A long moment of tense silence crawled by, punctuated by music drifting out of one of the saloons. The talk in the street had stopped, and most movement had, too, at least at this end of town. Everyone was watching the confrontation between the Deverys and the two new deputies.

Luke finally broke the silence. “Well, what do you know? My brother Reuben told me he seen you fellas walkin’ around a little while ago, but I didn’t believe him. Now here you are, big as life.”

“Are you admitting that you thought we were dead?” Bo asked. “How would you know that if you didn’t have something to do with the attack on us?”

“Ain’t admittin’ nothin’,” Luke replied with a shake of his head. “I just figured that two fellas as proddy and troublesome as you would’ve wound up dead by now.” A sneer twisted his face. “You got nerve, wearin’ law badges when you refused to pay a legal and proper toll to cross the bridge yesterday, not to mention pullin’ guns on me and Thad when we was just doin’ our jobs.”

“Well, I reckon you’re right about that,” Bo said. Scratch started to protest, but Bo stopped him with a gesture. Facing Luke again, Bo went on, “We promised to come back and pay you if we found out we were in the wrong. Unfortunately, since then some no-good, cowardly thieves stole all our money.”

Luke’s beard bristled, and Thad snarled like a dog that wanted off its leash. Luke motioned for his cousin to control himself.

“So we’ll have to pay you that twelve dollars later,” Bo continued. “Just wanted you to know that we haven’t forgotten about it.” He paused. “We haven’t forgotten about anything that’s happened since we came to Mankiller.”

“Well, you’re gonna owe interest,” Luke blustered.

“We’ll pay it…within reason. Now, is there anything we can do for you fellas?”

“What the hell do you mean?”

Bo touched his badge with his left hand. His right remained where it was, hovering near the butt of his gun. “As you can see, Scratch and I are now deputies under Sheriff O’Brien. If you have any trouble, any legal complaints, you can come see us.”

Thad burst out, “We don’t have to come see nobody! This is our town! Devery law is the only law around here!”

Bo shook his head. “Not anymore.” He raised his voice so that it carried clearly to everyone gathered at this end of the street. “Mankiller has real law and order now. That goes for everyone. If anybody breaks the law, folks can come to us and report it, and we’ll set things straight.”

Luke glowered at the Texans as he said, “You hadn’t ought to make promises you can’t keep, old man.”

“We’ll keep that promise,” Bo said. “You can count on it.”

He knew that word of his comments would spread rapidly through the settlement and the hills where the mining claims were located. The Deverys were widely disliked around here, and he hoped that anyone who had legitimate grievances would come forward. If Bo and Scratch had proof that the family had committed crimes, they could not only bring the guilty parties to justice, but it would also give them some leverage to try to force the Deverys into treating people decently. Since the family actually did own the land, there was no legal way to stop them from claiming a portion of the proceeds. But they could be fair about it, and that was Bo’s goal.

Scratch, on the other hand, just wanted to kill Deverys…and it might come to that, Bo knew.

“You’re full of big talk,” Luke said, still sneering. “One of these days, you’ll have to back it up.”

“Any time you’re ready, Devery,” Scratch said. “Any time.”

Thad looked like he was ready right here and now. His eyes were wide and rolling like he was half out of his mind, and his teeth ground together as he worked his distinctive jaw back and forth. Luke put a hand on his arm and tugged him away, though.

“Come on,” he muttered. “We got to go talk to Pa.”

The crowd parted again to let the two of them stalk off toward the big old house at the top of the hill. Thad looked back over his shoulder at Bo and Scratch a couple of times with hatred gleaming in his eyes.

“That fella’s just one step away from a hydrophobia skunk,” Bo said.

“And it ain’t a very long step, neither,” Scratch agreed. “We’re gonna need eyes in the back of our heads, Bo.”

“I’m not so sure, at least not where Thad’s concerned. If he comes at us, I think it’ll be head-on, so he can see what he’s doing.”

“You could be right about that. I’m gonna keep an eye out behind me, anyway.”

“Always a wise thing to do,” Bo concurred.

They crossed the street and started back up the hill. The buzz of conversation behind them was even louder now, and the stares of the townspeople were more intense. The Texans gave friendly nods to the citizens they passed. Some of those nods were returned warily, others were ignored. Nobody was quite sure yet what to make of them.

After they had gone a couple of blocks, they came to the disreputable-looking barn that housed Edgar’s Livery Stable. Bo and Scratch looked at each other but didn’t have to say anything. They turned and went into the barn through the open double doors.

“Hello!” Bo called. “Edgar! Are you here?”

The stocky liveryman came out of the tack room carrying a pitchfork. He stopped short at the sight of the Texans and then started backing away. Lifting the pitchfork to point the razor-sharp tines at them, he said, “Now, you fellas stay away from me! What happened weren’t my fault. You shouldn’t’a come in here and started that trouble!”

Bo frowned at him. “What in blazes are you talking about? We didn’t start any trouble.”

“That’s right,” Scratch said. “Hell, it was them other hombres who jumped us!”

Edgar kept the pitchfork in front of him and shook his head stubbornly. “That ain’t the way I seen it, and I’ll testify to that in any court of law I have to! You fellas came in here and got mad about the price I quoted you for takin’ care o’your horses. Then you started raisin’ a ruckus about it, and it was just pure luck my boy and some o’ his cousins were passin’ by and, uh, come to my assistance. Yeah, that’s it. They come to my assistance. I don’t know what happened to you after that, and it ain’t none of my business.”

The rehearsed sound of Edgar’s speech told Bo that Luke and Thad must have stopped here on their way to the Devery house and told him what to say in case the Texans showed up.

“You know damn well that ain’t the way it was,” Scratch said angrily.

“I’ll swear that I’m tellin’ the truth, and so will Luke and Thad and the rest of them boys,” Edgar insisted.

Bo put a hand on his partner’s arm. “Let it go, Scratch,” he said. “They’ve worked out their story, and we won’t be able to budge them on it. It’s their word against ours.”

“Maybe so, but it ain’t right,” Scratch said. “This varmint’s lyin’.”

“You best be careful,” Edgar warned. He jabbed at the air with the pitchfork for emphasis. “I’ll swear out a complaint agin you for talkin’ bad about me.”

“Where are our horses?” Bo asked.

“You left ’em here without payin’. I had a perfect right to sell ’em—”

“You sold our horses?” Scratch roared.

Edgar cringed. “The packhorse is still here. But my brother Jackson seen the bay and the dun and took a likin’ to ’em. I had a right to do it, I tell you. That ruckus you started caused some damage. I had a right—”

“Shut up,” Bo said. He wanted to do things legal and proper, but he was having a hard time keeping a rein on his temper. Besides, being a Texan, he came from a long heritage of doing things illegal and improper when it was necessary to right a wrong. “Where are the horses?”

Edgar swallowed hard. “Up in my brother’s barn.”

“Go up there, refund whatever he paid for them, and bring them back here.”

“I can’t do that. Jackson’d never go along with it!”

“Convince him,” Bo said. “Otherwise, we’re going to arrest you and hold you for trial on charges of horse stealing.”

“And you know what usually happens to horse thieves,” Scratch said with a savage grin. He made a motion like he was tugging on a hang rope around his neck.

Edgar moaned in dismay. “You don’t know what you’re askin’. Jackson won’t take kindly to—”

“We don’t care,” Bo cut in. “If you want to stick to that loco story of yours, go ahead and swear out a complaint against us for disturbing the peace. We’ll be glad to answer those charges the next time the circuit judge comes through. Until there’s a legal ruling, though, you had no right to sell our horses, so you’d better get them back. Understand?”

“I understand,” Edgar said grimly. “Do you boys understand what you’re gettin’ yourselves into? You’re just askin’ for trouble!” A sly gleam appeared in the man’s eyes. “How’s about this? I’ll get your horses back, and I’ll even stake you to some money for grub and other supplies. Then you can take off them blamed badges and forget all about bein’ deputies. Just ride on somewheres else and forget that you ever set foot in Mankiller, Colorado.”

Bo shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“We like it here,” Scratch added. “And we ain’t leavin’ any time soon.”

“Then God help you,” Edgar said, “because you’ll find out that when all hell breaks loose, nobody else around here will!”

As they started on up the street, leaving the livery stable behind them, Scratch said, “You believe that? That old son of a bitch lyin’ and sayin’ that all the trouble was our fault!”

“From what I’ve seen of them and heard about them, the Deverys are pretty cunning,” Bo said. “The last thing they want around here is any real law. That’s why they ran off or murdered the previous sheriffs and deputies, then finally put Biscuits O’Brien in the job. They knew he’d never try to stop them from doing anything they wanted to do, and yet if there were ever any questions from outside, they could point to him and claim that Mankiller has a lawman. If anything too bad happened, they could make it look like everything was his fault.”

“I’ll bet Biscuits don’t realize that.”

Bo grunted. “Biscuits doesn’t realize much of anything except that he’s thirsty. What he needs is to stop drinking, clean up a mite, and start acting like a real sheriff.”

Scratch stopped and looked over at his old friend. “And you wouldn’t be thinkin’ about tryin’ to wrestle him into doin’ that, now would you, Bo?”

“What could it hurt?”

“It could hurt because you always see the good in folks and think you can help make ’em better, and then you get to dependin’ on them. But then most of the time they’ll let you down when you really need ’em. Ol’Edgar was right about one thing—we can’t count on anybody but ourselves.”

Bo shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. But I don’t think it would hurt to have a talk with Biscuits.”

“If you want to waste your time, go right on ahead. But I ain’t gonna count on that drunk for anything.”

They resumed their walk up the street. After a moment, Scratch asked, “Did you know what you were talkin’ about when you said that about the circuit judge?”

“Not really, no. I was just making a guess. But nothing’s been said about Mankiller having any sort of judge or court. There must be a circuit judge who comes around. I’ll talk to Mrs. Bonner and find out for sure. If there’s not, we need to ask her to write to the governor and request that Mankiller be added to the circuit.”

“Why’s the governor gonna pay attention to a widow woman who runs a café?”

“Because by then, I expect she’s going to be the mayor,” Bo said with a smile.

Scratch shook his head. “That brain of yours is just brimmin’ over with ideas today, ain’t it?”

“Mankiller needs a real mayor and a real town council if we’re going to be able to get anything done around here.”

“That means havin’ an election,” Scratch pointed out.

“That’s right.”

“You think Pa Devery’s gonna stand for that?”

“He’ll have to unless he wants to draw more attention to the town, which wouldn’t be a good thing for him and his family. They’ve had things their own way for long enough. They need to realize that they’re going to have to give up some of their power.”

“That’s liable to bust things wide open.”

“Well,” Bo said with a smile, “that might not be such a bad thing.”

Scratch chuckled. “I can’t argue with that.”

“One more thing we need to do is see if we can get a small advance on our wages,” Bo went on. “If we’re being provided with room and board, we won’t need much money, but there might be times when a little cash would come in handy.”

“Yeah. You haven’t forgot that we came here to hunt for gold, have you? This whole business of takin’ the deputy jobs was just so’s we could build up a stake for prospectin’, ain’t it?”

“Oh, sure,” Bo agreed easily. “There’s no reason we can’t try to do a little good for the town while we’re at it, though.”

Scratch looked a little dubious, but he didn’t say anything else.

They were far enough up the street now that they could get their best look so far at the old Devery house. It was a sprawling, two-story structure built of unpainted boards that had faded and warped from time and weather. Several one-story additions had been built onto it, probably as more family members arrived from Kansas. Bo wondered idly if all the Deverys in Mankiller lived there, or if some of them had houses of their own. It didn’t really matter, but he was curious.

The roof over the verandah sagged a little in places. The beams that held it up were crumbling. Weeds grew wild in front of the house, with a narrow path hacked through the briars. Clearly, the people who lived there didn’t believe in taking care of their home. Folks could get away with that for a while, but sooner or later it always caught up to them, Bo thought. It was a good indicator of just what sort of people the Deverys were, too.

There were two gables with windows on the second floor, above the verandah. Ratty curtains hung inside the windows. As Bo watched the curtains in the window on the left moved a little, as if someone in the room had twitched them aside. He caught a glimpse of a pale face peering out, and even though he couldn’t see the person’s eyes at this distance, the gaze seemed to hold a peculiar intensity. He was about to ask Scratch if he saw the same thing, when the curtains dropped back into place and the face was gone.

“Looks like the sort of house all the kids would stay away from when we was young’uns,” Scratch commented. “Like there were ghosts or monsters livin’ there.”

“If they were ghosts, they wouldn’t actually be living there, would they?” Bo asked.

Scratch chuckled. “I reckon not. Monsters, then. Is that all right?”

Bo thought about the Deverys and said, “Yeah. That’s a pretty good description.”

They crossed the street again and turned down-slope, heading back toward the sheriff’s office. They hadn’t gone even a block when they got a vivid reminder of the fact that the Deverys weren’t the only troublemakers around here. Mankiller was a boomtown, after all, and had all sorts of vice and iniquity competing for the attention of a couple of newly minted star packers.

In other words, a man came crashing through the batwings of a saloon, sailed across the boardwalk in front of it, and landed in the street. He had nearly knocked down a couple of miners who were walking past.

Raucous laughter followed the luckless hombre who obviously had not left the saloon of his own volition. He had been tossed out. Several men emerged onto the boardwalk. One of them stepped to the edge and silenced the laughter of the others by pulling his gun. He looped a thumb over the hammer and cocked the revolver, saying with brutal amusement, “We’ve seen you fly. Now we’re gonna see just how good you can jump, Peckham!”