Mankiller, Colorado

by William W. Johnstone

  Jackson Devery waved a knobby-knuckled hand at Bo and Scratch. “These here deputies—” He let scorn drip from the word. “—want to talk to you boys.”

  “Why do we have to talk to ’em?” Luke asked in a surly voice. “They’re just a couple of troublemakin’ drifters. They ain’t real deputies.”

  “They claim they are,” Devery said. “Just humor ’em…for now.” That last was added with a tone of definite menace.

  Luke and Thad stepped to the edge of the porch. “What the hell do you want?” Luke demanded. The big dogs stood up and flanked him, growling low in their throats and looking at Bo and Scratch as if thinking that the Texans would make tasty little snacks.

  “All our money and gear back would be a good start,” Scratch said.

  Luke sneered and shook his head. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about, mister.”

  “The two of you and some of your relatives attacked us at the livery stable yesterday,” Bo said.

  “No, we didn’t. We went in there to help my Uncle Edgar after you two saddle tramps started tearin’ up the place. That’s what happened.”

  “That’s a damned lie,” Scratch said. “You jumped us from behind when we weren’t doin’ anything except talkin’ to Edgar.”

  Luke’s face turned almost as red as his beard. “You’d best watch who you’re callin’ a liar, old man. The way I told it is the way it happened, and I got half a dozen witnesses to back it up.”

  “The men who helped you try to kill us, you mean? The ones who beat us senseless, stole everything we had, and dumped us in a damn mudhole for the hogs to eat?” Scratch’s voice shook with anger as he spoke, and Bo knew that his old friend was barely holding in the rage he felt.

  Luke shook his head. “If that really happened, we didn’t have nothin’ to do with it. We just dragged you outta Uncle Edgar’s barn and left you in the alley beside it.” He laughed coldly. “There’s lots of shady characters in Mankiller these days. Ain’t no tellin’ who did those other things…if they really happened.”

  “Yes, you’ve made it plain you don’t believe us,” Bo said.

  “And you can’t prove a damned thing otherwise,” Luke gloated.

  “Why, you—” Scratch began.

  Bo put a hand on his arm. “Take it easy. His word against ours, remember? And we swore to uphold the law.”

  Scratch drew in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh of frustration. “All right,” he said. “For now.”

  Bo looked at Luke and Thad and went on, “If you boys happen to come across any of our belongings, we’d really appreciate it if they were returned.”

  Luke laughed again. “Yeah, sure. We’ll do that, won’t we, Thad?”

  Thad just sneered and didn’t say anything.

  “In the meantime—and this goes for you, too, Mr. Devery—Deputy Morton and I want you all to know that we’ll be helping Sheriff O’Brien enforce the law and keep the peace around here. If you have any problems, you come to us and let us handle them. Nobody takes the law into their own hands in Mankiller anymore.”

  “Is that so?” Jackson Devery demanded. “You know who founded this town, don’t you, Deputy?”

  “I do,” Bo said, “but that doesn’t make any difference. The founder of a town isn’t above the law.”

  “For a long time, I was the only law in Mankiller!” Devery thundered.

  Calmly, but loudly enough that the whole crowd could hear, Bo said, “Well, sir, those days are over.”

  Devery glared at the Texans for a moment, then snapped, “Is there anything else you want?”

  “Not right now,” Bo replied.

  “Then get the hell away from my house. I’m done talkin’.”

  With that, Devery turned on his heel and stalked back into the house. Luke and Thad went inside, too, sneering and glowering at Bo and Scratch along the way, slamming the door violently behind them.

  “Well, that didn’t do us a damn bit of good,” Scratch said quietly.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Bo said. “We got a look at the old man, and we know now that Luke and Thad aren’t going to tell the truth about what happened yesterday.”

  Scratch snorted. “Hell, we knew that anyway.” He paused. “You see those dogs on the porch?”

  “It’d be hard to miss them.”

  “They’re damn near as big as horses!”

  “Bull mastiffs,” Bo said. “They have hungry looks in their eyes, too. I’ll bet they’d come after anybody who walked through that gate. But there are other ways in, if it comes to that.” He smiled. “And who knows, maybe we can make friends with them.”

  Scratch just looked doubtful about that idea.

  As they turned away from the old house, they saw that the crowd that had followed them up the street was still there, at least for the most part. Folks were lingering, as if they were waiting to see what the Texans would do.

  Bo smiled at them and said, “You folks go on about your business now. There’s nothing to see here.”

  One man with a balding head and a prominent Adam’s apple stared at them and asked, “Are you fellas really deputies?”

  Bo nodded. “Duly appointed and legally sworn.”

  “And you’re gonna stand up to the Deverys?”

  “We’re going to enforce the law and keep the peace,” Bo said. “That applies to the Deverys the same as it does anyone else.”

  The man looked at them for a moment longer, then asked, “Have you met Sam Bradfield?”

  “Move along!” Scratch growled. “Or we won’t be the ones needin’ the undertaker.”

  The crowd started to break up as Bo and Scratch strode through it, heading back down the hill. They went to the sheriff’s office and found that Biscuits O’Brien had not returned. He was probably in one of the saloons guzzling down rotgut, and he might even be passed out somewhere.

  The Texans spent the rest of the afternoon organizing and cleaning up the office, which looked like it hadn’t been swept out in months. There were two cells in the back. Bo took the mattresses from each bunk outside and gave them a good shaking to get rid of as much dust and as many bedbugs as he could. Scratch found a ratty broom in a closet and swept the place, then they both tried to wipe the grime off the windows. By the time they finished, the office and jail didn’t look exactly clean, but at least they weren’t filthy anymore, either.

  Late in the afternoon, a man came in and introduced himself as Harlan Green, the owner of the Rocky Mountain Hotel. “Mankiller’s best,” he added with a wry smile, “which doesn’t mean quite as much when you realize that there are only two hotels in town.”

  “Plus some flophouses,” Bo said as he returned the smile. “Or so we’ve heard.”

  “What can we do for you, Mr. Green?” Scratch asked.

  Green, who had graying, pomaded hair parted in the middle and a mustache, drew a couple of keys from the pocket of his coat and held them out. “It’s more a matter of what I can do for you, gentlemen. Two rooms in the hotel, for you to use free of charge as long as you’re working as deputies.”

  “Lyle Rushford talked to you, didn’t he?” Bo asked, remembering what the saloon keeper had said that morning.

  “Actually, Lyle and Wallace Kane both paid visits to me and explained the situation. I want to be part of the little group of concerned citizens that Mrs. Bonner has put together, and so does Jessie Haynes-worth, who owns the other hotel in town.” Green paused. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t see how two men can clean up the lawless elements in this town and also stand up to Pa Devery and his clan, but if there’s any chance of you being successful, I want to help as much as I can. Mankiller has the potential to grow into a fine town, but that’ll never happen like it is now.”

  “We’re obliged to you, Mr. Green,” Bo said as he and Scratch took the keys.

  “Now, those aren’t fancy rooms,” Green warned them. “And they’re on the ground floor, in the rear, as well as being rather small.”


  “They’ll be fine,” Bo assured him.

  “All we need’s a place to lay our heads at night,” Scratch added. He grinned. “Anyway, if Mankiller’s as wild a place as we’ve heard it is, we may not be doin’ much sleepin’ for a while.”

  “It’s wild, all right,” Green said. “In spades.”

  A short time later, after Green had returned to the hotel, the Texans walked across the street to have supper at Lucinda Bonner’s café. When they came in, all the tables were full, and so were the stools at the counter. But Lucinda’s daughter Callie met them with a smile and said, “Ma told me to tell you if you came in just to go around back. She and Uncle Charley are in the kitchen, and you can eat back there if you don’t mind.”

  “We don’t mind at all,” Bo told her. He and Scratch did as Callie said, knocking on the back door they had gone in through for the meeting earlier in the day. Lucinda called, “Come in.”

  They stepped into an atmosphere of warmth and delicious aromas. The room had two stoves in it, and both of them were going, Lucinda working at one of them and her brother Charley Ellis at the other. Lucinda smiled over her shoulder at Bo and Scratch and said, “Just sit down at the table. We’ll have food ready in a minute.”

  Scratch returned the smile as he pulled back a chair. “Just like bein’ back home,” he said.

  “And this way we don’t take up valuable table or counter space,” Bo added.

  A few minutes later Lucinda brought them platters of thick steaks, fried potatos, biscuits, and gravy. After she had put the food on the table in front of the appreciative Texans, she reached into a pocket on her apron and brought out a small roll of bills.

  “That’s the best we can do in the way of an advance,” she said as she handed the money to Bo.

  “That’ll be fine, ma’am,” he told her. “What with Mr. Green giving us places to sleep in the hotel and the way you’ve been feeding us, I feel a little bad about taking wages from you folks as well.”

  Lucinda shook her head. “Don’t feel bad about it, Mr. Creel.”

  “Might as well call me Bo.”

  “And I’m Scratch,” the silver-haired Texan put in.

  “All right,” Lucinda said. “Bo and Scratch. I like those names.” She grew sober again. “But like I said, don’t worry about taking the wages we’ll pay you.”

  “Why not?” Bo asked.

  “Because if you stay in Mankiller for very long, I know good and well that you’re going to earn every penny of them!”

  CHAPTER 16

  Despite Lucinda’s pessimistic prediction, Bo and Scratch thoroughly enjoyed the meal, washing down the excellent food with several cups of coffee. When they were finished, they got to their feet and thanked Lucinda and Charley.

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked.

  “Well, I suppose we’ll go back over to the sheriff’s office and make sure nobody’s been looking for us,” Bo said. “Then I reckon we’ll get started on our evening rounds.”

  “Where’s Biscuits?”

  Scratch shook his head. “No idea.”

  “You two are going to have to go it alone, you know that, don’t you? You can’t count on him for any help.”

  “Never thought we could,” Bo said. “But maybe we can be a good influence on him and he’ll straighten up.”

  Scratch snorted, showing just how much he believed that.

  They left the café’s kitchen as they had entered it, through the back door. Full night had fallen while they were eating, so the alley behind the building was dark. The blackness was relieved slightly by the glow that came through the narrow passages between buildings from Main Street.

  Even so, the shadows were thick back here, and Bo and Scratch were both wary and alert for trouble. Bushwhackers or some other threat could be lurking in the stygian gloom.

  Nothing happened, though, as they made their way through the passage beside the café and came out on the boardwalk that lined the street. The settlement appeared to be as busy as ever. The boardwalks were crowded, and riders and wagons passed back and forth in the street. A blend of talk, laughter, and music filled the air. It should have been jarringly unmelodic, but somehow it wasn’t. It was the sound of life.

  Bo listened for screams and gunshots, because those would have been the sounds of death, but he didn’t hear any. For the moment, at least, Mankiller was noisy but peaceful.

  The sheriff’s office was still empty, with no sign that Biscuits O’Brien had even been there since the Texans left. Scratch looked around the place with disgust written on his weatherbeaten face and said, “You know, sooner or later we’re gonna have to go look for that sorry excuse for a lawman.”

  Bo nodded. “I know. He’s probably somewhere either soaking up more booze or passed out from it, but I suppose he could be in real trouble.”

  As if his words were a stage cue, the office door opened hurriedly and a short man in work clothes stuck his head in. “Are you fellas the deputies?” he asked in an excited voice.

  “That’s right,” Bo said as he turned toward the door.

  “Well, you’d better get down to Bella’s pronto! It looks like all hell’s gonna bust lose down there!”

  “Hold on a minute,” Scratch said sharply to the townie. “What’s Bella’s, and where is it?”

  The man looked at them like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but he said, “Bella’s is the biggest whorehouse in town. It’s a block over and two down on Grand Street.”

  “Grand is the one that parallels Main on the north?” Bo asked as he and Scratch started toward the door.

  The townsman nodded. “Yeah. You better hurry. Thad Devery’s on a rampage, and he’s got some of his cousins there to back him up.”

  Bo and Scratch exchanged a glance as they went out the door. An urgent summons like this, with the Deverys involved, smacked of a trap of some sort. As lawmen, though, the Texans couldn’t just ignore it. It was possible that the madam and the girls who worked at Bella’s really did need their help.

  Bo caught hold of the shoulder of the man who’d come to the office and turned him so that his face was in the light. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Devery, too, would it?” Bo asked in a hard voice.

  “Devery? Hell, no! My name’s Ernie Bond. I drive a freight wagon. I don’t have anything to do with the Deverys, other than the fact that I don’t like ’em much.”

  The man seemed to be telling the truth. Bo figured that he and Scratch would have to accept it for now and check out the situation at Bella’s.

  “Then lead the way,” Bo ordered.

  Ernie Bond gulped and looked like he would have rather done just about anything other than head back to the whorehouse, but he nodded and said, “Sure.” He took off trotting along the boardwalk.

  Bo and Scratch followed, their long legs allowing them to keep up with the smaller Ernie without much trouble.

  They took the first cross street and cut over to Grand. The word must have gotten around town that there was some sort of trouble developing over at Bella’s, because quite a few men were hurrying in that direction besides Bo, Scratch, and Ernie Bond. The ones who were slower got out of the way of the lawmen.

  Ernie had said that Bella’s was the biggest whorehouse in Mankiller. It lived up to that billing, Bo saw as they approached. The building took up half a block. Its windows were covered with thick curtains. The bottom half of the heavy front door featured elaborate woodworking, while the upper half had a pane of leaded glass surrounded by gold trim set into it. Painted on the glass in gold leaf was the simple legend BELLA’S PLACE. That was the only explanation anybody in Mankiller needed. Everybody knew what went on here.

  Men clustered on the porch, pressing their faces to the glass as they tried to catch a glimpse through any tiny gaps in the curtains. More men were gathered in front of the door. Bo raised his voice and said, “All right, everybody step back. Let us through.”

  Some of the men started guiltily and got out of
the way. Others were slower and more sullen about it, but they stepped aside after a moment.

  Bo nodded to Ernie Bond and said, “All right, thanks for bringing us here. You don’t have to go in.”

  “I won’t, then,” the little townie said. “There’s liable to be bullets flyin’ around in there before it’s over!”

  Bo hoped not, but he was prepared for anything as he opened the door and he and Scratch stepped into the whorehouse. They had their hands on their guns as they entered.

  They found themselves in a foyer with a polished hardwood floor and fancy wallpaper. An oil lamp in a brass sconce lit the place up, revealing an arched entrance that led into a parlor to the left. A beaded curtain hung over the entrance. Straight ahead was a wide staircase with a carved banister.

  Several women were clustered at the bottom of the stairs. The one in front was middle-aged but still quite attractive, with bright red hair piled high on her head in an elaborate arrangement of curls. She wore a sea-green gown cut low enough to reveal the pale swells of her breasts. The women behind her on the stairs were all considerably younger and skimpier dressed, so Bo pegged the redhead as Bella and the others as the soiled doves who worked here.

  That thought was all he had time for before a loud crash came from inside the parlor.

  “Thank God you’re here!” the redhead exclaimed. She waved a handkerchief that she had clutched in one hand toward the parlor. “They’ve gone loco! They’re going to tear the whole place up!”

  “No, ma’am, they won’t,” Bo said. “Not if we can do anything about it. Is that Thad Devery in there?”

  “Yes, and his cousins Reuben and Simeon. George tried to settle them down when they got upset, but I’m afraid they’ve killed him!”

  That accusation made things even more serious. Bo and Scratch drew their guns as they turned toward the parlor.

  “You and your gals better get upstairs, ma’am,” Scratch said.

  Bella turned and began shooing the whores up the stairs like a mother hen chasing a bunch of chicks across a barnyard.