Mankiller, Colorado Page 11

  “That’s not what they died over,” Bo said. “They died because Deputy Morton and I stood up to them, and their pride couldn’t stand that.”

  Bradfield frowned at the Texans. “And you risked dying, too, Deputy. You’ve barely pinned on those badges. You haven’t even had a chance to do the job we hired you for.”

  “This is the job you hired us for,” Bo said, his voice hardening slightly. “Keeping the peace in Mankiller, no matter who threatens it. No offense, Mr. Bradfield, but if you want hired guns just to go after the Deverys, you’d best look for somebody else.”

  The undertaker shook his head. “No, no, don’t get me wrong, Deputy. Absolutely, you should keep the peace and enforce the law. I just didn’t expect that there would be gunplay involved so soon.”

  “Before we get this town cleaned up, I expect there’ll be more,” Bo said.

  When they came into the sheriff’s office a short time later, after Bradfield hauled off the bodies in his wagon, the Texans found Biscuits O’Brien sitting at the desk, a puzzled frown on his face.

  “I thought I heard shootin’ a little while ago,” Biscuits said. “You fellas know anything about that?”

  “A little,” Scratch said dryly. “We had to gun down some hardcases who were attackin’ a citizen and tryin’ to steal his claim.”

  The sheriff’s bloodshot eyes widened in surprise. “Did you say…gun down?”

  Bo nodded. “I’m afraid so. We gave them a chance to back off, but they weren’t having any of it.”

  “You…you killed them? How many were there?”

  “Four,” Scratch said. “Two of ’em died pretty quick, and the other two crossed the divide a few minutes later. We sent somebody to fetch the doc, but by the time he got there, it was too late.”

  Biscuits scrubbed his hands over his face and rocked back and forth in his chair. “This is bad, this is really bad,” he said. “Who was it you killed?”

  “The leader of the bunch called himself Finn Murdock,” Bo said. “We never got the names of the other three, but I reckon we can try to find out.”

  Biscuits shook his head. “No, no, that’s all right. Doesn’t really matter, I guess. But people are gonna hear about this. It’s liable to cause more trouble.”

  Bo propped a hip on the corner of the desk and nodded. “It’s possible. Any time there’s a gunfight, there’s somebody out there who hears about it and thinks that he ought to challenge the winner, just to find out if he’s faster.”

  “But there’ll be other hombres who hear about it and decide that they’d better behave themselves while they’re in Mankiller,” Scratch pointed out. “So it sort of evens out in the long run, if you look at it that way.”

  “What if the men you killed had friends who’ll want to even the score for them?”

  “We’ll deal with that when and if the time comes,” Bo said. “If you heard the shooting, Sheriff, why didn’t you come to see what was going on?”

  “Didn’t figure it was any of my business,” Biscuits replied. Then, as if realizing how that sounded, he added, “Anyway, I knew I had two deputies out on patrol to handle anything that happened.”

  “Yeah, you could look at it like that,” Scratch said dryly.

  “One thing lawmen do is watch each other’s back,” Bo said. “We’re not professional star packers, but we’ve worn law badges before and know a little bit about it. Have you ever worn a badge before, Sheriff?”

  Biscuits shook his head and reached up to touch the tin star pinned to his vest. He looked at it like he had never seen it before and couldn’t figure out how it got there.

  “Maybe you should be the sheriff instead of me, uh…what was your name again?”

  “Bo Creel.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Bo.” Biscuits looked at Scratch. “And you’re Scratch, right?”

  “Yep.”

  Biscuits started fumbling with the badge in an attempt to unpin it and take it off. “I’ll just resign,” he said, “and one of you can have the job, I don’t care which—”

  Bo reached over and took hold of Biscuits’s wrist, guiding his hand gently away from the badge. “You’re the duly elected sheriff,” Bo said. “There’s no reason for you to resign.”

  “Duly elected,” Biscuits repeated, then gave a hollow laugh. “I don’t think anybody even voted in that election ’cept for Deverys and their friends and relatives. I can’t be sure about that because, well, I was drunk all day Election Day. And just about every day since, for that matter.”

  He seemed sober at the moment. Bo knew that looks could be deceptive. Somebody like Biscuits who drank all the time could stay drunk, even when they didn’t look it.

  “It doesn’t matter who voted for you. You’re the sheriff, and you swore to do your duty and uphold the law.”

  “Oh, hell,” Biscuits muttered. “Those are just words.”

  “And words mean something,” Bo said. “So do actions. You can still be a good sheriff. You just have to act like one.”

  Biscuits looked up at him and laughed again. “You ain’t gonna try to reform me, are you, Bo? I warn you, it’s been tried before. Ask Reverend Schumacher. Hell, ask anybody in Mankiller. They’ll all tell you how worthless I am.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “You’ll get yourself killed. I warn you about that right now. You go to dependin’ on me, you’re takin’ your life in your hands.” Biscuits shoved to his feet. “Now, I got to go.”

  Bo stood up. “You mean go and get a drink?”

  “If I do, that’s my business.” Biscuits came out from behind the desk and stumbled toward the door.

  Scratch moved to get in his way, but Bo shook his head and said, “Let him go.”

  “Yeah, lemme go,” Biscuits said. “Don’t waste your breath tryin’ to save me, Scratch.”

  When Biscuits was gone, Scratch looked at the door that had closed behind the sheriff and said, “That is one sorry-ass son of a bitch.”

  “Right now, maybe.”

  “He’s right, Bo. You can’t save everybody. Some folks are too far gone, and some just flat-out ain’t worth it. I reckon Sheriff Biscuits O’Brien may fall into both them categories.”

  “We’ll see,” Bo said.

  He sat down at the desk and spent the next few minutes going through the stack of reward posters he had gotten out of the drawer earlier, thinking that he might find a reward dodger on Finn Murdock or one of Murdock’s companions. There was nothing on Murdock, however, and none of the drawings on the other posters matched the three men who were now keeping Murdock company down at the undertaking parlor.

  It was well after noon by now, and the Texans hadn’t eaten since breakfast at Francis O’Hanrahan’s dugout that morning. They left the office and walked over to the café. The lunch rush had cleared out a little, so they went to the counter and sat down on stools there. Lucinda Bonner came over to them, a slight frown on her face.

  “What’s wrong, Mrs. Bonner?” Bo asked.

  “I heard about that gunfight,” she said. “You killed four men?”

  Scratch shrugged. “Seemed like the thing to do at the time, since they were tryin’ to kill us.”

  “Oh, I know, you had to defend yourselves. I don’t fault you for that. I just hate to hear about more violence, and so soon after we hired you.”

  “You hired us to clean up the town,” Bo pointed out.

  “Yes, of course. But Mankiller already has a reputation for being a dangerous place. I mean, even that name…! I just wish there was some way to get rid of the troublemakers without having to…to…”

  “Shoot ’em?” Scratch suggested.

  “Well, yes.”

  “We’ll settle things peacefully with anybody who’ll let us,” Bo said. “We would have let those four gunmen walk away a while ago. It was their choice not to. I reckon you’ve seen enough of life on the frontier, Mrs. Bonner, to know that sometimes the only way to deal with trouble is to meet it head-on.”
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br />   Lucinda nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s true. And you certainly didn’t waste any time letting everyone in town know that law and order has returned. I suppose that’s a good thing.”

  “Have you thought any more about what we discussed earlier, about electing a town council and a mayor?”

  “Yes, I spoke to Wallace Kane when he came back in for lunch, as well as Mr. Malden and Mr. Gaines. They’re all for the idea. I think we can get all the men who were here earlier for the meeting to run for town council, except for Francis O’Hanrahan, of course. He doesn’t live in the town limits. I suppose we can just pick one of them to be the mayor.”

  Bo smiled. “Actually, I had something else in mind. I think you ought to be mayor.”

  Lucinda looked shocked. “Me? But I’m a woman. I can’t even vote!”

  “Maybe not, but I don’t see why that would keep folks from voting for you. You must know just about everybody in town, Mrs. Bonner. Most of them have probably eaten here at one time or another, and I would think the food here would be a good incentive for them to vote for you.”

  “That’s hardly a reason to elect someone mayor,” Lucinda protested.

  “Who came up with the idea of hiring Scratch and me as deputies?”

  “Well…Francis really thought of it, but he and I discussed it before we brought in the other businessmen.”

  “There’s proof that you’re devoted to improving the town and making Mankiller a better place to live,” Bo said.

  Scratch grinned as he leaned his elbows on the counter. “You’re wastin’ your time arguin’ with this old varmint, ma’am. Once Bo gets an idea in his head, you can’t blast it out with dynamite.”

  “That’s because I’m right most of the time,” Bo said.

  “Well, there’s one thing you’re forgetting, Mr. Creel,” Lucinda said as her face grew solemn. “If we have an election, Jackson Devery won’t like it. He’s not going to just sit back and accept any threat to his power in this town. He’ll try to put a stop to it, and if he can’t do that, he’ll do the next best thing. He’ll run for mayor himself and try to get his relatives elected as the town council!”

  Bo shrugged. “That’s his right. You and the others will just have to out-campaign him.”

  “Problem is,” Scratch drawled, “if it looks like they’re fixin’ to lose, Devery and his bunch are liable to vote with bullets, not ballots!”

  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 despi
te 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.