“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!”
CHAPTER 30
Trailed by Rushford and the other men, Bo and Scratch hurried outside, drawing their guns as they did so. Bo wondered if Jackson Devery had sent for the newcomers. They might be more Devery relatives, or even hired gunfighters.
He wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he and the others came out on the porch of the Colorado Palace, though.
A dozen riders were stopped in the middle of the street. They were well armed and looked plenty tough, but they didn’t possess the cold-eyed menace of professional gunmen. Bo recognized several of them, including the broad-shouldered, big-gutted, craggy-faced man in the lead.
“Big John Peeler,” Bo said in surprise. “What in blazes are you doing here?”
Peeler thumbed his hat back on his graying hair and grinned down from his horse. “Lookin’ for you and Morton,” he said.
“You trailed us all the way up here from New Mexico?” Scratch asked.
“I sure did. Left Joe in charge of the Circle JP and brought some of the boys from the crew with me. Figured I needed to track you down.”
From just behind the Texans, Rushford asked quietly, “An old enemy of yours, deputies?”
“You could say that,” Bo replied. He didn’t take his eyes off Peeler. “You must be pretty mad, Big John, to come all the way up here just to settle a score with us.”
Peeler frowned. “Settle a score? What are you talkin’ about, Creel?”
“That fight we had just before Scratch and I rode out.”
“You mean when you walloped me over that little trick I pulled on Case Ridley?”
“And on us,” Scratch said. “You could’ve got us killed, Peeler.”
The big cattleman sighed. “Yeah, I know. I get these ideas in my head sometimes, and they ain’t always good ones. Like usin’ you boys as bait for Ridley and tryin’ to grab off some of the Snake Track range. Yeah, I was mad for a few days after that tussle we got into, Creel, but then I realized you were right to jump me.”
“You did?” Bo asked.
“Sure. That’s when I knew I had to find the two of you…to apologize to you and ask you to come back to work for me.”
Bo and Scratch couldn’t have been more surprised if Peeler had sprouted wings and started flying around right in front of them. Peeler was obviously sincere, though.
“Well, what do you say?” he prodded. “Come on back to the Circle JP with us?”
Bo tapped the badge pinned to his coat. “In case you haven’t noticed, Big John, Scratch and I already have jobs. We’re deputies here in Mankiller.”
Peeler waved a hand. “That can’t be as good as workin’ for me.”
“You might be surprised,” Bo said dryly. “We sort of like it here,
don’t we, Scratch?”
“Yeah,” the silver-haired Texan agreed. “And we’ve sort of got a full plate right now, too.”
Peeler looked around at the now-silent crowd. “Yeah, I can see that somethin’s goin’ on. Some kind of celebration?”
“An election,” Bo said. “Mankiller just elected a mayor, a judge, and a town council.”
“Yeah, and the hombre who’s been runnin’ things around here ain’t gonna like it, either,” Scratch added.
Peeler’s rugged face hardened. “If you fellas got gun trouble, me and the boys’d be glad to pitch in and lend a hand.”
“We appreciate that—” Bo began, but a sudden outcry interrupted him. He swung around and saw a slender figure staggering down the boardwalk toward them. Even though he had seen her only a few times, he recognized Myra Devery, Edgar’s daughter. But something was wrong with her.
The girl seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Scratch sprang to catch her. As Scratch steadied her, Bo saw that Myra had a bruise on her cheek, and a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth. Someone had beaten her.
“What happened, Myra?” Bo asked her. “Who hit you?”
She drew in a ragged breath. “My…my Uncle Jackson.”
“Why would he do a sorry thing like that?” Scratch asked as he frowned in anger.
“Because I tried to…to stop him…when he was hitting and kicking my pa.”
Peeler moved his horse closer to the boardwalk and said, “Is this the fella you were talkin’ about causin’ trouble, Creel?”
“That’s right,” Bo said. He turned back to Myra. “Why would Devery attack his own brother like that?”
“Because he’s gone crazy! He’s got all the men in the family stirred up and ready to come down here and kill everybody who’s been standing up to him. He said he’d burn Mankiller to the ground before he’d let anybody else have it!”
That was exactly the sort of thing Bo had been worried about. Devery was so full of pride and hate and arrogance that he couldn’t accept defeat. He would rather destroy everything, and everybody he considered an enemy, along with any innocent folks who got in the way.
“The only one who tried to talk sense to him was my father. He said they couldn’t just start burning and killing. Then…then Uncle Jackson hit him with a rifle butt, knocked him down, started kicking him…I tried to get him to stop, but he backhanded me and knocked me down, too. I got out of there and thought I ought to come warn you—”
A thunderous roar suddenly shook the ground and drowned out whatever Myra was saying. Bo and Scratch looked toward the jail in shock and saw smoke rising from behind it.
“Dynamite!” Scratch yelled. “They blasted the jail to bust the prisoners out!”
“Come on!” Bo said as he broke into a run toward the site of the blast. Behind him, Scratch pressed Myra Devery into Rushford’s arms and then took off after his old friend.
Big John Peeler twisted in the saddle and shouted to his crew, “We’re with Creel and Morton! Follow their lead!”
Echoes from the explosion still rolled through the town. Gunshots sounded through them. The shots came from the jail.
The dynamite blast was more than just an attempt to free the prisoners, however. It was also a signal, Bo realized as rifle-waving Deverys, led by their patriarch, burst from the house at the head of the street and started down the hill, yelling and shooting. Jackson Devery was trying to make good on his threat to destroy Mankiller for turning on him.
“Off the street!” Bo bellowed as screams and chaos broke out all around him. “Everybody get off the street!”
He thought fleetingly about Lucinda and hoped that she and her daughters and brother would lie low in the café, hopefully out of harm’s way. But there was no time to check on them, not with hell on the prowl in Mankiller.
Gunfire still came from inside the sheriff’s office as the Texans reached the front door. It wouldn’t budge, and Bo knew that Biscuits O’Brien must have it locked and barred on the inside.
“Around the back!” he told Scratch. As they started around the building, he saw that Peeler and the cowboys from the Circle JP had dismounted and were following, guns drawn and ready.
Smoke and dust clogged the air. Bo fought his way through the stinging, blinding stuff. As he reached the back of the building, he saw shadowy figures fleeing.
“Hold it!” he shouted, but the men didn’t slow down. Instead, flame spurted from gun muzzles. Bo heard bullets whining through the air around him. He returned the fire, but he couldn’t see where he was shooting. The men disappeared into the clouds of dust.
There had actually been two blasts set off at the same time, Bo saw, blowing holes in the walls of both cells. Those were desperate measures, because Thad, Reuben, and Simeon could have easily been hurt in the explosions. When Bo peered through the ragged holes, though, he saw that both cells were empty.
“Biscuits!” Bo shouted through the hole in what had been Thad’s cell. “Biscuits, are you in there?”
The only answer that came back was a groan.
“Sounds like he’s hurt,” Bo told Scratch. “He must’ve tried to fight them off from the office.”
“We can’t get in there,” Scratch said. “The front door’s locked, and so are those cells.” He jerked his head toward the street. “Besides, we got the rest of the Deverys to deal with.”
Bo knew that Scratch was right. Still, he hated to abandon Biscuits without even checking to see how badly he was hurt. That would just have to wait.
“Come on,” he said grimly. “The bunch that busted out the prisoners will probably join up with the others, so we’ll have the whole blamed family to fight.”
“Except for Edgar,” Scratch agreed. He looked at Peeler. “You sure you want in on this ruckus, Big John?”
Peeler grinned. “Just try to stop us! Right, boys?”
Mutters of agreement came from the Circle JP cowboys. Bo waved for them to follow him as he and Scratch started for Main Street again.
They came out into a hornets’ nest. The townspeople had scurried for cover, as Bo had ordered, and some of them were putting up a fight. Bullets flew everywhere, shattering glass in windows, thudding into walls, chewing splinters from hitch rails and porch posts. Bo drew a bead on one of the Deverys and fired. The man dropped his rifle and spun off his feet, reaching to clutch the shoulder that Bo’s bullet had just shattered.
Scratch opened fire, too, as did Peeler and the rest of the Texans’ newfound allies. The Deverys had launched their attack as a fairly compact group, but now they split up and spread out, and the battle rapidly turned into a series of gunfights that sprawled up and down the street.
Bo spotted Jackson Devery shouting orders to his kinfolks and targeted the clan’s patriarch. Devery moved just as Bo squeezed the trigger, though, and the shot missed. Devery disappeared behind a wagon.
Bo grabbed Scratch’s shoulder and shouted over the tumult, “Let’s head for the café! I want to make sure Lucinda’s all right!” He had a feeling, as well, that Jackson Devery might try to reach the newly elected mayor. Even though Lucinda was a woman, she was also a symbol of how Mankiller had slipped out of Devery’s hateful grasp, and there was no telling what the crazed man might try to do.
Bo and Scratch dashed along the boardwalk. As they did so, a volley of shots came from across the street, splintering the planks right behind them. Bo glanced in that direction and saw several of the Deverys crouched behind some barrels on the porch of Abner Malden’s store. He and Scratch returned the fire as they ran. A man Bo recognized as Simeon Devery flew backward as a bullet struck him in the middle of the forehead. He sprawled on the porch, blood welling from the hole.
Simeon’s brother Reuben suddenly leaped onto the boardwalk in front of the Texans, blocking their path. He had a shotgun in his hands and a murderous scowl on his face. As the twin barrels swept up to blast the boardwalk clean, a couple of pistol shots cracked close by. Crimson spurted
from Reuben’s throat as the slugs ripped into it. He flung his arms up as he fell, the shotgun slipping from his fingers and spinning away.
Harlan Green stepped out of the hotel. Bo hadn’t even noticed they were in front of the place. Smoke curled from the barrel of the pistol in Green’s hand. Bo gave him a curt nod of thanks, then he and Scratch raced on toward the café.
It looked like the Deverys were regrouping, led by Luke and Thad. They surged into the street in front of the café. Behind Bo and Scratch, Big John Peeler bellowed, “Come on, boys!” When Bo glanced over his shoulder, he saw that not only were Peeler and the Circle JP cowboys backing the Texans’ play, but so were a group of townspeople who had decided to stand and fight. He saw familiar faces everywhere: Doc Weathers, Lyle Rushford, Harlan Green, Sam Bradfield, Wallace Kane, the two storekeepers, even little Ernie Bond. They had learned that democracy and freedom weren’t always just handed to people. Sometimes those ideals had to be fought for.
Guns blazed and men fell, but the groups were too close together. They slammed into each other, and the battle was suddenly hand to hand. Rifles became clubs instead of firearms, and fists thudded against flesh. Bo and Scratch waded into the middle of the melee, striking out to right and left as they fought their way toward the café.
Luke suddenly loomed up in front of Scratch. The silver-haired Texan saw a familiar gun belt sporting a pair of holstered, ivory-handled Remingtons strapped around Luke’s waist. “I knew it!” Scratch yelled. “I knew you stole my guns, you son of a bitch!”
Luke swung the rifle in his hands at Scratch’s head. Scratch ducked under the blow and stepped in to slam a right and a left into Luke’s belly. Luke doubled over. Scratch grabbed the rifle and drove it up, catching Luke under the chin with the breech. That forced Luke’s head back and knocked him off his feet. He rolled away and came up clawing both Remingtons from their holsters.
Scratch dropped the rifle and palmed out his Colt. Flame geysered from the muzzle as he fired. The bullet struck Luke in the chest at close range and knocked him down again. This time he didn’t get up. He lay there gasping for breath as the ivory-handled revolvers slipped from nerveless fingers. His chest stilled and his eyes began to glaze over.
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