“Oh, there are plenty of jobs,” Francis said. “People who own businesses can’t find enough men to work for them, because everybody who’s able bodied enough is up in the hills panning in the creeks or digging mine shafts, trying to find gold. You can probably get jobs in one of the saloons as bartenders or dishwashers. The livery stables need men to handle horses and keep the stalls clean, too.”
Scratch shook his head. “We’ve done our share of livery stable work lately.”
“I’d say most of the stores could use an extra clerk or two, as well,” Francis said. “I know that’s probably not the sort of job you’re used to, but since you don’t have any money to buy a prospecting outfit, you’re not going to have much choice. You’ve got to make enough to eat.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a couple of partners in this mining claim, would you?” Bo asked.
“I’m afraid not. By the time I pay the Deverys their share, the gold I’ve been taking out of the ground barely pays for my supplies.”
“That’s what I figured you’d say.”
Francis shrugged. “Sorry I can’t be of more help.”
“You’ve done plenty,” Bo assured him, “and Scratch and I really appreciate it. At least we’re alive and have reasonably clean clothes to wear. For a while there it didn’t look like either of those things was going to be possible.”
They shook hands with Francis, then started trudging upriver toward the settlement. It wouldn’t take them long to reach it. While they were walking, Scratch said, “I don’t much cotton to the idea of hidin’ out from them Deverys.”
“Neither do I,” Bo said, “but we’ve got to be reasonable about the situation. We can’t take them on like this, broke and unarmed.”
“What if Edgar sells our horses? We’ve had those animals a long time.”
Bo nodded. “And they’ve been mighty good mounts, too. But there are other horses out there. Anyway, I don’t think he’s likely to sell them. Nobody around here could afford them except some of the Deverys, which means they’ll still be around Mankiller. We’ll have a chance to get them back, I’m sure of it.”
“I hope you’re right. I’d like to get my hands on them Remingtons of mine again, too.”
“They’ll probably wind up in Devery hands. We’ll just have to be patient and see what we can do.”
When they got close to the settlement, they circled up the slope a ways so they could enter Mankiller by one of the cross streets. They found an alley that ran behind several of the saloons fronting on Main Street.
“We’ll make a start here,” Bo decided. “Maybe one of these places can use a couple of dishwashers.”
“I’d rather tend bar, myself,” Scratch said.
“Yeah, but that would mean being out front where the Deverys could see you if they came in.”
Scratch frowned. “Damn, I don’t like this! We never run from trouble before, Bo.”
“I’m not sure we’ve ever been broke and unarmed before, either,” Bo pointed out.
“Maybe not, but I recollect a time when you wouldn’t have worried so much about that. You used to be willin’ to charge hell with a bucket of water.”
Bo bristled a little. “Are you saying that I’m getting old?”
“We ain’t neither one of us spring chickens no more. It’s just that one of us seems more worried about that fact than the other.”
They stood there in the alley glaring at each other for a second. This wasn’t the first time friction had flared between the two trail partners. No two people with such strong personalities could travel together for years without rubbing each other the wrong way sometimes.
But after a moment, Bo shrugged and said, “Think whatever you want to. When the time comes, just hide and watch and you’ll see how worried I am about being old.”
“I’ll do that,” Scratch said. “For now, let’s go see about gettin’ those jobs as…dishwashers.”
They entered the first of the saloons they came to through the rear door and found a door that probably led to the owner’s office. A knock on that door brought a call to come in. As they stepped inside, a gaunt-faced man with a Vandyke beard looked up from a ledger open before him on a desk.
“What is it?” he asked in a voice as sharp and pointed as his beard.
“My friend and I are looking for jobs,” Bo said.
The saloon keeper leaned back in his chair. His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Jobs?” he repeated. “Most men who come to Mankiller are looking for gold.”
“Not us,” Bo said. “We’re willing to work at whatever chores you have.”
The man stroked his beard. “I could use a couple of swampers. Usually I can hire an old drunk for that job, but even they’re out prospecting these days.”
“How much is the pay?”
“Fifty dollars a week for each of you. That’s all I can afford.”
“That sounds pretty good—” Scratch began, but Bo held up a hand to stop him.
“Wait a minute,” Bo said. “Let me do some figuring. Do you have a place here we can sleep?”
The saloonkeeper shook his head. “Every bit of space in this building is being used. There’s a storage room down here, but it’s full. My quarters and a couple of other rooms are upstairs, but the girls who work here use those extra rooms…twenty-four hours a day if you know what I mean.”
“How much is a room in a hotel, assuming we could get one?”
The man smiled. “You might be able to get an eight-hour shift in one, but it would cost you dearly. The flophouses are easier to get into. Eight hours in a bunk there will run about twenty-five dollars.”
Bo figured rapidly, recalling what Lucinda Bonner had told them about the price of meals in Mankiller. When he finished his calculations, he said, “What you’re offering us as a week’s pay would only last us about three days.”
The saloonkeeper shrugged. “I can’t help that. It’s all I can afford.”
“We’d be losing money going to work for you. If we had any to lose, that is.”
The man just shrugged again. “Sorry.”
Bo turned to Scratch. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Maybe one of the other saloons will pay better,” Scratch suggested.
The bearded man’s laughter followed them out the door.
Over the next couple of hours, Bo and Scratch paid unobtrusive visits to every saloon, hash house, and mercantile they could find. Every business owner they talked to was eager to hire them, confirming what Francis had said about there being a shortage of able-bodied workers in Mankiller.
But no one was willing to offer more than fifty dollars a week in wages, and some offered even less. The Texans’ frustration grew.
“This is sure a bad layout,” Scratch said as they paused in an alley behind one of the general stores. “Everybody needs to hire some help, but they can’t afford to because of havin’ to pay that big cut to the Deverys. We need money, but if we take a job, we’ll be just as broke as we are now, maybe even broker, if there is such a thing!”
“Yes, it just goes around and around in one of those vicious circles, doesn’t it?” Bo said.
“Maybe we should mosey down to the bridge and jump whichever Deverys are on duty there collectin’ tolls. We could get a couple of guns that way and start huntin’ ’em down, one or two at a time.”
“If we did that, we’d be the ones breaking the law,” Bo said.
“Then, dadgummit, what can we do?”
“You can come with me,” a woman’s voice said from behind them.
CHAPTER 11
Bo and Scratch looked around in surprise. Lucinda Bonner stood there wearing a dark blue dress and looking as lovely as ever. She had taken off the apron she wore while working behind the counter in the café.
Out of habit, Bo started to reach up and touch the brim of his hat before he remembered that he wasn’t wearing one. He settled for nodding and saying, “Ma’am. It’s good to see you again.”