They turned when they reached Rusk Street. Up ahead, halfway along the block, as Keegan had indicated, a sign stuck out over a door, with lettering on it that read KEEGAN MATRIMONIAL AGENCY.
“It still seems loco to me that somebody would pay to get a wife,” Scratch said. “Don’t the poor varmints realize they’re gonna be payin’ for the rest o’ their lives?”
“I guess they just look at things differently than fellas like you and I do,” Bo said.
“Damn right it’s different,” Scratch muttered. “Loco.”
Bo noticed several men coming along the street from the opposite direction. One man strode purposefully in front of the rest of the group. He wore range clothes like the others, but the garb was of good quality and didn’t show any signs of wear, as if he didn’t actually work in it like the rest of the men worked in their clothes.
That was enough to give Bo a hunch that the man was a successful rancher and the other men were cowhands who worked for him.
The man in the lead was in his thirties, tall and broad shouldered, with a tanned, handsome face dominated by a strong jaw and a cleft chin. Curly brown hair showed under his expensive Stetson. His walk had more than a touch of arrogance to it, as if he expected everyone he encountered to step aside and get out of his way.
Bo and Scratch weren’t in the habit of stepping aside for folks, no matter who they were, and since they were headed in the opposite direction, this might be a little trouble in the making, Bo thought.
But it didn’t come to that, because the man in the lead of the bunch suddenly turned in when he reached a door and his companions stopped to lounge along the sidewalk.
Problem was, the man yanked open the door under Cyrus Keegan’s sign and stalked into the office of the matrimonial agency.
“Did you see that?” Scratch asked under his breath.
“Yeah,” Bo replied, “and I’m not sure I liked the looks of it . . .”
The next moment, he was sure he didn’t like it, because the man had left the office door open, and as Bo and Scratch came closer, they had no trouble hearing the loud, angry voice that came from inside.
CHAPTER 4
From where they were, Bo and Scratch couldn’t make out the words, but there was no mistaking the tone. The deep voice didn’t belong to Keegan, so it had to be coming from the man who had just gone in there.
“We’d better see what’s goin’ on,” Scratch said.
Bo’s only reply was an increase in the speed of his walk. Scratch kept pace with him.
As they approached the open door, the cowhands who had accompanied the well-dressed man saw them coming and moved to block their path.
“Where do you fellas think you’re goin’?” one of the cowboys demanded.
“In there,” Bo replied, with a nod toward the door of the matrimonial agency. “And we’d be obliged if you’d get out of the way.”
“You don’t look like you got any business here,” another man drawled. “Couple of old geezers like you don’t have no need of wives.”
A third cowboy snickered and said, “Reckon they even remember what to do with wives?”
Scratch responded angrily, “I’ve forgotten more about women than you’ll ever know, you young pup.”
“Yeah, that’s just my point, old-timer. You’ve forgotten all of it.”
Bo heard Cyrus Keegan’s unmistakable high-pitched voice coming from the office now. The other man’s angry response overrode it.
Bo said, “We’re going in there, whether you fellas like it or not.”
That challenge had an instant effect. The amused attitude fell away from the cowboys. They straightened from their casual poses and glared at Bo and Scratch.
“We gave you a chance to move on,” one of them said. “Keep pushing, and you’re gonna be sorry. There are four of us, and we’re a hell of a lot younger than you are.”
“One thing you need to remember, sonny,” Scratch said. “Old men got a lot less to lose. You keep pushin’ us, and you’re liable to get hurt.”
The cowboy who had taken over the role of spokesman for the group sneered. “If you think you’re scarin’ us, Gramps—”
A sudden loud crash from inside the office interrupted him. All four cowhands turned quickly in that direction. It was a natural enough reaction, but it was also a mistake. Bo’s Colt came out of leather swiftly and he leveled the revolver at them, his hand steady as a rock.
“Get out of the way,” he snapped. “I won’t tell you again.”
“And I’ll just let these Remingtons do my talkin’,” Scratch added as he filled his hands, as well.
With three revolvers pointed at them, the cowboys had no choice except to back off. Bo strode through the open door. Scratch backed into the office behind his friend, keeping the Remingtons trained on the cowhands as he did so.
Inside the office, Bo spotted Cyrus Keegan standing behind a desk, with the other man in front of the desk, glaring and clenching his fists. A chair that must have normally sat in front of the desk was a few feet away, on its side. That explained the crash. The visitor had knocked it over in his anger.
The man looked over his shoulder at Bo and burst out, “What the hell? Put that gun away and get out of here. Keegan’s busy.”
The arrogance in his voice and the impatient expression on his face made it clear that he was accustomed to being obeyed whenever he gave an order.
“Mister, you’re not the boss here,” Bo said. “This is Mr. Keegan’s office.”
“And Keegan works for me!”
Bo glanced at the clearly shaken matrimonial agent and asked, “Is that true?”
“Mr. Craddock is not my employer,” Keegan said as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped sweat off his forehead. “But he is a client, so you could say I work for him in the sense that I’m trying to provide a service for him.”
“And doing a mighty piss-poor job of it,” Craddock said.
“You’re hardly being fair—”
“I’ve got eyes, don’t I? I can see just fine! I know what sort of inferior goods you’re trying to pawn off on me.”
For the first time, Bo saw anger on Cyrus Keegan’s face. The little man slapped a hand down on the desk with a sharp crack and said, “Sir! I’ll not have you speak that way about another human being. Miss Hampshire is hardly ‘inferior goods.’ She’s a fine, morally upstanding young woman—”
“I don’t know about her morals,” Craddock broke in, “but she sure as hell isn’t young.” He turned to Bo and Scratch. “I don’t usually explain myself, but listen to what Keegan is trying to pull. He sent me a picture of a dewy-eyed young girl—”
“A photograph that Miss Hampshire provided,” Keegan interrupted. “I can hardly be blamed for that.”
“And when I get here to pick her up, she turns out to be a forty-year-old . . . old maid!” Craddock leveled an accusing finger across the desk at Keegan. “He had to know that, and he still expects me to marry her and pay the rest of his fee.”
“It’s true the photograph is a bit out of date,” Keegan said, “but the lady is not forty years old. I doubt if she’s much over thirty-five.”
Craddock snorted and said, “Have you asked her?”
Keegan drew himself up as straight and tall as he could and replied, “A lady may volunteer her age, but it can hardly be demanded of her.”
“Well, I don’t care. You’re trying to pull a fast one, and I won’t put up with it. You make things right, Keegan, or you’ll be sorry.”
“At this point, what would you have me do?” Keegan asked as he spread his hands.
“Find me a good-looking young woman to marry, like I paid you to!”
Bo and Scratch were both watching the argument now, and they were interested enough in the back-and-forth between Keegan and Craddock that they had lowered their guns.
The men they had left outside on the sidewalk must have been waiting for an opportunity like that, because one of them shouted from
the doorway, “Rush ’em, boys!” and all four of the cowboys burst into the office to charge at Bo and Scratch.
Opening fire on thieves who were throwing down on them was one thing. Blasting unarmed punchers who were just sticking up for their boss was another. Bo and Scratch both hesitated instead of firing, and in that moment’s delay, the attackers swarmed them.
One man knocked the Colt out of Bo’s hand, while another slammed a fist to his face, which knocked him back against Keegan’s desk.
Keegan yelped in alarm. Bo caught himself, got his left arm up in time to block another blow, then shot out a powerful straight right of his own that landed on the assailant’s nose and rocked his head back.
A few feet away, two of the cowboys had hold of Scratch’s arms so he couldn’t lift the Remingtons. They drove him back against the wall with bone-jarring force, which caused the ivory-handled revolvers to slip from his fingers. As the guns thudded to the floor, the men started whaling away at Scratch.
Bo couldn’t go to his friend’s assistance, because he had his own hands full. The punch he’d landed had caused one man to fall back, but the other one continued the attack.
A hard fist landed in Bo’s belly and puffed air from his lungs. He gasped and bent forward, and the man got him with a left hook. Bo would have gone down if the desk hadn’t been there to catch him again.
He shoved off from the desk and bent low to let a roundhouse go right over his head. The cowboy’s midsection was wide open right in front of him. He drove three swift punches into it, left, right, left, which put the man in position for a right uppercut that Bo lifted from the floor. The man’s teeth clicked together loudly as the punch landed on his chin. His eyes rolled up, and his knees buckled.
The man Bo had hit in the nose was still on his feet, though, and bulled in furiously as blood welled from the injured member in the middle of his face. Bo had to give ground as a flurry of punches hammered him.
Meanwhile, Scratch had gotten his back against the wall in a corner, so the two men he was battling couldn’t attack him effectively at the same time.
One of them said, “I’ll take care of this old pelican!” and bored in confidently.
With decades of experience in bare-knuckles brawling, Scratch blocked most of the man’s punches and snapped several blows of his own to the hombre’s face. Blood leaked from smashed lips, and the man’s eyes began to swell. This damage just made him angrier.
And the anger made him careless. Suddenly, Scratch leaned back against the wall and brought his right foot up in a kick that landed his boot toe squarely in the man’s groin.
The man’s mouth opened wide, and so did his eyes. A bleat of agony came from him. As he stopped short and tottered there, he gasped, “You . . . you kicked me . . . in the balls.”
“Told you not to crowd an old man,” Scratch rasped. “He’ll hurt you.”
The cowboy clutched himself, fell to the floor, and curled up. His companion advanced on Scratch and said, “I’m gonna kill you for what you did to him, you bastard.”
Over by the desk, Bo’s remaining opponent let overconfidence get the best of him, too. He ventured too close, and Bo was able to drop low, grab him around the knees, and heave upward. With a startled yell, the cowboy went over backward and crashed down on his back with bone-jarring force.
The man was too stunned to get up right away, which gave Bo the time he needed to scoop up his Colt, which he had dropped when the fight started. With the gun in his hand again, he stepped back beside the desk and pointed the Colt at the man who was about to attack Scratch again.
“That’s enough,” Bo said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was hard as flint.
Craddock had backed off and hadn’t taken part in the fight. More than likely, he had expected his men to make short work of the two drifters. None of them realized just how much bark Bo and Scratch had left on them, though.
Now Craddock said, “Put that gun away, you old fool. If you shoot one of my men, I’ll see that you hang for it.”
Cyrus Keegan said, “Do you really think you can convince a jury it wasn’t self-defense? I mean, four burly young cowboys attacking two elderly gentlemen—”
“I don’t cotton much to that word elderly,” Scratch said. “Makes it sound like my best days are behind me.” He grinned rakishly. “I feel like I’m just gettin’ started.”
His hat had been knocked off in the fracas, like Bo’s, and he had a few bloody scrapes on his face, also like Bo. His silver hair was askew. But he looked like he was enjoying himself, which was true. There were few things Scratch Morton liked better than a good fight.
Bo was a more peace-loving sort, but he had to admit, it felt pretty good knowing that he and Scratch were still on their feet while three of their opponents were down and the fourth one had Bo’s gun pointed at him.
“I don’t plan on shooting anybody,” he told Craddock, “as long as your boys don’t do anything else foolish. If I were you, I’d gather them up and get out of here. Go on back to wherever you came from.”
“This doesn’t change a damned thing,” Craddock argued. “Keegan’s still trying to cheat me. I’m not going to marry that old maid.”
Keegan said, “I can’t force anyone to marry against their will. I think it’s a terrible thing you’re doing to Miss Hampshire, though. She came all the way here from Vermont in good faith.”
Craddock shook his head. “I don’t call it good faith when she’s twenty years older than how she looks in that picture.”
Through clenched teeth, Keegan said, “Because of the misunderstanding, I won’t insist that you pay me the remainder of the fee.”
“How about what I already paid you? I ought to get that back!”
“I’m giving it to Miss Hampshire to cover her expenses and get her back to where she came from. That seems only fair.”
Craddock snorted and said, “After you put some of it in your pocket, you mean.”
“Not a penny, sir. Not one blasted penny.”
On the floor, the man who’d been kicked in the groin moaned and said, “Boss, can . . . can we get outta here? I’m hurtin’ mighty bad—”
“You ought to hurt,” Craddock said, “letting an old man get the best of you that way.” He jerked a hand in a curt gesture and snarled at the others, “Get him up on his feet. We’re leaving.”
With groans and curses, the cowboys stumbled out of the office. Craddock followed, but he paused in the doorway to level a finger at Keegan and say, “This isn’t over. Mark my words, mister.”
“If I see you again, I’m filing a complaint with Marshal Courtright,” Keegan responded.
“I don’t care, you little pip-squeak.” The rancher glared at Bo and Scratch. “I’ll see you two geezers again, too.”
Scratch had picked up his Remingtons but had not holstered them yet. His tanned, supple fingers spun each revolver effortlessly for a second before he slid the guns back into leather.
“Better be careful you don’t get what you wish for, Craddock,” he said.
CHAPTER 5
Craddock sneered and stalked after his men, who had disappeared along the sidewalk.
When they were gone, Cyrus Keegan sighed and sank down into the chair behind his desk.
“I’m so sorry,” he said to Bo and Scratch. “I knew Mr. Craddock was displeased with the way things had worked out, but I never dreamed he would cause such a fuss over it. Are you gentlemen all right?”
Bo holstered his gun. His hat had fallen on Keegan’s desk. He picked it up, brushed it off a little, and put it on his head.
“Bunged up a mite, but nothing to worry about,” he said.
“Yeah,” Scratch agreed. “We’ve hurt ourselves a heap worse’n this just fallin’ out of bed in the mornin’.”
“You can go see the marshal and file assault charges against them . . . ,” Keegan began.
Bo shook his head and said, “We don’t run to the law to handle things.”
“Always bee
n the sort to stomp our own snakes,” Scratch added. He found his hat on the floor and put it on.
Bo picked up the chair that had been turned over, set it in front of the desk, and said, “Who is Craddock, anyway?”
“Hugh Craddock has a big spread southwest of here, down in Erath County. His father was one of the first settlers in that area and built up a successful ranch, but Craddock has made it even bigger. He’s accustomed to success and getting what he wants.” Keegan shook his head solemnly. “Unfortunately, that didn’t do him a bit of good when his first wife died in childbirth about fifteen years ago. The infant didn’t survive, either.”
Bo felt a pang inside. He had lost a wife and children, too, although not in the same way. And even though many, many years had passed since then, the pain of that loss had never gone away completely. He knew it never would.
“Ever since that happened,” Keegan continued, “Craddock has devoted himself to his ranch, but he’s decided that enough time has passed and he ought to take another wife.”
“Hold on a minute,” Scratch said. “No offense, Cyrus, but a fella like him, no older than he is and obviously well to do, shouldn’t have to hire a matrimonial agency to find him a wife. Seems to me like all the eligible gals in this part of the country would be linin’ up for a chance to convince him to pick them.”
“Yes, you’d think so,” Keegan agreed. “But that’s not what he wants. He made up his mind that he should marry a refined lady from back East.”
Scratch snorted and said, “So he’s puttin’ on airs.”
“I think it’s more a case of him not wanting a Texas girl, because she might remind him too much of the one he lost.”
“I can understand that,” Bo said with a nod, without explaining why he understood. “But the one you picked for him didn’t work out.”
Keegan held up a hand, as if to stop him. “I don’t pick. I offered Mr. Craddock several choices, and he corresponded with more than one of the ladies. Ultimately, he was the one who settled on Miss Hampshire and made arrangements for her to travel here to Fort Worth so they could meet.”
“And she’s a whole heap older than she pretended to be, right?” Scratch said.
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