Wearing puzzled expressions, Scratch and Biscuits followed Bo into the cell block. Reuben and Simeon immediately started to complain, but Bo held up a hand to silence them. Thad just glared from the cell across the aisle.
“I’ve got some news for you boys,” Bo told the brothers. “You probably don’t know it yet, but you’re running for town council in the election.”
“What?” The exclamation came from four people: Scratch, Biscuits, and the two candidates themselves. Thad was the only one who still didn’t say anything.
“I said you’re running for town council,” Bo repeated. “Your brother Luke is, too. He’s out nailing up handbills all over town about it right now.”
“But that ain’t possible,” Scratch protested. “They’re in jail!”
Bo shrugged. “That doesn’t keep them from running. If they’re elected, I figure the new judge will dismiss the charges against them.”
“What new judge?”
“Their Uncle Edgar.”
“That damn liveryman who tried to steal our horses?”
“One and the same,” Bo replied with a nod.
“But he can’t be a judge! He takes care of horses and mucks out stalls for a livin’.”
“Evidently that doesn’t disqualify him. And I’m sure that if these two get elected, it’ll mean that the rest of the Devery slate won the election, too.”
“The rest of the Devery slate?” Biscuits asked.
“The old man’s running for mayor, and somebody named Granville Devery is running for the other spot on the town council.”
Reuben said, “That’s one of our cousins. Uncle Lester’s boy.”
“I don’t recall hearing about a Lester Devery,” Bo said.
“That’s ’cause he’s dead,” Reuben explained. “Fever got him a little more’n a year ago.”
Scratch grunted. “Sorry…I guess.” He looked around at Thad in the other cell. “I notice they didn’t put you up for election.”
Thad sneered. “I’m not interested in bein’ on any damn town council. The whole thing’s loco anyway. When I get outta here, I’ll show all of you who the real law is in Mankiller.”
“I reckon we’ll see about that,” Bo said, although he thought it was a foregone conclusion that if the Deverys got elected, Edgar would dismiss the charges against his own son. Bo went on, “It won’t take long, either. The election’s only six days away.”
“A lot can happen in six days,” Thad said.
Bo didn’t like the sound of that. Didn’t like it one damned bit.
CHAPTER 25
That evening, the group that had hired Bo and Scratch to be deputies in the first place met again. Lucinda sent word to Bo that they would like for him to be there.
“Are you sure you don’t mind missing out on whatever they’re going to talk about?” he asked Scratch before he left the sheriff’s office to attend the meeting.
“You mean, would I rather sit in some stuffy room and listen to folks yammer about politics, or stay here and play dominoes with Biscuits?” In recent days, Scratch had been teaching Biscuits how to play the game. Like any 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 café, 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 café, 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.”