“I’m tempted to tell you to get the hell out of here, right now. I’m like just about everybody else around here who isn’t named Devery. I spent what I had to get here, once I heard about that gold strike. I can’t afford not to stay and try to make the best of it, no matter how bad things are.”
Bo thought about Lucinda Bonner and her daughters running the cafe in town, as well as all the other honest business owners. No wonder prices were so high and yet folks were struggling anyway. They had to turn over half of what they made to the Deverys. The thought made anger well up in him. It might be legal, but it just wasn’t right.
And if the Deverys had been getting their way through intimidation or even murder, it wasn’t even legal.
“We can leave if you want,” Bo said.
Francis sighed. “No, you can stay. You can wash your clothes and let them dry, since they’re all you’ve got. I’d loan you some of my duds, but I don’t have anything that’ll fit a couple of long-legged Texans like you!”
“We’re obliged to you, Francis,” Scratch said.
“Yeah, yeah. Just do me one favor.”
“What’s that?” Bo asked.
“When the Deverys try to kill you the next time, they’re liable to ask you first if anybody helped you. Don’t tell them it was me.”
Bo nodded. “You’ve got a deal.”
“Meanwhile, you can stay here tonight. I can feed you, help you get back on your feet before you go back to the settlement…to get slaughtered.”
“Cheerful cuss, ain’t you?” Scratch said.
“Just trying to be realistic.”
Now that they were mostly dry and had warmed up some, Bo and Scratch tied the blankets around themselves like Roman togas and went outside to get their clothes. Francis had a washtub and a wash-board, as well as a chunk of lye soap. They filled the tub with water and built a fire under it, and using a couple of branches to pick up the filthy clothes, they soon had the garments soaking in the hot water. They let it build to a boil. That couldn’t hurt, and the clothes were old enough and had been washed enough times that they wouldn’t shrink.
It took the rest of the afternoon to get the clothes clean, and even then, they still had a few stains here and there and carried a faint odor of hog pen that would just have to wear off. Scratch took that philosophically, saying, “Oh, well, it ain’t like we normally smell like roses, anyway.”
While their clothes were drying outside, the Texans shared the supper Francis had prepared. It was salt pork, potatoes, and wild greens, and while it was a far cry from the wonderful meal they’d had in Lucinda Bonner’s cafe earlier that day, they were grateful for the food.
Out of idle curiosity as they were eating, Bo asked their host, “Do you know Mrs. Bonner who runs the cafe in town?”
“Lucinda?” A smile lit up Francis’s ruddy face. “Aye. Every bachelor for twenty miles around knows the lovely Mrs. Bonner.”
That brought a scowl to Scratch’s face. He had entertained thoughts of courting Lucinda himself, Bo knew, but now it appeared that if he did, he would have a lot of competition.
Francis went on, “It was all they could do to wait a decent amount of time after her poor husband passed away before they started showing up on her doorstep, bouquets in hand. I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I may have paid her a visit myself. But it didn’t do any of us any good. She’s devoted to her girls and her business and hasn’t the time for anything else in her life.”
“Maybe she just ain’t found anything else worth makin’ the time for,” Scratch suggested.
Francis laughed. “Hope springs eternal, doesn’t it? You’re welcome to try your hand, my friend, but I doubt it’ll do you any good. Besides, once the Deverys find out you’re still alive, you’ll be so busy dodging them you won’t have much time for pitching woo.”
“Dodging the Deverys isn’t what we have in mind,” Bo said. “We want our horses and our gear back, and somebody around here needs to stand up to that bunch.”
“A noble goal. The first thing you should do is talk to a man named Sam Bradfield.”
“The undertaker,” Bo said. “Yeah, we know. Sheriff O’Brien told us the same thing.”
Francis frowned. “Good Lord. I didn’t realize I’d be offering the same advice as Biscuits O’Brien. What a mortifying turn of events.”
It would be morning before their clothes were dry enough to wear. Francis offered them the hospitality of the dugout floor. They made beds of pine boughs and covered them with blankets. They had slept on worse in their time, but still it wasn’t a very comfortable night.
The smell that clung to their clothes had faded a little more by morning, so Bo and Scratch were able to get dressed without wrinkling their noses too much. “When we get some money, we’d best buy ourselves some lilac water,” Scratch suggested.
“Yeah, that’ll make us smell a lot better,” Bo said dryly. “Because lilac water and hog droppings go together so well.”
Francis O’Hanrahan sat on a stump in front of his dugout, chewing on another unlit cigar, and asked, “What are you fellas going to do when you get back to town?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Bo said. “We can’t just walk in and confront the Deverys.”
“We can’t?” Scratch asked.
Bo shook his head. “No, there are too many of them, and we’re unarmed. If they’re as casual about breaking the law as they seem to be, they’ll just jump us and beat the hell out of us again, then throw us back in the hog
