She turned to Bo and Scratch and asked, “Did I do all right?”
“You did more’n all right,” Scratch assured her. “You said just the right things, and anybody with a lick of sense is gonna vote for you.”
She shook her head doubtfully. “I’m not sure. Jackson Devery pretty much came right out and said that if he and the others aren’t elected, they’ll take revenge on the town.”
“Let him try it,” Colonel Macauley said. “Let him just try it, and he’ll see what happens then!”
“What will happen then?” Lucinda asked. “You all saw, he had at least twenty men with him. Twenty well-armed men who are used to violence and who’ll do whatever he tells them to do. What do we have in answer to that threat?”
Everyone’s eyes swung to Bo and Scratch.
Scratch grinned and shrugged. “Ten-to-one odds,” he said. “Nothin’ to worry about.”
But Bo knew from their worried expressions that no one here tonight believed that.
CHAPTER 29
The morning of June 5, election day in Mankiller, dawned beautifully. At this elevation the heat of summer hadn’t taken over yet, so there was still a pleasantly cool crispness to the air. The sky over the mountains was a deep blue, dotted here and there with white clouds swept along by a good breeze. It was the sort of day that made a man feel glad to be alive.
And if he and Scratch were still alive at the end of it, Bo reflected, he would be glad about that, too. Maybe even a little surprised.
When they got to the Colorado Palace Saloon, they found the doors closed and locked. Scratch rapped on one of the doors, and after a moment Lyle Rushford looked out the window to see who was there and then came over to unlock the door.
“We closed down a short time ago,” Rushford explained as the Texans came into the saloon. “Some of my regulars didn’t like being kicked out, but I told them we’d be open again tonight, after the election’s over.”
“Appreciate you volunteering the use of your place,” Bo said.
Rushford shrugged. “It’s the biggest room in town. Anyway, in the long run it’ll be good for business. People will hang around to find out what the results of the election are, and then they’ll already be here when they want to celebrate afterward.”
“Let’s hope there’s somethin’ to celebrate,” Scratch said.
“There will be,” the saloon keeper replied. “I’ve got a good feeling about it.”
Bo hoped Rushford was right. If the vote went against the Deverys, what could Jackson Devery do? He couldn’t seriously think that he and his family could gun down all the winning candidates, along with the town’s lawmen, and get away with it. Could he?
The problem was, Bo honestly didn’t know the answer to that question. He didn’t know how crazy drunk with power Jackson Devery really was.
The election was scheduled to last from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon. That would give every man in Mankiller enough time to vote. Bo and Scratch planned to be on hand the whole time, just to make certain there were no disturbances.
Rushford’s bartenders were moving the tables back, creating a large open space where people could line up to vote. They would be given ballots at one table, stop at another table to mark them, and then drop the ballots in a strongbox with a hole cut in the lid that sat on a third table.
“We’ll leave you to finish getting ready,” Bo told the saloonkeeper. “We’ll be back before the voting starts, 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 café. 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.