Smoke and dust clogged the air. Bo fought his way through the stinging, blinding stuff. As he reached the back of the building, he saw shadowy figures fleeing.
“Hold it!” he shouted, but the men didn’t slow down. Instead, flame spurted from gun muzzles. Bo heard bullets whining through the air around him. He returned the fire, but he couldn’t see where he was shooting. The men disappeared into the clouds of dust.
There had actually been two blasts set off at the same time, Bo saw, blowing holes in the walls of both cells. Those were desperate measures, because Thad, Reuben, and Simeon could have easily been hurt in the explosions. When Bo peered through the ragged holes, though, he saw that both cells were empty.
“Biscuits!” Bo shouted through the hole in what had been Thad’s cell. “Biscuits, are you in there?”
The only answer that came back was a groan.
“Sounds like he’s hurt,” Bo told Scratch. “He must’ve tried to fight them off from the office.”
“We can’t get in there,” Scratch said. “The front door’s locked, and so are those cells.” He jerked his head toward the street. “Besides, we got the rest of the Deverys to deal with.”
Bo knew that Scratch was right. Still, he hated to abandon Biscuits without even checking to see how badly he was hurt. That would just have to wait.
“Come on,” he said grimly. “The bunch that busted out the prisoners will probably join up with the others, so we’ll have the whole blamed family to fight.”
“Except for Edgar,” Scratch agreed. He looked at Peeler. “You sure you want in on this ruckus, Big John?”
Peeler grinned. “Just try to stop us! Right, boys?”
Mutters of agreement came from the Circle JP cowboys. Bo waved for them to follow him as he and Scratch started for Main Street again.
They came out into a hornets’ nest. The townspeople had scurried for cover, as Bo had ordered, and some of them were putting up a fight. Bullets flew everywhere, shattering glass in windows, thudding into walls, chewing splinters from hitch rails and porch posts. Bo drew a bead on one of the Deverys and fired. The man dropped his rifle and spun off his feet, reaching to clutch the shoulder that Bo’s bullet had just shattered.
Scratch opened fire, too, as did Peeler and the rest of the Texans’ newfound allies. The Deverys had launched their attack as a fairly compact group, but now they split up and spread out, and the battle rapidly turned into a series of gunfights that sprawled up and down the street.
Bo spotted Jackson Devery shouting orders to his kinfolks and targeted the clan’s patriarch. Devery moved just as Bo squeezed the trigger, though, and the shot missed. Devery disappeared behind a wagon.
Bo grabbed Scratch’s shoulder and shouted over the tumult, “Let’s head for the café! I want to make sure Lucinda’s all right!” He had a feeling, as well, that Jackson Devery might try to reach the newly elected mayor. Even though Lucinda was a woman, she was also a symbol of how Mankiller had slipped out of Devery’s hateful grasp, and there was no telling what the crazed man might try to do.
Bo and Scratch dashed along the boardwalk. As they did so, a volley of shots came from across the street, splintering the planks right behind them. Bo glanced in that direction and saw several of the Deverys crouched behind some barrels on the porch of Abner Malden’s store. He and Scratch returned the fire as they ran. A man Bo recognized as Simeon Devery flew backward as a bullet struck him in the middle of the forehead. He sprawled on the porch, blood welling from the hole.
Simeon’s brother Reuben suddenly leaped onto the boardwalk in front of the Texans, blocking their path. He had a shotgun in his hands and a murderous scowl on his face. As the twin barrels swept up to blast the boardwalk clean, a couple of pistol shots cracked close by. Crimson spurted from Reuben’s throat as the slugs ripped into it. He flung his arms up as he fell, the shotgun slipping from his fingers and spinning away.
Harlan Green stepped out of the hotel. Bo hadn’t even noticed they were in front of the place. Smoke curled from the barrel of the pistol in Green’s hand. Bo gave him a curt nod of thanks, then he and Scratch raced on toward the café.
It looked like the Deverys were regrouping, led by Luke and Thad. They surged into the street in front of the café. Behind Bo and Scratch, Big John Peeler bellowed, “Come on, boys!” When Bo glanced over his shoulder, he saw that not only were Peeler and the Circle JP cowboys backing the Texans’ play, but so were a group of townspeople who had decided to stand and fight. He saw familiar faces everywhere: Doc Weathers, Lyle Rushford, Harlan Green, Sam Bradfield, Wallace Kane, the two storekeepers, even little Ernie Bond. They had learned that democracy and freedom weren’t always just handed to people. Sometimes those ideals had to be fought for.
Guns blazed and men fell, but the groups were too close together. They slammed into each other, and the battle was suddenly hand to hand. Rifles became clubs instead of firearms, and fists thudded against flesh. Bo and Scratch waded into the middle of the melee, striking out to right and left as they fought their way toward the café.
Luke suddenly loomed up in front of Scratch. The silver-haired Texan saw a familiar gun belt sporting a pair of holstered, ivory-handled Remingtons strapped around Luke’s waist. “I knew it!” Scratch yelled. “I knew you stole my guns, you son of a bitch!”
Luke swung the rifle in his hands at Scratch’s head. Scratch ducked under the blow and stepped in to slam a right and a left into Luke’s belly. Luke doubled over. Scratch grabbed the rifle and drove it up, catching Luke under the chin with the breech. That forced Luke’s head back and knocked him off his feet. He rolled away and came up clawing both Remingtons from their holsters.
Scratch dropped the rifle and palmed out his Colt. Flame geysered from the muzzle as he fired. The bullet struck Luke in the chest at close range and knocked him down again. This time he didn’t get up. He lay there gasping for breath as the ivory-handled revolvers slipped from nerveless fingers. His chest stilled and his eyes began to glaze over.
A few yards away, Bo found himself facing Thad Devery, who had gone as loco as a rabid wolf. Thad yanked a knife from his boot with his good hand and slashed at Bo with the blade. Bo leaped back to avoid the knife, but he stumbled and fell. Thad changed his grip and leaped after Bo, raising the knife high and then bringing it down at the Texan.
Bo caught hold of Thad’s wrist with both hands and twisted sharply as Thad landed on him. Thad screamed and convulsed as the blade stabbed deep into his own belly. Bo pushed, driving the knife even deeper, all the way to the hilt. Breathing raggedly through clenched teeth, he lay there with Thad on top of him and watched as Thad’s eyes, only inches from his, slowly drained of life. When Bo shoved him away, the man was dead.
Bo climbed wearily to his feet and saw Scratch buckling on his gun belt with the holstered Remingtons. “Got your guns back, I see,” he said.
“Yeah, Luke had ’em.” Scratch glanced around. “Appears that the fight’s just about over.”
That was true. The Deverys had been overcome. Some of them were dead, others were wounded, and others had been battered into unconsciousness.
Unfortunately, the same was true of Mankiller’s citizens and the cowboys from New Mexico. Some of them had fallen and would never rise. Big John Peeler was still on his feet, though, bleeding from several gashes on his face as he grinned at Bo and Scratch.
“Quite a scrap,” he said. “If this is the sort of ruckus you fellas usually get mixed up in, I want you to come back to the ranch with me even more!”
Bo had a good mind to tell Peeler what he could do with that invitation, but at that moment, a harsh voice shouted, “Creel! Morton!”
They swung around and saw Jackson Devery coming out of the café with one arm wrapped around Lucinda’s waist while the other hand held a gun to her head.