good Texan, he was horrified by the thought of somebody not knowing how to play dominoes.
Bo smiled. “Yeah, I know how you feel about politics.”
“It brings out the windbag in just about anybody, even good folks like the ones we’re tryin’ to help. When you get back, you can tell me what they said, Bo. The important stuff, anyway. That’ll do me just fine.”
“And I don’t reckon I’d be welcome,” Biscuits said. “It was Pa Devery who pinned this star on me, after all.”
“That was when you were drinking,” Bo pointed out. “You’re sober now.”
Biscuits heaved a sigh. “Don’t I know it? And there ain’t no tellin’ how long that’ll last.”
“It’ll last,” Bo said, probably with more confidence than he actually felt. Biscuits was still pretty shaky at times, and more than once Bo had caught him sitting and staring into space as he licked his lips, the almost overpowering thirst for liquor easy to see on his whiskery face.
As Scratch began to shuffle the dominoes on top of the desk, Bo left the office and walked across the street to the cafe, where the meeting would take place. Night had fallen, although there was still a little bit of red in the western sky from the vanished sun. Music came from the saloons and there were still quite a few people on the boardwalks and in the street. Nobody seemed interested in making trouble, though.
Bo went into the cafe, which had closed early for this meeting. In addition to the group that had hired him and Scratch, Dr. Jason Weathers, Harlan Green, Colonel Horace Macauley, and several other business owners Bo had gotten to know were there. Some of them sat at the counter with their backs to the kitchen, while the others were grouped at a couple of the tables. Lucinda stood in the center of the meeting. She was the only one who didn’t have coffee.
“Go behind the counter and help yourself to a cup if you’d like, Bo,” she told him with a smile.
Bo returned the smile and said, “Don’t mind if I do.” When he was fortified with a cup of the strong, black brew, he thumbed his hat to the back of his head and sat down on one of the stools at the counter.
“We’ve gotten together here tonight to talk about what we’re going to do about the Deverys running against our candidates,” Lucinda began.
“We can’t do anything about it except defeat them,” Colonel Macauley said. He was a white-haired, white- mustachioed Virginian who tended toward expensive cigars, frock coats, and beaver top hats. A Southern drawl softened his voice. He had commanded a cavalry regiment during the Late Unpleasantness, as he referred to the war, and had left his ruined plantation behind afterward to come west and practice law.
He went on, “What they’re doin’ is perfectly legal, no matter how much of a consarned shame and fraud it may be. I think we all know that the Deverys aren’t interested in establishin’ any kind of legitimate local gov’ment. They just want to keep the reins of power in their own iron fists by any means possible.”
“Colonel, if you’re going to make a speech—” Lyle Rushford began, then the saloon keeper stopped short and looked around at the others. “That’s it! We need to have a rally so that all of our candidates can get up and tell people why they should vote for our side.”
Lucinda looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never been much of one for making speeches.”
“Nor have I,” Wallace Kane added.
“They don’t have to be fancy speeches like the colonel here, say, could make,” Rushford said. Macauley looked pleased at that. “They can be simple, as long as they’re sincere.”
Dr. Weathers spoke up. “Well, I, for one, don’t object to telling people how I feel. One of the things you learn as a doctor is how to give people a piece of your mind when you think they need it.”
Harlan Green chimed in, “I reckon I could say a few words, if I need to. I’m not that crazy about the idea, but I guess it would be all right.”
“I’m still not sure,” Lucinda said. She looked at Bo. “What do you think, Bo?”
He shrugged. “Personally, I’ve never cared much for political rallies and all that speechifying. But they must work, or people wouldn’t keep having them.”
“Deputy Creel’s got a point, Lucinda,” Sam Bradfield said. “If we’re going to beat the Deverys and finally break their hold on this town, we have to use whatever weapons are available to us, even speeches.”
Lucinda sighed. “I suppose you’re right, Sam.” She looked around at the others. “All right, if we’re all in agreement, we’ll have a rally. When?”
“The night before the election,” Abner Malden said. “You want what you say to be fresh in folks’ minds when they go to vote the next day.”
A chorus of agreement came from the other men. With the issue of whether or not to have a rally settled, they started hashing out the details, and after some discussion, they decided to hold the gathering in front of Rushford’s Colorado Palace Saloon. They would build a speaker’s platform at the edge of the street and hang red-white-and- blue bunting on the railing that ran along the edge of the second-floor balcony. Lanterns could be hung from that balcony, too, so that there would be plenty of light for the crowd to see the speakers.
When they started talking about the order in which the speeches would be presented, Bo drank the last of his coffee and eased off the stool. “If you’ll pardon me, gents…and ma’am,” he added with a nod to Lucinda, “I ought to get back to the sheriff’s office. I think you’re on the right track here, folks, but you don’t really need me to help you figure out what you’re going to do.”
Lucinda put a hand on his arm and squeezed for a second. “Thank you, Bo.”
He smiled, nodded, tugged on the brim of his hat, and left the cafe.
He wasn’t quite back to the sheriff’s office when he heard the sound of running footsteps approaching. A man came out of the darkness. He didn’t seem to see Bo until the Texan reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Whoa there!” Bo said. “What’s the matter, mister?”
“Deputy, is that you?”
