his cousins were passin’ by and, uh, come to my assistance. Yeah, that’s it. They come to my assistance. I don’t know what happened to you after that, and it ain’t none of my business.”
The rehearsed sound of Edgar’s speech told Bo that Luke and Thad must have stopped here on their way to the Devery house and told him what to say in case the Texans showed up.
“You know damn well that ain’t the way it was,” Scratch said angrily.
“I’ll swear that I’m tellin’ the truth, and so will Luke and Thad and the rest of them boys,” Edgar insisted.
Bo put a hand on his partner’s arm. “Let it go, Scratch,” he said. “They’ve worked out their story, and we won’t be able to budge them on it. It’s their word against ours.”
“Maybe so, but it ain’t right,” Scratch said. “This varmint’s lyin’.”
“You best be careful,” Edgar warned. He jabbed at the air with the pitchfork for emphasis. “I’ll swear out a complaint agin you for talkin’ bad about me.”
“Where are our horses?” Bo asked.
“You left ’em here without payin’. I had a perfect right to sell ’em—”
“You sold our horses?” Scratch roared.
Edgar cringed. “The packhorse is still here. But my brother Jackson seen the bay and the dun and took a likin’ to ’em. I had a right to do it, I tell you. That ruckus you started caused some damage. I had a right—”
“Shut up,” Bo said. He wanted to do things legal and proper, but he was having a hard time keeping a rein on his temper. Besides, being a Texan, he came from a long heritage of doing things illegal and improper when it was necessary to right a wrong. “Where are the horses?”
Edgar swallowed hard. “Up in my brother’s barn.”
“Go up there, refund whatever he paid for them, and bring them back here.”
“I can’t do that. Jackson’d never go along with it!”
“Convince him,” Bo said. “Otherwise, we’re going to arrest you and hold you for trial on charges of horse stealing.”
“And you know what usually happens to horse thieves,” Scratch said with a savage grin. He made a motion like he was tugging on a hang rope around his neck.
Edgar moaned in dismay. “You don’t know what you’re askin’. Jackson won’t take kindly to—”
“We don’t care,” Bo cut in. “If you want to stick to that loco story of yours, go ahead and swear out a complaint against us for disturbing the peace. We’ll be glad to answer those charges the next time the circuit judge comes through. Until there’s a legal ruling, though, you had no right to sell our horses, so you’d better get them back. Understand?”
“I understand,” Edgar said grimly. “Do you boys understand what you’re gettin’ yourselves into? You’re just askin’ for trouble!” A sly gleam appeared in the man’s eyes. “How’s about this? I’ll get your horses back, and I’ll even stake you to some money for grub and other supplies. Then you can take off them blamed badges and forget all about bein’ deputies. Just ride on somewheres else and forget that you ever set foot in Mankiller, Colorado.”
Bo shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“We like it here,” Scratch added. “And we ain’t leavin’ any time soon.”
“Then God help you,” Edgar said, “because you’ll find out that when all hell breaks loose, nobody else around here will!”
As they started on up the street, leaving the livery stable behind them, Scratch said, “You believe that? That old son of a bitch lyin’ and sayin’ that all the trouble was our fault!”
“From what I’ve seen of them and heard about them, the Deverys are pretty cunning,” Bo said. “The last thing they want around here is any real law. That’s why they ran off or murdered the previous sheriffs and deputies, then finally put Biscuits O’Brien in the job. They knew he’d never try to stop them from doing anything they wanted to do, and yet if there were ever any questions from outside, they could point to him and claim that Mankiller has a lawman. If anything too bad happened, they could make it look like everything was his fault.”
“I’ll bet Biscuits don’t realize that.”
Bo grunted. “Biscuits doesn’t realize much of anything except that he’s thirsty. What he needs is to stop drinking, clean up a mite, and start acting like a real sheriff.”
Scratch stopped and looked over at his old friend. “And you wouldn’t be thinkin’ about tryin’ to wrestle him into doin’ that, now would you, Bo?”
“What could it hurt?”
“It could hurt because you always see the good in folks and think you can help make ’em better, and then you get to dependin’ on them. But then most of the time they’ll let you down when you really need ’em. Ol’Edgar was right about one thing—we can’t count on anybody but ourselves.”
Bo shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. But I don’t think it would hurt to have a talk with Biscuits.”
“If you want to waste your time, go right on ahead. But I ain’t gonna count on that drunk for anything.”
They resumed their walk up the street. After a moment, Scratch asked, “Did you know what you were talkin’ about when you said that about the circuit judge?”
“Not really, no. I was just making a guess. But nothing’s been said about Mankiller having any sort of judge or court. There must be a circuit judge who comes around. I’ll talk to Mrs. Bonner and find out for sure. If there’s not, we need to ask her to write to the governor and request that Mankiller be added to the circuit.”
“Why’s the governor gonna pay attention to a widow woman who runs a cafe?”
