“We have met him. Why do they call him Biscuits?” Bo asked.
“I don’t have any earthly idea. But it suits him, don’t you think?”
Bo had to admit that Francis was right about that.
“So, how did you boys get on the wrong side of the Deverys? You must’ve done something to offend them to wind up in the hog pen like that.”
Bo felt instinctively that they could trust the burly O’Hanrahan, so he explained about the encounter at the bridge, with Scratch adding some of the details. By the time Bo got to the part about taking their horses into Edgar Devery’s stable, Francis was shaking his head.
“You fellas really are lucky to be alive,” he said. “I’m sure when they dumped you in the hog pen, they figured you’d be out cold until it was too late to stop the hogs from eating you. You must be tougher than they thought.”
“They took our guns and our money,” Scratch said. “Probably our horses and the rest of our gear, too.”
Francis nodded. “Oh, yes, I think you can be pretty certain of that. I’d say that you boys don’t own anything at the moment except those filthy clothes you left outside.”
“That’s not true,” Bo said. “Those other things still belong to us, whether the Deverys have them or not.”
Francis looked at them and frowned. “How do you figure that? You can’t get them back.”
“Sure we can,” Scratch said. “All we have to do is kill all them damned Deverys first.”
CHAPTER 10
Francis O’Hanrahan looked at them like he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. After a long moment, he shook his head.
“I’m tempted to tell you to get the hell out of here, right now. I’m like just about everybody else around here who isn’t named Devery. I spent what I had to get here, once I heard about that gold strike. I can’t afford not to stay and try to make the best of it, no matter how bad things are.”
Bo thought about Lucinda Bonner and her daughters running the café in town, as well as all the other honest business owners. No wonder prices were so high and yet folks were struggling anyway. They had to turn over half of what they made to the Deverys. The thought made anger well up in him. It might be legal, but it just wasn’t right.
And if the Deverys had been getting their way through intimidation or even murder, it wasn’t even legal.
“We can leave if you want,” Bo said.
Francis sighed. “No, you can stay. You can wash your clothes and let them dry, since they’re all you’ve got. I’d loan you some of my duds, but I don’t have anything that’ll fit a couple of long-legged Texans like you!”
“We’re obliged to you, Francis,” Scratch said.
“Yeah, yeah. Just do me one favor.”
“What’s that?” Bo asked.
“When the Deverys try to kill you the next time, they’re liable to ask you first if anybody helped you. Don’t tell them it was me.”
Bo nodded. “You’ve got a deal.”
“Meanwhile, you can stay here tonight. I can feed you, help you get back on your feet before you go back to the settlement…to get slaughtered.”
“Cheerful cuss, ain’t you?” Scratch said.
“Just trying to be realistic.”
Now that they were mostly dry and had warmed up some, Bo and Scratch tied the blankets around themselves like Roman togas and went outside to get their clothes. Francis had a washtub and a wash-board, as well as a chunk of lye soap. They filled the tub with water and built a fire under it, and using a couple of branches to pick up the filthy clothes, they soon had the garments soaking in the hot water. They let it build to a boil. That couldn’t hurt, and the clothes were old enough and had been washed enough times that they wouldn’t shrink.
It took the rest of the afternoon to get the clothes clean, and even then, they still had a few stains here and there and carried a faint odor of hog pen that would just have to wear off. Scratch took that philosophically, saying, “Oh, well, it ain’t like we normally smell like roses, anyway.”
While their clothes were drying outside, the Texans shared the supper Francis had prepared. It was salt pork, potatoes, and wild greens, and while it was a far cry from the wonderful meal they’d had in Lucinda Bonner’s café earlier that day, they were grateful for the food.
Out of idle curiosity as they were eating, Bo asked their host, “Do you know Mrs. Bonner who runs the café in town?”
“Lucinda?” A smile lit up Francis’s ruddy face. “Aye. Every bachelor for twenty miles around knows the lovely Mrs. Bonner.”
That brought a scowl to Scratch’s face. He had entertained thoughts of courting Lucinda himself, Bo knew, but now it appeared that if he did, he would have a lot of competition.
Francis went on, “It was all they could do to wait a decent amount of time after her poor husband passed away before they started showing up on her doorstep, bouquets in hand. I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I may have paid her a visit myself. But it didn’t do any of us any good. She’s devoted to her girls and her business and hasn’t the time for anything else in her life.”
“Maybe she just ain’t found anything else worth makin’ the time for,” Scratch suggested.
Francis laughed. “Hope springs eternal, doesn’t it? You’re welcome to try your hand, my friend, but I doubt it’ll do you any good. Besides, once the Deverys find out you’re still alive, you’ll be so busy dodging them you won’t have much time for pitching woo.”
“Dodging the Deverys isn’t what we have in mind,” Bo said. “We want our horses and our gear back, and somebody around here needs to stand up to that bunch.”
“A noble goal. The first thing you should do is talk to a man named Sam Bradfield.”
“The undertaker,” Bo said. “Yeah, we know. Sheriff O’Brien told us the same thing.”
Francis frowned. “Good Lord. I didn’t realize I’d be offering the same advice as Biscuits O’Brien. What a mortifying turn of events.”
It would be morning before their clothes were dry enough to wear. Francis offered them the hospitality of the dugout floor. They made beds of pine boughs and covered them with blankets. They had slept on worse in their time, but still it wasn’t a very comfortable night.
The smell that clung to their clothes had faded a little more by morning, so Bo and Scratch were able to get dressed without wrinkling their noses too much. “When we get some money, we’d best buy ourselves some lilac water,” Scratch suggested.
“Yeah, that’ll make us smell a lot better,” Bo said dryly. “Because lilac water and hog droppings go together so well.”
Francis O’Hanrahan sat on a stump in front of his dugout, chewing on another unlit cigar, and asked, “What are you fellas going to do when you get back to town?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Bo said. “We can’t just walk in and confront the Deverys.”
“We can’t?” Scratch asked.
Bo shook his head. “No, there are too many of them, and we’re unarmed. If they’re as casual about breaking the law as they seem to be, they’ll just jump us and beat the hell out of us again, then throw us back in the hog pen. They’d probably take the time to make sure we were dead first, though.”
Scratch looked like he wasn’t happy about agreeing, but he said, “Yeah, I reckon you’re right, Bo. Ten to one odds are too much when we don’t have guns or even knives.”
“We’re going to have to bide our time,” Bo went on. “We’ll try to stay out of the Deverys’ way, maybe get a job and earn some money so we can outfit ourselves a little before we confront them.” He looked over at Francis. “If there are jobs to be had in Mankiller, that is.”