“The law does,” Bo said. “For that matter, your nephew Thad drew on me, so that probably counts as attempted murder, too.”
“I hear you shot him! Shot him like a dog!”
“Bo could’ve killed him, easy,” Scratch said. “Thad’s lucky to be alive, considerin’ the stunt he pulled, and that’s the truth.”
Devery shook his head. “I don’t care about any of that. You can’t hold ’em. You can’t put Deverys behind bars. Not in this town!”
“Sorry. They’ll have to stay locked up until we figure out what to do about a trial.”
A gleam of triumph suddenly appeared in Devery’s eyes. “There ain’t gonna be no trial!” he trumpeted. “Because there ain’t no judge! It’ll be six months before the circuit judge comes through again, if he ever comes at all!”
Bo didn’t know if that was true or not, but if it was, it was a blow to his hopes. On the other hand, maybe it was an opening…
He raised his voice so that it carried clearly to everybody in the street and said, “If that’s the case, then it sounds to me like what the citizens of Mankiller need to do is elect their own judge, so they won’t have to wait for somebody to come in from outside in order to see justice done!”
A surprised silence hung over the street for a moment, before someone in the back of the crowd called, “Hell, yeah! We need our own judge!”
Other people took up the cry, and as the cheers of support for the idea grew, Jackson Devery’s face flushed darker and darker with rage.
Scratch caught on to what Bo was doing. He held up a hand for silence, and when the crowd quieted enough for him to be heard, he said, “While you’re electin’ a judge, you might as well go ahead and elect a mayor and a town council, too! Then this town can be run like a real town ought to be!”
That declaration brought even more thunderous cheers. Devery suddenly swung around and jabbed a shaking finger at the crowd.
“Shut up! Shut the hell up, all of you! There ain’t gonna be no election, not for a judge, not for a town council, and not for no damned mayor! I founded this town! I own the land all up and down this valley! I run things around here, by God!”
“Not anymore, Devery,” Bo said quietly to the man’s back.
Devery stood there for a long moment, trembling with fury. Then he turned to glare at the Texans again and said in a low voice, “You two bastards are gonna regret this, and so are the fools who put you up to it. I’ll burn this town to the ground before I let anybody take it away from me.”
“Why would you do a stupid thing like that?” Bo asked. “You’re making a fortune off the gold rush. It’s unfair, but it’s legal. Why can’t you just sit back and collect your money?”
Devery’s breath hissed between his clenched teeth. “You sons o’ bitches always look down your noses at me and my kin. I seen it all my life. Think you’re better than me and mine.”
“Mister, you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Scratch said. “Bo and me, we’re just a couple of hombres who been driftin’ most of our lives, never ownin’ much but our horses and saddles and the clothes on our backs. We don’t think we’re better than anybody, you can damn well bet a hat on that.”
Devery ignored him. He swung around and waved his hands at the crowd again. “All of you!” he shouted. “All of you will be sorry you crossed Jackson Devery! You hear me?”
With that, he turned and stalked off along the boardwalk, slashing his arms at the bystanders who didn’t get out of his way fast enough. Jeers and cat-calls followed him.
Bo said, “I understand why they feel the way they do about Devery, but those folks aren’t making things any better.”
“Yeah, he’s full of pride and plumb loco to start with,” Scratch agreed. “That ain’t a good combination. Mix that together with anger over his boys bein’ locked up and fear that he’s gonna lose somethin’ he thought he never could lose—”
“And it’s liable to turn into something dangerous enough to blow up this whole town,” Bo said.
CHAPTER 18
Now that they had prisoners locked up in the jail cells, Bo and Scratch knew they couldn’t leave things in the hands of Biscuits O’Brien. Someone would have to stay there all night and guard the place.
“We’ll take turns,” Scratch suggested. “One of us can stay, and the other can go over to the hotel and get some sleep. I’ll flip you for the first shift.”
“With what?” Bo asked. “We don’t have any coins, just those few bills Mrs. Bonner was able to give us as an advance.”
Scratch rubbed his jaw. “Oh, yeah. Dadgummit. I don’t even have my lucky silver dollar no more.”
“Your two-headed silver dollar, you mean?”
Scratch put his hand over his heart. “Why, Bo, are you accusin’ me of cheatin’ in the past whenever we’d flip for somethin’? And us havin’ been saddle pards for so long! I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”
Bo grinned and jerked a thumb toward the door. “Go get some sleep. I’ll take the first shift. I’m not that sleepy right now, anyway.”
“Well, if that’s the way you want it…” Scratch tucked one of the scatterguns under his arm and then left the office.
