pen. They’d probably take the time to make sure we were dead first, though.”
Scratch looked like he wasn’t happy about agreeing, but he said, “Yeah, I reckon you’re right, Bo. Ten to one odds are too much when we don’t have guns or even knives.”
“We’re going to have to bide our time,” Bo went on. “We’ll try to stay out of the Deverys’ way, maybe get a job and earn some money so we can outfit ourselves a little before we confront them.” He looked over at Francis. “If there are jobs to be had in Mankiller, that is.”
“Oh, there are plenty of jobs,” Francis said. “People who own businesses can’t find enough men to work for them, because everybody who’s able bodied enough is up in the hills panning in the creeks or digging mine shafts, trying to find gold. You can probably get jobs in one of the saloons as bartenders or dishwashers. The livery stables need men to handle horses and keep the stalls clean, too.”
Scratch shook his head. “We’ve done our share of livery stable work lately.”
“I’d say most of the stores could use an extra clerk or two, as well,” Francis said. “I know that’s probably not the sort of job you’re used to, but since you don’t have any money to buy a prospecting outfit, you’re not going to have much choice. You’ve got to make enough to eat.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a couple of partners in this mining claim, would you?” Bo asked.
“I’m afraid not. By the time I pay the Deverys their share, the gold I’ve been taking out of the ground barely pays for my supplies.”
“That’s what I figured you’d say.”
Francis shrugged. “Sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“You’ve done plenty,” Bo assured him, “and Scratch and I really appreciate it. At least we’re alive and have reasonably clean clothes to wear. For a while there it didn’t look like either of those things was going to be possible.”
They shook hands with Francis, then started trudging upriver toward the settlement. It wouldn’t take them long to reach it. While they were walking, Scratch said, “I don’t much cotton to the idea of hidin’ out from them Deverys.”
“Neither do I,” Bo said, “but we’ve got to be reasonable about the situation. We can’t take them on like this, broke and unarmed.”
“What if Edgar sells our horses? We’ve had those animals a long time.”
Bo nodded. “And they’ve been mighty good mounts, too. But there are other horses out there. Anyway, I don’t think he’s likely to sell them. Nobody around here could afford them except some of the Deverys, which means they’ll still be around Mankiller. We’ll have a chance to get them back, I’m sure of it.”
“I hope you’re right. I’d like to get my hands on them Remingtons of mine again, too.”
“They’ll probably wind up in Devery hands. We’ll just have to be patient and see what we can do.”
When they got close to the settlement, they circled up the slope a ways so they could enter Mankiller by one of the cross streets. They found an alley that ran behind several of the saloons fronting on Main Street.
“We’ll make a start here,” Bo decided. “Maybe one of these places can use a couple of dishwashers.”
“I’d rather tend bar, myself,” Scratch said.
“Yeah, but that would mean being out front where the Deverys could see you if they came in.”
Scratch frowned. “Damn, I don’t like this! We never run from trouble before, Bo.”
“I’m not sure we’ve ever been broke and unarmed before, either,” Bo pointed out.
“Maybe not, but I recollect a time when you wouldn’t have worried so much about that. You used to be willin’ to charge hell with a bucket of water.”
Bo bristled a little. “Are you saying that I’m getting old?”
“We ain’t neither one of us spring chickens no more. It’s just that one of us seems more worried about that fact than the other.”
They stood there in the alley glaring at each other for a second. This wasn’t the first time friction had flared between the two trail partners. No two people with such strong personalities could travel together for years without rubbing each other the wrong way sometimes.
But after a moment, Bo shrugged and said, “Think whatever you want to. When the time comes, just hide and watch and you’ll see how worried I am about being old.”
“I’ll do that,” Scratch said. “For now, let’s go see about gettin’ those jobs as…dishwashers.”
They entered the first of the saloons they came to through the rear door and found a door that probably led to the owner’s office. A knock on that door brought a call to come in. As they stepped inside, a gaunt-faced man with a Vandyke beard looked up from a ledger open before him on a desk.
“What is it?” he asked in a voice as sharp and pointed as his beard.
“My friend and I are looking for jobs,” Bo said.
The saloon keeper leaned back in his chair. His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Jobs?” he repeated. “Most men who come to Mankiller are looking for gold.”
“Not us,” Bo said. “We’re willing to work at whatever chores you have.”
The man stroked his beard. “I could use a couple of swampers. Usually I can hire an old drunk for that job, but even they’re out prospecting these days.”
“How much is the pay?”
“Fifty dollars a week for each of you. That’s all I can afford.”
