Bo smiled. “Actually, I had something else in mind. I think you ought to be mayor.”
Lucinda looked shocked. “Me? But I’m a woman. I can’t even vote!”
“Maybe not, but I don’t see why that would keep folks from voting for you. You must know just about everybody in town, Mrs. Bonner. Most of them have probably eaten here at one time or another, and I would think the food here would be a good incentive for them to vote for you.”
“That’s hardly a reason to elect someone mayor,” Lucinda protested.
“Who came up with the idea of hiring Scratch and me as deputies?”
“Well…Francis really thought of it, but he and I discussed it before we brought in the other businessmen.”
“There’s proof that you’re devoted to improving the town and making Mankiller a better place to live,” Bo said.
Scratch grinned as he leaned his elbows on the counter. “You’re wastin’ your time arguin’ with this old varmint, ma’am. Once Bo gets an idea in his head, you can’t blast it out with dynamite.”
“That’s because I’m right most of the time,” Bo said.
“Well, there’s one thing you’re forgetting, Mr. Creel,” Lucinda said as her face grew solemn. “If we have an election, Jackson Devery won’t like it. He’s not going to just sit back and accept any threat to his power in this town. He’ll try to put a stop to it, and if he can’t do that, he’ll do the next best thing. He’ll run for mayor himself and try to get his relatives elected as the town council!”
Bo shrugged. “That’s his right. You and the others will just have to out-campaign him.”
“Problem is,” Scratch drawled, “if it looks like they’re fixin’ to lose, Devery and his bunch are liable to vote with bullets, not ballots!”
CHAPTER 15
The special was beef stew, and it was as good as the food they’d had here the day before. Bo and Scratch enjoyed the meal and mopped the last drops of stew from their bowls with pieces of sweet cornbread.
Lucinda had had to tend to the needs of other customers seated at the counter, but as the Texans finished their food, she came back over to them and said quietly, “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about. I’ll discuss it with the others, and with my daughters, and if we’re all in agreement, I’ll run for mayor.”
“It could be dangerous,” Bo pointed out. “Especially if you wind up running against Jackson Devery.”
She laughed. “It was your idea, Mr. Creel. Are you trying to talk me out of it now?”
Bo shook his head. “No, ma’am. I still think you’d make a fine mayor. I just want to be sure you know what you’re getting into.”
“I promise you, I know. It’ll be worth a little risk if we can work together and make Mankiller a decent place to live.”
“There’s one other thing you can talk to the business owners about, if you don’t mind. If it’s possible, Scratch and I could use a little advance on our wages.” Bo grunted and shook his head. “After that run-in at the livery stable, we’re flat broke.”
“I’ll see what I can do. We should be able to get a little money together.” Lucinda frowned. “If you know it was the Deverys who attacked and robbed you, can’t you arrest them for that?”
“Edgar Devery claims that we started the fight and that his son and the others just came in to help him. He says he doesn’t know anything about what happened after we were dragged out of the barn.”
“What about Luke and Thad and the others?”
Bo stroked his jaw as he thought. “We saw Luke and Thad on the street, but we didn’t question them about what happened.” He looked over at Scratch. “We ought to do that, just to see what they’ll say.”
“Whatever it is, I reckon there’s a good chance it’ll be a lie,” Scratch replied.
“I wouldn’t mind getting a look at this Jackson Devery, too. He’s the leader of that bunch, so we’re going to have to deal with him sooner or later.”
Lucinda’s eyes widened. “You’re going up to the Devery house?”
“I think it’d be a good idea.”
“Be careful. Those people are vicious.”
“We’ve stepped plumb into a den of rattlers before, ma’am,” Scratch said. “I reckon we’ll be all right.”
They left the café and turned toward the big house at the top of the hill. As they walked in that direction, Bo asked, “When we were looking at the Devery place before, did you notice someone watching us from one of the second-story windows?”
Scratch shook his head. “Can’t say as I did. You see somebody up there?”
“I thought I did,” said Bo, “but I’m not sure.”
The shoot-out with Finn Murdock and his friends was the talk of the town. Bo heard the low-voiced comments behind them as they passed knots of townspeople but paid little attention to them. As he and Scratch continued toward the house, people began to follow them. It was obvious that they were heading for the old Devery place, and the citizens of Mankiller were curious to see what was going to happen.
“Appears we’re drawin’ a crowd,” Scratch said quietly after glancing over his shoulder.
“I know. I don’t much like it, either, but I’m not sure what we can do about it. Folks have a right to walk where they want to.”
It wasn’t just pedestrians following them. Men on horseback fell in with the followers, and a couple of wagons joined the procession, too.
“Dang it, it’s startin’ to look like we’re leadin’ a parade!”
Bo sighed. “If there’s any gunplay, they don’t want to miss it.”
“You reckon there will be? Any gunplay, that is?”
“That depends on how hotheaded Jackson Devery is. I’ve got a hunch the rest of his family will follow his lead.”
They had almost reached the house. An unpainted picket fence enclosed the weed-grown yard in front of the place. The pickets had been nailed on carelessly, so some of them stood at angles, and the gate sagged loosely on its hinges. There was no walk inside, only a narrow path beaten down by the feet of those who lived here.
Bo was reaching for the gate when Scratch said, “Hold on. Look up yonder on the porch.”
Bo looked and saw movement in the shadows cast by the porch roof. Two huge black dogs were lying there, their heads raised now as they stared at the Texans.
“If we set foot in there, them hounds are liable to come after us,” Scratch warned. “They got a mean look about ’em.”
“What else would you expect, considering who their masters are?” Bo asked. He raised his voice, calling, “Hello, in the house!”
There was no response except a pricking forward of the dogs’ ears.
“Devery!” Bo shouted. “Jackson Devery! Come on out here!”
He glanced toward the second-story windows, halfway expecting to see the curtains move again, but they hung motionless behind the glass.
“Devery! Come on out in the name of the law!”
After another long, tense moment ticked by, the front door opened with a squall of rusted hinges. The man who stepped out onto the porch regarded Bo and Scratch with such a powerful, visceral hatred that they could feel it like a physical blow, clear across the front yard.
“I’m Jackson Devery,” the man said. “What do you want?”
He was tall, broad-shouldered, a man still vital and fit despite his obvious age. Like the farmer he had once been, he wore overalls and a white shirt. His brown, leathery face was as sharp as the blade of an ax. Long white hair swept back in wings from his high forehead. Bushy side whiskers of the same snowy shade crawled down onto his strong jaw. He was clean shaven other than that and had the piercing eyes and arrogant confidence of an Old Testament prophet.