“Now,” Scratch said as he turned to his trail partner. “How about tellin’ me just what the hell is really goin’ on here?”
“Maybe some of Reilly’s shady nature has rubbed off on me,” Bo suggested.
Scratch shook his head. “Not hardly. You got somethin’ else in mind. I can tell.”
Bo laughed softly and said, “All right, you’ve got me. I knew I couldn’t put it over on you. Jake was easy. All I had to do was make him think that we’re as crooked as he is, and he went right along with the idea.”
“Like he said about swindlin’ somebody,” Scratch replied as understanding dawned in him. “Make a fella think he might get somethin’ for nothin’, and he’ll do whatever you want him to.”
“Exactly. Jake thinks he’s going to Whiskey Flats to swindle the people there, but he’s actually going to be their marshal and do some growing up.”
Scratch grunted. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“Think about it,” Bo urged. “He’s a smart kid, you’ve seen that for yourself. And he’s got some sand, too. He’s in the habit of running away from trouble, but back him into a corner and he might actually grow a backbone and become a man.”
“And you’re plannin’ on backin’ him into that corner.”
“If Whiskey Flats is as full of trouble as Mayor McHale’s letter indicates, it’ll do the job for us. Jake won’t have any choice but to grow up in a hurry while he’s pretending to be the marshal.”
“Either that or get himself killed,” Scratch said gloomily. “And us right along with him.”
“Well,” Bo said with a faint smile in the darkness, “there’s that possibility to consider, too.”
In the end, Scratch went along with the idea, of course, just as Bo knew he would. Scratch might not have a very high opinion of Reilly, but he trusted Bo’s instincts.
Anyway, Bo had figured out why Scratch and Reilly didn’t get along all that well. They were just too much alike, at least as far as their devil-may-care natures went. It was no wonder they sometimes rubbed each other the wrong way.
The Texans took turns standing watch again that night, and early the next morning they were on their way again. Reilly was still excited and full of talk about how they would carry off the deception once they reached Whiskey Flats.
“I’ve seen plenty of big-city police,” he said, “but not that many frontier marshals.”
“Don’t worry,” Bo assured him. “We’ve run into plenty of small town star packers, so we know how they act. You can just follow our lead.”
“But it’ll have to look like I’m giving the orders,” Reilly pointed out. “After all, I’m the marshal—”
“And we’re just the deputies,” Scratch finished for him. “We ain’t forgot.”
Bo said, “We’ll make it look like you’re in charge, Jake. That’s what the people in Whiskey Flats will be expecting, so that’s what they’ll see.”
After the three riders made their way by a twisting trail over a couple of ridges, the terrain began to flatten out more as the valley they were following once again spread out between mountains to east and west. The countryside took on the look of cattle country, with broad, lushly grassed pastures interspersed with creeks and bands of trees. Scratch spotted some cows grazing in the distance and pointed them out.
“This is prime range,” he commented. “Whoever owns it has got himself a mighty nice spread.”
“How far do you think we are from Whiskey Flats?” Reilly asked.
“No way of telling yet,” Bo said. “But there’s bound to be a settlement pretty close by. The ranches in these parts will need a supply center.”
Scratch grinned and added, “And a place for the cowhands to raise hell on Saturday night and payday.”
Reilly licked his lips in anticipation. “Man, I’d like to spend some time in a saloon! Some good whiskey, a game of cards, a few pretty little gals in spangled dresses to choose from…”
“You’re supposed to be cleanin’ the place up,” Scratch reminded him, “not addin’ to the general debauchery.”
“But I can at least have a drink, can’t I?” Reilly asked, starting to sound a little desperate.
Bo smiled and said, “I reckon even a famous lawman can be allowed a drink now and then.”
Reilly heaved a sigh of relief. “For a minute there, I was afraid you were gonna say I can’t have any fun at all—”
His words were cut off by the sudden crackle of gunfire up ahead.
The three men reined their mounts to a halt as shots blasted through the midday air. Up ahead, the trail twisted through some trees, so they couldn’t see very far along it. The reports sounded like they were coming from handguns, and they drew closer as Bo, Scratch, and Reilly listened. After a moment, they heard the rumble of hoofbeats, too. A desperate pursuit was under way—and coming straight at them.
“What do we do?” Reilly asked. He looked and sounded nervous.
“Take that badge I gave you out of your pocket and pin it to your lapel,” Bo told him. “We don’t know what’s going on here, and until we do I don’t want there to be any question about you being a lawman.”
“Keep your eyes and ears open,” Scratch added. “The way those hombres are ridin’ hell-for-leather, they’ll be here any minute.”
Sure enough, a rider soon swept around the bend in the trail up ahead and pelted toward them, leaning over the neck of his horse and kicking it in the sides to get all the speed out of it that he could. Bo couldn’t tell anything about the man other than that he was riding for his life.
It quickly became apparent why the lone horseman was fleeing. Half a dozen more riders thundered around the bend. Puffs of gun smoke spurted from the revolvers they brandished as they fired after the madly galloping rider.
“Six-to-one odds, Bo,” Scratch said. “I don’t cotton to that, no matter what that lone fella’s done.”
“Neither do I,” Bo agreed. “Let’s put a stop to it and see if we can find out what’s going on here.”
Reilly swallowed. “What do I do?”
“Let’s move aside and let him pass,” Bo said. “Then we’ll stop those men who are chasing him.”
The three of them pulled their mounts to the side of the trail. Mere seconds later, the fleeing rider flashed past them. Bo caught only a glimpse of him. He appeared to be small and fairly young, maybe just a boy. He wore fringed buckskins and a battered old brown hat with the brim pushed up in front. Foamy sweat covered the heaving flanks of the horse, which was clearly on its last legs.
As soon
