,” he said. “So can the other two.”

“Maybe, but they’re not looking. They’ve sworn to be impartial.”

“How do we know that?” a new voice demanded. Bo looked around to see Luke Devery in the doorway. The men who’d been lining up there a moment earlier had shrunk back away from him. “Pa says he wants me to watch the whole thing and make sure nobody cheats.”

“Fine,” Bo said, waving Luke into the room. “Go right ahead. Just don’t say anything to anybody while they’re voting. That wouldn’t be proper.”

“Nothin’ about this whole business is proper,” Luke said. “The only proper thing is the Deverys runnin’ Mankiller, the way we always have.”

“Nothing stays the same,” Bo said, “whether we want it to or not.”

Luke stomped over behind the tables and took up position there, with his arms folded across his chest and a scowl on his bearded face. Bo saw a few of the men glancing nervously at him as they voted. That was exactly why Luke was here, to make men think twice about voting against the Deverys. Bo knew that, but there was nothing he could do about it. Luke was right when he said he had a right to monitor the election and make sure it was fair.

Scratch asked, “How come you ain’t voted yet, Luke?”

“I’ll vote when the rest of my family gets here,” Luke replied. “Deverys do things together.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” Scratch said dryly. “That had somethin’ to do with gettin’ your brothers and your cousin arrested in that whorehouse ruckus.”

Luke didn’t say anything to that, just glared even darker.

An election was an exciting thing…at first. But then it became more tedious for the folks who had to stay there the whole time. The hours dragged by, and the crowd thinned out, although there were still quite a few people in the street. The only incident occurred when a couple of men tried to sneak through the line and vote a second time, but one of Rushford’s bartenders recognized them and turned them away.

Then there was a stirring in the people outside that caught Bo’s attention. He stepped onto the porch and looked up the hill, the same way everyone else was looking. Then he turned his head and called to those inside, “The Deverys are coming.”

Luke snorted. “Did you think the rest of us wouldn’t show up, Creel? One thing you better learn while you still can…Deverys don’t never give up. Never.”

Bo came back inside. A minute later, Jackson Devery marched in, his head held high and defiant arrogance etched on his face, as usual. He sneered at Bo, Scratch, and Rushford and said, “We’re here to vote.”

“I’d say you’re a legal resident of the town,” Bo told him. “Go right ahead.”

Devery got his ballot, marked it, and tossed it contemptuously into the strongbox. Luke went next, then Edgar and Granville and one by one all the other Deverys and Devery kinfolk. When they were finished, Jackson Devery asked, “How long does this sham of an election run?”

“Until three o’clock,” Rushford said. He checked his watch. “That’s a little over an hour from now.”

Devery’s lip curled. “Enjoy the time you got left,” he said in a menacing tone, then led the rest of the family out of the saloon. Luke stayed behind to continue his job as election watcher.

None of the other candidates had voted yet, but they came in a short time later as a group. After they voted, Wallace Kane asked, “Where’s Mrs. Bonner? Shouldn’t she be here?”

“She said she was too busy at the café to come down until the election was over,” Bo explained. He thought of someone else who wasn’t there and turned to Scratch. “Maybe one of us ought to go over to the jail and stay there for a while so Biscuits can cast his vote.”

“I’ll do it,” Scratch said. “Be glad for a chance to stretch my legs. This democracy business is inspirin’ as all get-out, but it’s a mite tiresome, too.”

Biscuits showed up a few minutes later, having been relieved by Scratch. “Rube and Sim are startin’ to get worried now,” he told Bo. “They’ve realized that if their side doesn’t win, they’re in trouble and might be locked up for a while.”

“What about Thad?”

Biscuits shook his head. “He’s still convinced that he’d gettin’ out of there today, one way or another. He says his uncle won’t let us get away with takin’ Mankiller away from him.” Biscuits rubbed his jaw. “I ain’t sure but what he’s right.”

“We’ll play the hand out to the end,” Bo said.

That end finally came. A short time after Biscuits had voted and returned to the jail, Rushford checked his watch again and then snapped it closed.

“Three o’clock!” he announced. “The election’s over. Everybody out except the deputies and my men.”

“I’m stayin’,” Luke said. “I ain’t budgin’ until every damn one of them votes is counted.”

Rushford looked at Bo, who nodded. “Seems fair enough, even though Luke’s a candidate, too. I’d rather his family had someone else here as their representative, but I reckon we can live with this.”

“Get to it, then,” Luke snapped.

When everyone was gone except Bo, Scratch, Luke, Rushford, and the three bartenders, the drink juggler who was in charge of the strongbox opened it up. One of the other bartenders brought out a chalkboard on which he had written the names of all the candidates. The man at the strongbox said, “I’ll take out each ballot one at a time and read the votes. You mark ’em down on the chalkboard, Gus.”

“I want to see those ballots,” Luke said.

Bo said, “Once they’ve been counted, you can have a look at them. You’ll see that nobody’s cheating here, Luke. This has been an honest election, and it’s going to stay that way.”

The bartender at the strongbox took out the first ballot, which had been folded by the man who cast it. He unfolded it and said, “One vote each for Mrs. Bonner, Colonel Macauley, Doc Weathers, Mr. Green, Mr. Bradfield, and Mr. Kane.”

The man at the board made a mark beside each candidate’s name.

Luke stuck out his hand. “Lemme see that.” He took the ballot, glared at it, then tossed it down disgustedly onto the table.

The bartender fished out another ballot and said, “One vote each for Mrs. Bonner, Colonel Macauley, Doc Weathers, Mr. Green, Mr. Bradfield, and Mr. Kane.”

Ten ballots had been counted before one came up that contained votes for the Devery faction. That was the way it continued. Luke’s face grew darker and darker with anger as it became obvious that most of the citizens of Mankiller had defied the Deverys and voted against them. Luke, his father, and the other members of his family who had run were losing in a landslide.

Luke remained there until the bitter end, though. Finally, all the ballots were counted, and Rushford announced, “The results are exactly the same in every race, gentlemen. The slate of candidates headed by Mrs. Lucinda Bonner has defeated the slate of candidates headed by Jackson Devery by a count of 364 votes to 89 votes. Effective immediately, Mrs. Bonner is the mayor of Mankiller, Colonel Horace Macauley is the judge, and the town council consists of Dr. Jason Weathers, Wallace Kane, Sam Bradfield, and Harlan Green.”

Luke couldn’t contain himself anymore. “This won’t stand!” he burst out. “By God, this won’t stand!”

He stalked to the door, jerked it open, and stomped out of the saloon. The people waiting in the street for the results of the election could tell by his expression and demeanor who had won. Cheers erupted.

Scratch looked over at Bo. “What do you reckon the Deverys will do now?”

“I don’t know,” Bo replied with a shake of his head, “but I’d bet a hat it won’t be anything good. We’d better get back over to the jail—”

The wild celebration going on in the street suddenly quieted, causing the Texan to look toward the saloon doors in alarm. Luke had left one of them open when he stalked out, and one of the townies appeared there, eyes wide. Bo recognized him as little Ernie Bond, who always seemed to be the bearer of bad news.

That wasn’t about to change now. Ernie gulped and said, “Deputies, come quick! There’s a bunch of strangers with guns ridin’ into town, and they look like they’re ready to start shootin’ the place up!”