“Why, you—” Scratch began.
Bo put a hand on his arm. “Take it easy. His word against ours, remember? And we swore to uphold the law.”
Scratch drew in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh of frustration. “All right,” he said. “For now.”
Bo looked at Luke and Thad and went on, “If you boys happen to come across any of our belongings, we’d really appreciate it if they were returned.”
Luke laughed again. “Yeah, sure. We’ll do that, won’t we, Thad?”
Thad just sneered and didn’t say anything.
“In the meantime—and this goes for you, too, Mr. Devery—Deputy Morton and I want you all to know that we’ll be helping Sheriff O’Brien enforce the law and keep the peace around here. If you have any problems, you come to us and let us handle them. Nobody takes the law into their own hands in Mankiller anymore.”
“Is that so?” Jackson Devery demanded. “You know who founded this town, don’t you, Deputy?”
“I do,” Bo said, “but that doesn’t make any difference. The founder of a town isn’t above the law.”
“For a long time,
Calmly, but loudly enough that the whole crowd could hear, Bo said, “Well, sir, those days are over.”
Devery glared at the Texans for a moment, then snapped, “Is there anything else you want?”
“Not right now,” Bo replied.
“Then get the hell away from my house. I’m done talkin’.”
With that, Devery turned on his heel and stalked back into the house. Luke and Thad went inside, too, sneering and glowering at Bo and Scratch along the way, slamming the door violently behind them.
“Well, that didn’t do us a damn bit of good,” Scratch said quietly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Bo said. “We got a look at the old man, and we know now that Luke and Thad aren’t going to tell the truth about what happened yesterday.”
Scratch snorted. “Hell, we knew that anyway.” He paused. “You see those dogs on the porch?”
“It’d be hard to miss them.”
“They’re damn near as big as horses!”
“Bull mastiffs,” Bo said. “They have hungry looks in their eyes, too. I’ll bet they’d come after anybody who walked through that gate. But there are other ways in, if it comes to that.” He smiled. “And who knows, maybe we can make friends with them.”
Scratch just looked doubtful about that idea.
As they turned away from the old house, they saw that the crowd that had followed them up the street was still there, at least for the most part. Folks were lingering, as if they were waiting to see what the Texans would do.
Bo smiled at them and said, “You folks go on about your business now. There’s nothing to see here.”
One man with a balding head and a prominent Adam’s apple stared at them and asked, “Are you fellas really deputies?”
Bo nodded. “Duly appointed and legally sworn.”
“And you’re gonna stand up to the Deverys?”
“We’re going to enforce the law and keep the peace,” Bo said. “That applies to the Deverys the same as it does anyone else.”
The man looked at them for a moment longer, then asked, “Have you met Sam Bradfield?”
“Move along!” Scratch growled. “Or we won’t be the ones needin’ the undertaker.”
The crowd started to break up as Bo and Scratch strode through it, heading back down the hill. They went to the sheriff’s office and found that Biscuits O’Brien had not returned. He was probably in one of the saloons guzzling down rotgut, and he might even be passed out somewhere.
The Texans spent the rest of the afternoon organizing and cleaning up the office, which looked like it hadn’t been swept out in months. There were two cells in the back. Bo took the mattresses from each bunk outside and gave them a good shaking to get rid of as much dust and as many bedbugs as he could. Scratch found a ratty broom in a closet and swept the place, then they both tried to wipe the grime off the windows. By the time they finished, the office and jail didn’t look exactly clean, but at least they weren’t filthy anymore, either.
Late in the afternoon, a man came in and introduced himself as Harlan Green, the owner of the Rocky Mountain Hotel. “Mankiller’s best,” he added with a wry smile, “which doesn’t mean quite as much when you realize that there are only two hotels in town.”
“Plus some flophouses,” Bo said as he returned the smile. “Or so we’ve heard.”
“What can we do for you, Mr. Green?” Scratch asked.
Green, who had graying, pomaded hair parted in the middle and a mustache, drew a couple of keys from the pocket of his coat and held them out. “It’s more a matter of what I can do for you, gentlemen. Two rooms in the hotel, for you to use free of charge as long as you’re working as deputies.”
“Lyle Rushford talked to you, didn’t he?” Bo asked, remembering what the saloon keeper had said that morning.
“Actually, Lyle and Wallace Kane both paid visits to me and explained the situation. I want to be part of the little group of concerned citizens that Mrs. Bonner has put together, and so does Jessie Haynes-worth, who owns
