He stalked to the door, jerked it open, and stomped out of the saloon. The people waiting in the street for the results of the election could tell by his expression and demeanor who had won. Cheers erupted.
Scratch looked over at Bo. “What do you reckon the Deverys will do now?”
“I don’t know,” Bo replied with a shake of his head, “but I’d bet a hat it won’t be anything good. We’d better get back over to the jail—”
The wild celebration going on in the street suddenly quieted, causing the Texan to look toward the saloon doors in alarm. Luke had left one of them open when he stalked out, and one of the townies appeared there, eyes wide. Bo recognized him as little Ernie Bond, who always seemed to be the bearer of bad news.
That wasn’t about to change now. Ernie gulped and said, “Deputies, come quick! There’s a bunch of strangers with guns ridin’ into town, and they look like they’re ready to start shootin’ the place up!”
CHAPTER 30
Trailed by Rushford and the other men, Bo and Scratch hurried outside, drawing their guns as they did so. Bo wondered if Jackson Devery had sent for the newcomers. They might be more Devery relatives, or even hired gunfighters.
He wasn’t prepared for what he saw when he and the others came out on the porch of the Colorado Palace, though.
A dozen riders were stopped in the middle of the street. They were well armed and looked plenty tough, but they didn’t possess the cold-eyed menace of professional gunmen. Bo recognized several of them, including the broad-shouldered, big-gutted, craggy-faced man in the lead.
“Big John Peeler,” Bo said in surprise. “What in blazes are you doing here?”
Peeler thumbed his hat back on his graying hair and grinned down from his horse. “Lookin’ for you and Morton,” he said.
“You trailed us all the way up here from New Mexico?” Scratch asked.
“I sure did. Left Joe in charge of the Circle JP and brought some of the boys from the crew with me. Figured I needed to track you down.”
From just behind the Texans, Rushford asked quietly, “An old enemy of yours, deputies?”
“You could say that,” Bo replied. He didn’t take his eyes off Peeler. “You must be pretty mad, Big John, to come all the way up here just to settle a score with us.”
Peeler frowned. “Settle a score? What are you talkin’ about, Creel?”
“That fight we had just before Scratch and I rode out.”
“You mean when you walloped me over that little trick I pulled on Case Ridley?”
“And on us,” Scratch said. “You could’ve got us killed, Peeler.”
The big cattleman sighed. “Yeah, I know. I get these ideas in my head sometimes, and they ain’t always good ones. Like usin’ you boys as bait for Ridley and tryin’ to grab off some of the Snake Track range. Yeah, I was mad for a few days after that tussle we got into, Creel, but then I realized you were right to jump me.”
“You did?” Bo asked.
“Sure. That’s when I knew I had to find the two of you…to apologize to you and ask you to come back to work for me.”
Bo and Scratch couldn’t have been more surprised if Peeler had sprouted wings and started flying around right in front of them. Peeler was obviously sincere, though.
“Well, what do you say?” he prodded. “Come on back to the Circle JP with us?”
Bo tapped the badge pinned to his coat. “In case you haven’t noticed, Big John, Scratch and I already have jobs. We’re deputies here in Mankiller.”
Peeler waved a hand. “That can’t be as good as workin’ for me.”
“You might be surprised,” Bo said dryly. “We sort of like it here, don’t we, Scratch?”
“Yeah,” the silver-haired Texan agreed. “And we’ve sort of got a full plate right now, too.”
Peeler looked around at the now-silent crowd. “Yeah, I can see that somethin’s goin’ on. Some kind of celebration?”
“An election,” Bo said. “Mankiller just elected a mayor, a judge, and a town council.”
“Yeah, and the hombre who’s been runnin’ things around here ain’t gonna like it, either,” Scratch added.
Peeler’s rugged face hardened. “If you fellas got gun trouble, me and the boys’d be glad to pitch in and lend a hand.”
“We appreciate that—” Bo began, but a sudden outcry interrupted him. He swung around and saw a slender figure staggering down the boardwalk toward them. Even though he had seen her only a few times, he recognized Myra Devery, Edgar’s daughter. But something was wrong with her.
The girl seemed to be on the verge of collapse. Scratch sprang to catch her. As Scratch steadied her, Bo saw that Myra had a bruise on her cheek, and a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of her mouth. Someone had beaten her.
“What happened, Myra?” Bo asked her. “Who hit you?”
She drew in a ragged breath. “My…my Uncle Jackson.”
“Why would he do a sorry thing like that?” Scratch asked as he frowned in anger.
“Because I tried to…to stop him…when he was hitting and kicking my pa.”
Peeler moved his horse closer to the boardwalk and said, “Is this the fella you were talkin’ about causin’ trouble, Creel?”
“That’s right,” Bo said. He turned back to Myra. “Why would Devery attack his own brother like that?”
“Because he’s gone crazy! He’s got all the men in the family stirred up and ready to come down here and kill everybody who’s been standing up to him. He said he’d burn Mankiller to the ground before he’d let anybody else have it!”
That was exactly the sort of thing Bo had been worried about. Devery was so full of pride and hate and arrogance that he couldn’t accept defeat. He would rather destroy everything, and everybody he considered an enemy, along with any innocent folks who got in the way.
“The only one who tried to talk sense to him was my father. He said they couldn’t just start burning and killing. Then…then Uncle Jackson hit him with a rifle butt, knocked him down, started kicking him…I tried to get him to stop, but he backhanded me and knocked me down, too. I got out of there and thought I ought to come warn you—”
A thunderous roar suddenly shook the ground and drowned out whatever Myra was saying. Bo and Scratch looked toward the jail in shock and saw smoke rising from behind it.
“Dynamite!” Scratch yelled. “They blasted the jail to bust the prisoners out!”
“Come on!” Bo said as he broke into a run toward the site of the blast. Behind him, Scratch pressed Myra Devery into Rushford’s arms and then took off after his old friend.
Big John Peeler twisted in the saddle and shouted to his crew, “We’re with Creel and Morton! Follow their lead!”
Echoes from the explosion still rolled through the town. Gunshots sounded through them. The shots came from the jail.
The dynamite blast was more than just an attempt to free the prisoners, however. It was also a signal, Bo realized as rifle-waving Deverys, led by their patriarch, burst from the house at the head of the street and started down the hill, yelling and shooting. Jackson Devery was trying to make good on his threat to destroy Mankiller for turning on him.
“Off the street!” Bo bellowed as screams and chaos broke out all around him. “Everybody get off the street!”
He thought fleetingly about Lucinda and hoped that she and her daughters and brother would lie low in the café, hopefully out of harm’s way. But there was no time to check on them, not with hell on the prowl in Mankiller.
Gunfire still came from inside the sheriff’s office as the Texans reached the front door. It wouldn’t budge, and Bo knew that Biscuits O’Brien must have it locked and barred on the inside.
“Around the back!” he told Scratch. As they started around the building, he saw that Peeler and the cowboys from the Circle JP had dismounted and were following, guns drawn and ready.