There was no response except a pricking forward of the dogs’ ears.
“Devery!” Bo shouted. “Jackson Devery! Come on out here!”
He glanced toward the second-story windows, halfway expecting to see the curtains move again, but they hung motionless behind the glass.
“Devery! Come on out in the name of the law!”
After another long, tense moment ticked by, the front door opened with a squall of rusted hinges. The man who stepped out onto the porch regarded Bo and Scratch with such a powerful, visceral hatred that they could feel it like a physical blow, clear across the front yard.
“I’m Jackson Devery,” the man said. “What do you want?”
He was tall, broad-shouldered, a man still vital and fit despite his obvious age. Like the farmer he had once been, he wore overalls and a white shirt. His brown, leathery face was as sharp as the blade of an ax. Long white hair swept back in wings from his high forehead. Bushy side whiskers of the same snowy shade crawled down onto his strong jaw. He was clean shaven other than that and had the piercing eyes and arrogant confidence of an Old Testament prophet.
“I’m Deputy Creel, Mr. Devery,” Bo said. “This is Deputy Morton.”
“I know who you are,” Devery rumbled. “My brother came crawlin’ up here beggin’ me to let him take those horses back. I asked what you want.”
“We came to talk to your son Luke and your nephew Thad. Are they here?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“Law business,” Scratch snapped. “Better trot ’em out here, Devery.”
The patriarch’s eyes narrowed. “By what authority? You can’t just pin on a badge and call yourself a deputy. Who hired you?”
“Sheriff O’Brien swore us in,” Bo said, dodging the question a little. “It was legal and proper.”
Devery’s upper lip curled. “I’m not sure anything that drunken fool does has any legal standing.”
“He’s the duly elected sheriff,” Bo pointed out. “From what I’ve heard, you even backed him for the position.”
“Well, if he hired a couple of mossbacked saddle tramps for deputies, I’m not sure he’s fit to hold the office. Maybe we need to have ourselves another election around here.”
Bo smiled. “Now that’s not a bad idea,” he said, and saw the frown that the words put on Devery’s hatchet face. “Right now, though, O’Brien’s the sheriff, we’re legally appointed deputies, and we want to talk to Luke and Thad.”
“You don’t want to obstruct justice, now do you, Mr. Devery?” Scratch added in a mocking drawl.
Devery’s already florid face turned an even darker shade of red as blood and fury rushed into it. But he kept a visibly tight rein on his temper and turned his head to shout into the house, “Luke! Thad! Get your sorry asses out here!”
Bo and Scratch kept their hands on their guns, just in case Luke and Thad came out shooting. After a minute, the two younger men shuffled out onto the porch and cast baleful looks at the Texans. Neither of them appeared to be armed.
Jackson Devery waved a knobby-knuckled hand at Bo and Scratch. “These here
“Why do we have to talk to ’em?” Luke asked in a surly voice. “They’re just a couple of troublemakin’ drifters. They ain’t
“They claim they are,” Devery said. “Just humor ’em…for now.” That last was added with a tone of definite menace.
Luke and Thad stepped to the edge of the porch. “What the hell do you want?” Luke demanded. The big dogs stood up and flanked him, growling low in their throats and looking at Bo and Scratch as if thinking that the Texans would make tasty little snacks.
“All our money and gear back would be a good start,” Scratch said.
Luke sneered and shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about, mister.”
“The two of you and some of your relatives attacked us at the livery stable yesterday,” Bo said.
“No, we didn’t. We went in there to help my Uncle Edgar after you two saddle tramps started tearin’ up the place.
“That’s a damned lie,” Scratch said. “You jumped us from behind when we weren’t doin’ anything except talkin’ to Edgar.”
Luke’s face turned almost as red as his beard. “You’d best watch who you’re callin’ a liar, old man. The way I told it is the way it happened, and I got half a dozen witnesses to back it up.”
“The men who helped you try to kill us, you mean? The ones who beat us senseless, stole everything we had, and dumped us in a damn mudhole for the hogs to eat?” Scratch’s voice shook with anger as he spoke, and Bo knew that his old friend was barely holding in the rage he felt.
Luke shook his head. “If that really happened, we didn’t have nothin’ to do with it. We just dragged you outta Uncle Edgar’s barn and left you in the alley beside it.” He laughed coldly. “There’s lots of shady characters in Mankiller these days. Ain’t no tellin’ who did those other things…if they really happened.”
“Yes, you’ve made it plain you don’t believe us,” Bo said.
“And you can’t prove a damned thing otherwise,” Luke gloated.
