though.”
Rushford nodded. “You don’t think Devery will try to keep people from voting, do you?”
“There’s no tellin’ what that varmint might try,” Scratch said.
The Texans walked up the street to the cafe. The place was very busy this morning. Lucinda might be the mayor of Mankiller before the day was over, but for now she was hustling to get breakfast cooked and served for all her customers. She barely had time to greet Bo and Scratch with a smile.
“Go on back to the kitchen and tell Charley I said to feed you,” she told them.
“Yes, ma’am,” Scratch said. “I ain’t gonna turn down that offer.”
They helped themselves to coffee in the kitchen, and Charley Ellis set plates heaped with food in front of them. He asked, “Does that sister of mine know what she’s doing?”
“By feedin’ us on the cuff, you mean?” Scratch shook his head. “I don’t know, she’s liable to go broke doin’ that.”
“No, I mean this loco mayor business. Devery’s not gonna let her get away with it.”
“He won’t have any choice in the matter,” Bo said. “It’s up to the voters.”
Charley’s disgusted grunt showed just what he thought of that idea.
After the Texans had eaten, they stopped at the counter in the front room long enough for Bo to ask Lucinda, “Will you be coming down to the Colorado Palace later?”
She shook her head. “It looks like I’m going to be busy here all day. Just send someone to get me when it’s all over…if you need me.”
“We will,” Scratch said confidently.
They took a quick turn around town. Most businesses were open and doing a brisk trade. The hitch rails were full, as usual, and a lot of people were on the boardwalks and in the street. An air of excitement gripped the town. Folks smiled and greeted Bo and Scratch by name.
The only Deverys they had seen so far were the trio locked up in the jail.
When they returned to the sheriff’s office, they found Biscuits O’Brien eating the breakfast that Callie Bonner had delivered to him when she brought over the prisoners’ meals. Bo thought something was different about the sheriff, and after studying Biscuits for a moment, he asked, “Did you shave and wash up?”
Biscuits grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I did.”
“And he even brushed his hair, looks like,” Scratch said. “I’ll swan, Biscuits, what’s gotten into you?”
“It’s election day,” Biscuits said. “Maybe by the time the day’s over, I’ll be a real sheriff.”
Bo told him, “You already are. You’ve done a fine job guarding those prisoners.”
“Nobody’s tried to take ’em away,” Biscuits pointed out.
“You’d better keep a close eye on them today,” Bo said. “Devery might try to take advantage of all the commotion going on and bust them out.”
Biscuits patted the stock of one of the shotguns lying on the desk. “I’ll be ready for him if he does.”
From the cell block, Thad called, “Hey, deputies! Creel! Morton!”
Scratch stepped over to the door and swung it open. “What do you want?”
Thad gave the Texans an ugly grin. “Just wanted to take one last look at you bastards. You’re about to learn that you can’t mess with the Deverys.”
“You’re on the wrong side of the bars to be sayin’ anything like that.”
“For now,” Thad said. “For now.”
Scratch slammed the door. “I shouldn’t let that ugly little varmint get under my skin,” he muttered, “but he does.”
“Come on,” Bo said. “Let’s get back over to the saloon.”
Men were already lining up outside the Colorado Palace, even though the doors were still locked and it was half an hour until they would open for voting. Bo and Scratch made their way through the crowd and knocked on the doors. Rushford let them in again. By now the room was set up the way it was supposed to be. Rushford took a big gold watch from his pocket, checked the time, and said, “Now all we have to do is wait.”
The half hour passed slowly, but it passed. And finally, when the hands of Rushford’s watch pointed at nine and twelve, he nodded to the Texans. Bo went over to the door, twisted the key in the lock, and opened it.
“The election’s on,” he called to the crowd outside, which now filled the street. Cheers and whoops went up from the townspeople. Bo thought again that they really needed a brass band here in Mankiller.
As men surged toward the door, he held up a hand to slow them down. “One at a time,” he said. “Line up Indian style, one at a time. That’s the only way this’ll work.”
With Scratch standing close to the tables where Rushford’s bartenders sat to run the election and Bo ushering the men into the saloon, the voting got under way. Bo cautioned the men not to talk about who they were voting for.
“That’s why they call it a secret ballot,” he said.
One of the men pointed to the middle table. “The fella sittin’ there can see who I put down,” he said. “So can the other two.”
“Maybe, but they’re not looking. They’ve sworn to be impartial.”
