than it really is. That’s why I would have let them have it, especially if they hadn’t started roughing me up.”
Bradfield said, “I’ve seen this bunch hanging around town for several days. I had a feeling they were up to no good. They were just waiting for a chance to swoop in on somebody, like vultures. You were unlucky enough to be the one they picked, Tobias.”
Peckham nodded. “I reckon so. Thing is, that claim’s not really worth dying over.”
“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
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
