“Does a river flux?”
“No, it flows,” I said.
“Don’t it mean the same thing?” Virgil said.
“Pretty much,” I said. “Except people just say it the way they say it.”
“So, things are fluxing,” Virgil said.
I nodded.
“So, Laird may be thinking it’s a good idea to have a first-rate gun hand available until things shake out.”
“That would be Chauncey,” Virgil said.
“And if Chauncey kills you,” I said, “he probably would need to go away.”
“Not, I’m betting, because of Amos Callico,” Virgil said.
“Maybe, maybe not. Depends how things are when he has to decide. But Stringer might come down from the sheriff’s office. Hell, I might even get sort of bothersome ’bout it.”
“It would make sense for Chauncey to flux on out of Appaloosa after he killed me,” Virgil said.
“Which,” I said, “would leave Laird without the gun hand that he might need if, say, he finds it too hard to get along with Callico.”
“Nicky probably done that work for him before,” Virgil said.
“Or wanted to,” I said.
Virgil shook his head sadly.
“Wasn’t good enough,” he said.
“But Chauncey is,” I said.
“Maybe,” Virgil said.
“And if you kill him…” I said.
“Laird’s gotta find somebody else.”
“Ain’t too many in Chauncey’s class,” I said.
“Nope.”
“So, we wait and watch,” I said.
“Yep.”
“Least he won’t back-shoot you,” I said. “He’ll come at you straight on.”
Virgil nodded.
“Be too bad if I have to kill him,” Virgil said. “He’s been pretty useful so far.”
“So have you,” I said.
“I have,” Virgil said. “Haven’t I?”
51
THE FRONT of the Golden Palace where it faced the street was still open. And carpenters were bringing in lumber and millwork. But the back of the room was enclosed and there were a few odd tables set up near a bar made from a couple of tailgates.
Buford Posner brought a bottle of whiskey and four glasses to the table where Virgil and I were sitting with Lamar Speck. He poured some whiskey for each of us. Speck raised his glass.
“Almost back,” he said, and drank. We joined him.
“Get that front closed in,” Speck said. “And you can get started on the finish.”
“Got a new bar,” Posner said, “coming in from Denver. Amos got them to ship it to me on credit through the Reclamation Commission.”
“And got a little finder’s fee,” Speck said.
“Sure,” Posner said. “Amos always gets a little finder’s fee.”
“Didn’t know we had a Reclamation Commission,” I said.
“What Amos calls it,” Posner said. “Calls himself commissioner, too.”
“He would,” I said.
“Not a bad idea, though,” Speck said. “Town was originally thrown up building at a time with no oversight. So Amos got together with some of the better-off business interests in town, and he says we got a second chance, let’s do it right. And he brings the general aboard, first off, and when people see that, they’re interested. Me ’n Buford came aboard.”
Virgil seemed interested in the framing work going on in the front of the saloon. But I knew he heard what was being said. Virgil, as far as I know, always heard everything that mattered. And saw everything, and knew what to do.
“How’s it work?” I said.
“We all chip in some money, to make a little credit pool, and use it to support loans for people rebuilding. In return they give the commission a say in what they’re doing,” Speck said.
“Nice position of power,” I said.
“Amos put in money,” Virgil said.
He was still watching the framers. It was the kind of thing Virgil liked to watch. Men with a skill practicing it well.
“Mostly the general put up the money at first,” Posner said. “Him and Amos is pretty tight. Amos is the commissioner, does most of the legwork.”
“You boys get to say much?” I said.
“We have regular meetings,” Speck said.
“Truth of the matter,” Posner said, “we’re in ’cause we can’t afford to be out.”
I nodded.
“But do you have any say?”
“Not much,” Speck said. “Callico and the general are very tight. They pretty much decide everything.”
“And it’s not just the money,” Posner said. “Callico is the law here, and he always has some policemen with him.”
“And the general?” Virgil said.
“Teagarden is always beside him,” Posner said.
“Any threats?” Virgil said.
“Not direct, but they can back up what they think should happen,” Posner said.
“And you boys can’t,” Virgil said.
“No.”
“And you want us to help you.”
They said yes at the same time.
Virgil looked at me.
“You want to have the first say, Everett?” he said.
I nodded.
“I don’t like it,” I said.
Virgil nodded slowly.
“No,” he said. “I don’t, either.”
“We can pay you well,” Speck said.
Virgil shook his head.
“Ain’t that,” he said.
“Are you afraid?” Posner said.
Virgil smiled.
“Long as Everett and me been doing this?” he said. “Nope, we ain’t scared.”
“You want to end up on the right side of things,” Speck said. “When this is all over with and Callico’s got the town.”
“Everett,” Virgil said to me. “Would you explain to these two gentlemen why we ain’t gonna do this?”
“What we do,” I said to Speck and Posner, “is we kill men. We been doing it for a while and we are better at it than anyone we’ve come up against so far. Being good at killing men is different than being good at bulldogging a steer or shooting holes in silver dollars. It’s serious, and it needs to be done right.”
Speck and Posner stared at me and said nothing.
“You’re a lawman and right is pretty easy. You do what the law requires. And you’re pretty much sure you’re on the right side of things. Until now and then you find that you’re not. And you have to kill someone on your own terms.”
Virgil nodded. He had always worried about stuff like this more than I did.
“This would be like that,” I said. “And we don’t want to kill a man on your terms.”
“Well,” Speck said. “Pretty goddamned fancy for a couple of fucking gunmen.”
“Fancy,” Virgil said.
52
VIRGIL AND I were having coffee and dried-apricot pie at Café Paris. Through the front window we could see the opening ceremonies for the new Laird bank that the general was opening in Appaloosa.
There was red, white, and blue bunting. There were some speeches. Two guys played banjo. The general was there, of course, in a dark gray suit and some ribbons and an officer’s dress sword on a sash. Teagarden was beside him, wearing his ivory-handled Colt. Chauncey was a bear for ceremony.
“Lotta money kicking around Appaloosa these days,” I said.
“Callico and the general,” Virgil said.
“Yeah,” I said. “They’ve brought in a lot.”
“That much money coming and going,” Virgil said. “Trouble comes with it.”
“Bad element collecting in town?” I said.
“Seems so,” Virgil said.
“Anyone special?” I said.
“Well,” Virgil said. “There’s you and me.”
“We cleaned it up the first time, Virgil.”
“Might have to again,” Virgil said.
“And who’ll pay us to do it?”
“Whoever got the most to lose, I expect,” Virgil said.
“So, we got some preliminary skirmishes to observe,” I said. “’Fore we know.”
Virgil nodded. We both ate some pie, and Virgil drank some coffee. He shook his head.
“Chinaman makes the second-worst coffee in Appaloosa,” he said.
“Allie being the worst,” I said.
“Yes.”
I nodded toward the bank festivities.
“Allie’s in attendance,” I said.
“I know,” Virgil said. “Since Laurel went off, Allie’s got a lot of free time.”
He drank some more coffee.
“I don’t encourage her to spend it cooking,” he said.
“I wouldn’t,” I said.
“She’s working her way up in Appaloosa society,” he said.
“Which would be, at the moment, Callico,” I said. “And the general.”
“Callico is through Mrs. Callico,” Virgil said.
“The belle of New Orleans,” I said.
“Whole damned South,” Virgil said.
The Chinaman came out and poured us more coffee. We both drank some and looked across the bright street. Allie was talking to Chauncey Teagarden.
“General’s kinda long in the tooth,” I said. “But Chauncey ain’t.”
Virgil nodded and stared across the street at Allie over the top of his coffee cup.
“You and me know Allie, I’d guess,” Virgil said, “better’n anybody.”
“You know her best,” I said.
Virgil shook his head.
“No,” Virgil said. “I fucked her and you ain’t. But you know her well as I do.”
I didn’t say anything.
“And she knows that Chauncey is here sooner or later to kill me,” Virgil said.
I nodded.
“And she knows that he might succeed.”
“Always possible,” I said.
“And so you know she’s thinking ahead,” Virgil said.
I was quiet for a moment, looking across the street. Then I took in some air and blew it out slowly.
“And lining up replacements,” I said.
“In case,” Virgil said.
“Something happened to you, I’d look out for her,” I said.
“She knows that,” he said. “She also knows I go down, you’ll probably go, too.”
“Probably,” I said.
“And even if you don’t go down, she knows you won’t…”
Virgil wobbled his hand a little.
“No,” I said. “That’s right. I’d look out for her, but I wouldn’t, ah, be with her.”
“You don’t love her,” Virgil said.
“No.”
Virgil gazed across the street silently.
“I do,” he said.
“I know.”
“Don’t make any sense, does it?” Virgil said.
I exhaled again.
“No,” I said. “But maybe it ain’t supposed to.”
“I want her to feel safe,” Virgil said.
“I’ll see that she does,” I said.
“No,” Virgil said. “You can’t. ’Cause you won’t fuck her and she can’t feel safe with no one ’less she’s fucking him.”
“I know,” I said.
“So, let her find somebody to fuck, if I go,” Virgil said. “And don’t kill him for fucking her.”
I nodded again.
“Work out better all around,” I said, “you don’t die.”
“Would,” Virgil said. “Wouldn’t it.”
53
AS THE TOWN BLOOMED, the Reclamation Commission bloomed along with it and, in time, was effectively running Appaloosa. Most of the running was done by Laird and Callico, who had come to seem to be almost a single entity. They built a big hall with offices for town government and a big meeting hall on the second floor. They called it Reclamation Hall. Callico moved his offices there from the jail. He and Laird set up offices for the Reclamation Commission there. At the end of a grand mahogany corridor on the first floor, they built a lavish office for the mayor. There was the Reclamation Commission. There was Callico and Laird. The rest of the offices were empty. There was no town government. There was no mayor.
“Bad mistake,” Virgil said, walking through the still-virgin offices.
“Building the office first?” I said.
“Longer it sits here,” Virgil said, “more pressure to have an election and elect a mayor.”
“Which will be either Callico or the general,” I said.
“Running against each other,” Virgil said.
I nodded slowly without saying anything.
“Ain’t ready for that yet,” Virgil said.
“Laird might be,” I said.
“Maybe he is,” Virgil said. “Maybe he ain’t. Callico ain’t.”
“Wants it too bad,” I said.
We walked out of the gleaming new office and down the broad corridor.
“Wants everything too bad,” Virgil said.
“Wants to be more than he is,” I said.
“Not the key to happiness, I’m thinking,” Virgil said.
“You’d settle for being what you are,” I said to Virgil.
“I have,” Virgil said.
“Would you settle for being Callico?” I said.
We opened the heavy front door and went out of the soap-smelling hall and down the stairs. The smell of the town was thick with sawdust and raw wood, horse droppings, and the smell of scorched wood from the steam saw. All drifted across Appaloosa on the easy breeze from the prairie, to which a vestige of sage smell still clung.
“No,” Virgil said.
54
THE RESTORATION of Appaloosa was complete by the time the fall rains arrived. But the town kept right on building.
On September 1, Amos Callico and General Horatio Laird both announced that they were running for mayor. On September 15, The Appaloosa Argus endorsed General Laird.
“Do you think he’d be the best?” Allie said.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Virgil said. “Hate politics.”
“Well, they’re what’s running,” Allie said. “Who you gonna vote for, Everett?”
“Probably Callico,” I said.
“Even though the newspaper says it should be General Laird?”
“They probably think he looks like a mayor,” I said.
“He was a general, you know,” Allie said.
“Part of the problem,” I said. “He’s used to working inside a set of rules. And he’s used to people doing what he tells them to do.”
“I should think that would be good for a mayor,” Allie said.
Virgil was standing in the kitchen doorway, looking out at the dark rain soaking into his yard. The sound of it was pleasant. The smell of the new rain was fresh. The mud was probably six inches deep already.
“Not for mayor of a town like Appaloosa,” I said. “Never had a mayor before. Never actual like had a government before. Man’s gonna get things done in a town like this, hell, most towns, is a liar and a thief. Like Callico. He won’t keep his word. He won’t honor yours. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t expect you to care about him.”
“That’s a good mayor?”
“He’ll get things done,” I said.
“Maybe that’s not all he should do,” Allie said.
At the open door, Virgil turned and looked for a long moment at Allie.
“By God, Allie,” he said. “Maybe it ain’t.”
55
BUSINESS WAS GOOD in Appaloosa. Virgil and I kept busy buffaloing drunks, and occasionally a little more, in the saloons we serviced. When we weren’t busy we spent our time watching the mayoral election unfold in virgin territory.
The rain was meager today. Enough drizzle to keep the streets mucky but not to drive the voters away, and they stood in a damp cluster around the stairs to Reclamation Hall, where General Lai
rd was explaining to them why they would be wise to vote him in as mayor.
“I have led men all my life,” he said. “I understand how to run an organization.”
“You understand how to run,” someone said loudly in the front row.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Laird said.
“Whyn’t you tell ’em how you flat-out run away at Ralesberg,” the loud voice said.
“I did no such thing. We won at Ralesberg.”
“While you was running, you burned out a refugee camp and slaughtered a bunch of women and children,” another voice said just as loudly.
“Sir, that is a lie,” Laird said.
He stood very erect in a slightly shabby gray CSA general officer’s coat, the light rain drizzling down onto his bare head.
The two voices separated themselves from the front row. One belonged to a tall, raw-boned red-haired man with a weak and unimpressive beard. The other was shorter and thicker, with a dense black beard, wearing a Colt on a gun belt over bib overalls.
“You callin’ us liars?” the red-haired man said.
He carried a short-barreled breech-loading cavalry carbine. The people immediately around them moved away.
“Watch Chauncey,” Virgil murmured.
Chauncey had been leaning against the frame of the big front door, sheltered from the rain, watching the a ctivity.
“What you are saying, sir, is untrue,” Laird said.
“I say you are a back-shooting, barn-burning, gray-bellied coward,” the red-haired man said. “Anybody gonna tell me no?”
“I am,” Chauncey said.
“Who the hell are you?”
“General Laird is a gentleman,” Chauncey said. “He is not a murderous thug. He is not going to descend to a street fight with you.”
“And you?” the man with the black beard said.
Chauncey straightened lazily from the door frame and ambled out to stand maybe five feet in front of the two men.
“I am a murderous thug,” Chauncey said.
There was silence. Chauncey’s ivory-handled Colt, sprinkled slightly with raindrops, seemed to gleam in the low, gray light.
“If you’d like,” Chauncey said, “you get to pick where I shoot you.”
“Chauncey,” General Laird said. “I appreciate your support. But this is a democratic process. We cannot have people killed.”
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