Muttering disgustedly, Reilly shoved the cheroot back in his pocket. “It’s like traveling with a pair of damned old mother hens.”
“These mother hens are tryin’ to keep you alive, boy,” Scratch said. “Seems to me like we’ve pulled your bacon outta the fire a couple o’ times already. You ought to be a mite grateful.”
“I am,” Reilly said, although he didn’t sound particularly thankful.
“If that’s true, then maybe you’ll consider an idea I have in mind,” Bo said.
Suspicion was suddenly audible in Reilly’s voice as he said, “An idea? What sort of idea?”
Bo thumbed his hat back on his head as he sat on the ground with his legs stretched out in front of him. “I’ve been thinking about what’s going to happen when we get to Whiskey Flats,” he said.
“I sort of figured we’d go our separate ways,” Reilly said. “No offense, and like I told you, I’m grateful to you fellas for what you’ve done for me, but let’s face it…we’re just not cut from the same cloth. You’re cramping my style.”
“Crampin’ your style?” Scratch repeated as he started to get up. “Why, you little pup—”
“Take it easy,” Bo said. “Jake, how do you think the people of Whiskey Flats are going to feel when they find out that John Henry Braddock, the man they were counting on to bring law and order to their community, is dead?”
Reilly shrugged. “Disappointed, I suppose. But that’s not my problem, and it’s not yours either. Hell, you’re doing them a favor just by bringing them the news that Braddock is never going to get there.”
“But what if he does?” Bo asked. “What if John Henry Braddock rides into Whiskey Flats after all?”
A laugh came from Reilly. “That’s gonna be pretty hard, seeing as how he’s dead and buried.”
Now it was Scratch’s turn to be suspicious as he asked, “What sort o’ crazy notion is floatin’ around inside that noggin o’ yours, Bo Creel?”
“It’s really simple,” Bo said. “John Henry Braddock can still take the job of marshal in Whiskey Flats and bring law and order to the settlement.” He held out his hand, and the light of the rising moon glinted on the badge that rested on his palm once again. “All you have to do, Jake, is pretend to be Braddock. You can be the marshal of Whiskey Flats.”
CHAPTER 7
Scratch and Reilly both stared at him for a long moment in the fading light, and then both exploded in surprise at the same time. “You’re crazy!” Reilly exclaimed, and Scratch put it more colorfully by bursting out, “Bo, you’ve gone plumb loco!”
Bo shook his head and told them, “Not at all. It makes perfect sense. The letter from Mayor McHale makes it clear that neither he nor anyone else in Whiskey Flats has ever actually met Braddock. The town council arranged to hire him as marshal through correspondence. McHale says that they’re all looking forward to meeting him for the first time.”
“But maybe they’ve seen pictures of him, or at least know what he’s supposed to look like,” Reilly objected.
“You saw Braddock for yourself,” Bo said. “He was about the same age and size as you, Jake, and your hair color is close enough to pass for his.”
“But…but…you’re forgetting one thing…I’m not a lawman!”
“But you could be,” Bo insisted. “All you have to do is pretend to be Braddock.”
“And bring law and order to some wide-open, lawless town! How in blazes am I supposed to do that?”
“That’s simple, too.” Bo smiled. “We’ll help you.”
“Now I know you’re loco,” Scratch said.
“Just think about it,” Bo urged. “Jake here tells the folks in Whiskey Flats that he’s John Henry Braddock. They’ll believe him. And to help him restore order, he’s brought a couple of deputies with him. That would be you and me, Scratch.”
Deep trenches appeared in Scratch’s weathered face as he frowned in thought. He reached up and rubbed his jaw.
Reilly looked over at him. “You can’t actually be considering this insane scheme!” he said.
“You know, it just might work,” Scratch mused. “It’d take a heap o’ luck, but it might work.”
“It would take me agreeing to go along with it, too,” Reilly said, “and I’m not gonna! Do I look like a lawman to you? Do you really think I’m cut out for that sort of thing?”
“You pretended to be a railroad man,” Bo pointed out. “All you’d have to do is pretend to be a marshal.” He paused. “Unless you think you couldn’t convince anybody that’s who you were.”
Reilly laughed. “I can convince anybody of anything! Hell, I once persuaded a little gal in Kansas that I was Jesse James! If I wanted to, I could put it over. I could—”
He stopped short and glared at Bo.
“You see, Jake,” the Texan said quietly, “you’ve just got to have confidence.”
Reilly stood up and paced back and forth across the campsite. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his tousled blond hair. Finally, he stopped to look at Bo and Scratch and asked, “What’s in it for me?”
“In a town as grateful as Whiskey Flats is bound to be when the man they believe to be John Henry Braddock shows up…well, it seems to me that a fella could get just about anything he wanted in a town like that.”
Reilly stared at Bo for a moment. He still held his hat in his hand, and he abruptly lifted it and pointed it at the Texans as he exclaimed, “Yes! That’s exactly right! All I’d have to do is pretend to be the marshal for a little while, and they’d open up the town wide for me!” He threw his head back and laughed. “It’s brilliant! Good Lord, Bo, I never realized you had such a streak of larceny in you, too!”
“Just don’t forget your faithful deputies when it comes time for the big cleanup,” Bo said.
Reilly clapped his hat back on his head. “Don’t worry about that,” he assured them. “You boys will get your share. Maybe not quite as big as my share, of course, since I’ll be the marshal and you’ll just be deputies, but we’ll all come out of this rich men. Rich men, I tell you!”
He capered around the campsite a while longer, then finally sat down again to turn over all the potentially lucrative possibilities in his mind. Scratch climbed to his feet and said, “Reckon I’d best have a look around ’fore we turn in, just to make sure there ain’t nobody lurkin’ in these parts. Bo, why don’t you come with me?”
“I can do that,” Bo agreed as he stood up. “You’ll be all right here, Jake?”
“Huh?” Reilly glanced up distractedly. “Oh, yeah, sure. You fellas take your time. I’ve got
