Resolution vcaeh-2

by Robert B. Parker

  “And Cato and Rose,” I said.

  “Same thing,” he said.

  “So what do you think he’ll do?”

  “Hire himself enough people to back him,” Virgil said. “Then he’ll feel safe. Then he’ll fire us.”

  “You and me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Cato and Rose?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  We sipped our whiskey.

  After a while I said to Virgil, “Is it true?”

  “What?”

  “What he said. You poking Mrs. Redmond?”

  “Ain’t gentlemanly to tell,” Virgil said.

  I nodded.

  “Hell, it ain’t even too gentlemanly to ask,” Virgil said.

  “You are,” I said.

  Virgil shrugged.

  “Well,” I said, “ain’t you some kind of dandy.”

  “Always have been,” Virgil said.

  45.

  The next time we took Mrs. Redmond out to the ranch, Redmond came out of the house with the children and Mrs. Redmond climbed down from the buggy and went and sat on the porch with them while we sat our horses up the slope a ways.

  “You pay any of Wolfson’s whores, Everett?” Frank Rose said.

  I nodded.

  “They’re all Wolfson’s whores,” I said.

  “He says we can use anyone we want, no charge,” Rose said. “And a whore wants to give it to me for nothing, I’ll take it, and so will Cato. But me and Cato, we figure it ain’t Wolfson’s to say, you know? I mean, he don’t quite own ’em. Unless we pay them when they fuck us, they’re getting nothing.”

  Rose grinned.

  “’Cept a’course the ride of a lifetime. How ’bout you, Virgil? You agree with that.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Cole don’t need no whores,” Cato said.

  All three of us looked at him. Cato was still looking downhill at the Redmond ranch. Rose looked at Virgil, then suddenly down the hill at Beth Redmond. Then back at Virgil.

  “Mrs. Redmond,” he said.

  Virgil said nothing. Neither did Cato.

  Rose looked at me. I shrugged.

  We all looked down the hill, and no one spoke for a time.

  Then Rose said, “Any one of us can deal with Redmond. Ain’t this a waste of manpower or something?”

  “Maybe he don’t know that,” Virgil said.

  “You mean if only one of us comes with her,” Rose said, “he might be tempted to give it a try?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And you don’t want him to get hurt.”

  “Nope.”

  “’Cause of the wife.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Ain’t got much use for a man beats on women,” Rose said. “You, Cato?”

  “No,” Cato said.

  “Not much of a man,” Rose said.

  “No,” Cato said.

  “He’s the only one fighting Wolfson,” I said.

  “And he ain’t winning,” Rose said.

  “True,” I said.

  “You’d think Wolfson would be happy,” Rose said.

  “But he’s not.”

  “Hell, no,” Rose said. “He talked to me and Cato about you and Virgil. He don’t seem happy with Virgil.”

  “Talked to you ’bout backing him,” Virgil said. “If he fired us.”

  “Said he couldn’t trust you to do what he told you,” Rose said.

  Virgil smiled.

  “Tole him he could trust you to do what you said you would,” Rose said.

  “That’s true,” Virgil said. “You tell him you’d back him?”

  “No,” Rose said. “Tole him we wouldn’t.”

  46.

  You went out to the Ward ranch the other day,” Mrs. Redmond said.

  "We did,” Virgil said.

  The three of us were having our coffee on the front porch of the hotel, watching the soft rain thicken the street dust into mud.

  “My husband was there,” she said.

  “Yep.”

  “Mr. Rose says you told everybody not to hurt him,” she said.

  “Mr. Rose is a talker,” Virgil said.

  “But you did say that.”

  “Something like that,” Virgil said.

  “He told us, ‘Don’t shoot Redmond,’” I said.

  “Did you do that for me?” Mrs. Redmond said.

  “Yes,” Virgil said.

  She was quiet for a time, holding the thick mug in both hands.

  “He’s not a bad man,” she said after a while.

  Virgil didn’t say anything.

  “Good men don’t generally beat up their women,” I said.

  She drank some more coffee.

  “I know,” she said. “But…”

  There wasn’t much traffic on the main street at any time, but in the rain with the mud thickening, there was none. Virgil and I were silent.

  “When we first got married,” she said, “he was working in Saint Louis in a leather factory, cleaning hides. We was living in a room in a house near the factory. He used to smell terrible when he come home.”

  “Hides do stink,” Virgil said.

  “I was seventeen,” she said. “I’d run off from home.”

  “And there you were,” I said.

  “And there I was,” she said. “Only thing we had for decoration in the room was this old calendar that Bob hung on the wall. Wasn’t even the right year. But it had a picture on it, of a little house in the middle of a field, with a tree over it, and a little stream running past. There was a man and woman standing outside the house with two little children beside them.”

  The Chinaman came out from the hotel kitchen with fresh coffee, and poured some in our cups. When he left, Mrs. Redmond started talking again. I wasn’t exactly sure how much she was talking to us.

  “That’s what we wanted, Bob maybe even more than me. And finally, when we got the homestead land out here, we thought we was going to have it.”

  “Nobody never really gets the pretty picture,” I said.

  “I guess not,” she said. “Maybe if it wasn’t for Wolfson…”

  “There’s always a Wolfson,” Virgil said.

  She nodded.

  “He tried so hard,” she said.

  Her voice thickened as she spoke, and she sounded like she might cry.

  “He’s still trying. Trying to make a profit, trying to organize the other homesteaders to fight Wolfson…”

  “And it ain’t working out,” I said.

  “No,” she said.

  “And he’s taking it out on you?” I said.

  “I nagged him awful,” she said.

  Across the street, at the Excelsior, Cato and Rose came out on their porch and looked at the rain. Mrs. Redmond waved at them. Rose waved back.

  “That Mr. Cato doesn’t say much, does he,” she said.

  “Cato’s his first name, ma’am,” I said. “Cato Tillson. And no, he don’t say much.”

  “He seems like a good man, though,” she said.

  I smiled.

  “Depends on your definition,” I said.

  “Like how?” she said.

  “Cato shoots people,” Virgil said. “But he don’t do it for the hell of it. And he ain’t a back shooter. And he gives you his word, he keeps it.”

  “That’s like you,” Mrs. Redmond said.

  “Some,” Virgil said.

  “Would he have really shot my husband that day in the saloon?” she said. “When he offered?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” I said.

  The rain picked up a little so that it drummed hard on the shed roof of the porch, and the runoff formed almost a curtain between us and the street. We drank our coffee.

  “I wish you could help him,” Mrs. Redmond said after a time.

  Neither Virgil nor I answered her. Across the street, Frank Rose was smoking a cigar, and the homey smell of it drifted through the rain to our porch.

  “You still care about him,” I said.
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  “Yes.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “You’re thinking I’m with Virgil and…”

  I nodded. She looked at Virgil. He didn’t say anything.

  “My husband was hurting me. I was alone, no money, no place to go. I was terrified. I couldn’t see my children. Then Virgil come along and made all that go away. I am so grateful.”

  “Good reasons,” I said.

  She still looked at Virgil.

  “Do you understand?” she said. “It ain’t just all that. I care about you, but… do you understand?”

  Virgil nodded slowly.

  “I do,” he said.

  47.

  It was a little after noon, with the sun out again, when a Cavalry lieutenant and a master sergeant showed up in front of the Blackfoot. They stopped their horses in front of where Virgil and I were taking in the sun. The lieutenant nodded at us, and the sergeant spoke.

  “This town got a mayor?” he said.

  “Nope,” I said.

  The sergeant looked at the lieutenant. The lieutenant took over.

  “Town council?” he said.

  “Nope.”

  “Sheriff?”

  “Nope.”

  The lieutenant was annoyed.

  “Marshal?”

  I shook my head.

  “So who the fuck is in charge around here?” the lieutenant said.

  I thought about it for a minute.

  “Well,” I said, “fella named Wolfson owns the bank, the store, the hotel, the saloon, and the saloon across the street. I suppose he might be the one.”

  “Where do I find him?” the lieutenant said.

  “Usually eats breakfast,” I said, “’bout this time. In the saloon.”

  The lieutenant glanced up at the sun.

  “Breakfast?” he said.

  “Works late hours,” I said.

  The lieutenant nodded.

  “Canavan,” he said to the sergeant.

  “Sir.”

  “See if you can find him and get him out here.”

  The sergeant swung down and went into the saloon. The lieutenant was quiet, looking around the town. Then he looked back at us.

  “You work for this fella, Wolfson?” he said.

  I nodded.

  “You ain’t bartenders,” he said.

  “No,” I said.

  “My name’s Mulcahey,” he said. “What’s yours.”

  “Everett Hitch,” I said. “This here’s Virgil Cole.”

  Mulcahey looked at Virgil for a silent moment.

  Then he said, “Heard of you.”

  Virgil nodded modestly.

  “Any other gun hands in town?” Mulcahey said.

  “Why do you ask?” Virgil said.

  “Might need ’em,” Mulcahey said.

  “Couple of boys across the street,” Virgil said, and nodded at the Excelsior. “Cato and Rose.”

  “They any good?” Mulcahey said.

  He was talking to Virgil now instead of to me.

  “Yes,” Virgil said.

  Sergeant Canavan came out of the Blackfoot with Wolfson.

  “What can I do for you, Lieutenant,” Wolfson said.

  “You get things done in this town?” Mulcahey said.

  “I like to think so,” Wolfson said.

  “A group of Shoshones jumped the reservation last night,” Mulcahey said. “The rest of my platoon is rounding up the settlers south of town and herded them in here.”

  “Here? In town?”

  “Yep, we need to make some arrangements to put them up until we get the Shoshones back where they belong,” Mulcahey said. “How many can you put up here?”

  “Here? In the hotel?”

  “Hotel, livery stable, saloon, wherever we have to,” Mulcahey said. “We leave them out there alone and the Shoshones can have them, one at a time.”

  “Who pays for this?” Wolfson said.

  “Sergeant Canavan will give you a voucher,” Mulcahey said. “We’ll have them all in here by nightfall.”

  “You boys going to stick around?” Wolfson said.

  “Nope, can’t guard these people and chase the Shoshones, ” Mulcahey said.

  “How many bucks,” Virgil said.

  “Maybe twenty,” Mulcahey said.

  “I didn’t sign no contract,” Wolfson said, “that I gotta protect every shitkicker that homesteads near me.”

  “I’m not asking you to do it,” Mulcahey said. “I’m telling you you’re going to.”

  48.

  Wolfson assembled most of the men in the Blackfoot Saloon. Almost everybody had a weapon, mostly Winchesters, a few shotguns, and an occasional breech-loading Sharps.

  “You all know why we’re here,” he said, “and why I volunteered to house and feed you all.”

  The women and children were housed in the hotel. The men were mostly sleeping on the floor in the Blackfoot and the Excelsior. In the hotel, the wives and the whores were a little uneasy with one another. And in the saloons the homesteader men were quite uneasy with those of us who worked for Wolfson. Beth and Bob Redmond moved around each other stiffly. And Stark and his lumberjacks were unhappy with everything. So was Wolfson. He’d had to hire another Chinaman to help in the kitchen cooking enough biscuits, beans, and salt meat for everybody. The Army vouchers would probably cover the cost, but there was unlikely to be any profit.

  “The Army has asked me to take charge of the town defense until them red niggers is back where they belong,” Wolfson said.

  Virgil looked at me. I grinned and shrugged.

  “Army says the bastards aren’t in this area yet, but just to be sure,” Wolfson said, “I got a couple lookouts up on the roof of the hotel right now ready to fire off a warning shot the minute they see anything.”

  Cato and Rose were drinking coffee at the bar near us. There were no liquor sales yet because of the meeting, but Frank Rose went behind the bar and got a bottle and poured a shot into his coffee, and left the bottle handy. Wolfson saw it and didn’t like it but said nothing of it.

  “First thing we got to do is to block off both ends of Main Street,” Wolfson said. “Keep the buggers from getting in here and doing damage.”

  Cato and Rose both looked at Virgil. Virgil looked at me. I shook my head.

  “’Scuse me, Amos,” Virgil said.

  Wolfson didn’t like that, either, but he forced a smile.

  "Y’all know Virgil Cole,” Wolfson said, “one of the fellas works for me.”

  “Thing is, Amos,” Virgil said, “if they was stupid enough to come charging up the main street, I wouldn’t want to discourage them. We could catch ’em in a crossfire and cut ’em in pieces.”

  “I don’t want them in this town shooting up my property, ” Wolfson said.

  “They ain’t coming in the main street,” Virgil said.

  “They been fighting the Crows and the Arapaho for generations, ” I said. “They know how to fight. They ain’t going to ride into a shooting gallery.”

  “So you’re saying don’t block the street.”

  Virgil nodded.

  “Everett’s right,” he said. “They ain’t going to ride in and let us catch them in a crossfire, but there’s no reason to make it difficult, case they want to.”

  Redmond was standing in front of Wolfson.

  “So what are we supposed to do?” Redmond said.

  “Everett here is a graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York,” Virgil said. “He’s done some Indian fighting in his time.”

  He made a gesture with his head that said, You tell them.

  “Lookouts on the roof are good,” I said, to make Wolfson feel good. “And we need to organize our manpower, break down into squads, for instance, so that we can mobilize quickly if we have to.”

  I looked at Fritz Stark.

  “You take care of that with your people?”

  “We’re already in crews,�
�� Stark said.

  “Good,” I said. “Redmond, you want to organize yours?”

  “How many people in a squad?” Redmond said.

  “Depends how many people you got,” I said. “I’ll help you.”

  Redmond nodded.

  “We’re ready to do what has to be done,” he said.

  Virgil smiled slightly.

  Frank Rose murmured, “Hooray!”

  “Wolfson can manage the miners and the town folks,” I said. “And we’ll need some pickets.”

  “Outside the town?” Redmond said.

  “Wouldn’t be much use inside the town, now would they,” Wolfson said.

  “That’ll be us,” Virgil said.

  “Us?” Redmond said.

  “Me and Everett,” Virgil said. “Cato and Rose.”

  Everybody in the room, that I could see, looked relieved.

  49.

  It was a bright night. Lot of stars. Moon nearly full. Virgil and I were riding as soft as we could along the tree line uphill from the town.

  “Think they’ll do what we told ’em?” I said. “If the Shoshones actually make a run at them?”

  “Probably not,” Virgil said.

  “On the other hand, the Shoshones probably won’t make a run at them. There’s what, twenty of them, Mulcahey said?”

  “Yep.”

  A night bird whistled in the woods. Both of us reined in and sat silently. The bird whistled again.

  “Bird,” I said.

  “Yep,” Virgil said.

  We started the horses again.

  “And maybe a hundred men with guns in the town?”

  “At least,” Virgil said.

  “So the Shoshones aren’t going to make a run at them.”

  “Probably not,” Virgil said.

  “They might come by the homesteads,” I said, “thinking they might pick off a homesteader or two, burn a couple ranches, run off some stock.”

  “That’s right,” Virgil said. “Same for the lumber company. ”

  “So we come across them doing this,” I said, “we do anything?

  “We got four fighters,” Virgil said.

  “We got a hundred men,” I said.

  “And four fighters,” Virgil said.

  I nodded.

  “So we head back to town and keep the people safe,” I said.

  “Uh-huh.”