Brimstone

by Parker, Robert B.

  “I count six,” Virgil said to me softly. “Anything develops, I’ll take the first man. You take the last, and we’ll work our way to the middle.”

  I nodded. At this range, with the eight-gauge, I might get two at a time.

  “Virgil,” Allie said. “What is it.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Virgil said.

  Allie looked for the first time at the men across the street.

  “Oh my God, Virgil, it’s Pig.”

  “That his name?” Virgil said.

  “Don’t let him take me back.”

  “Nope,” Virgil said.

  “Everett . . .”

  “We’re fine, Allie,” I said. “We’re fine.”

  Pig was carrying a big old Navy Colt in a gun belt that sagged under his belly. There was dried blood on his shirt. It appeared that he hadn’t changed it since Virgil hit him. The left side of Pig’s face was swollen and dark, with a long scab where Virgil’s front sight had dragged across the cheekbone. The five men with him were all carrying. I thumbed back both hammers on the eight-gauge.

  We kept walking our parallel walk. Allie held tight to Virgil’s left arm. At the end of the street was the Barbary Coast Café, and across the street from that the railroad station, and beyond that the river. And nothing else. It was obvious where we were going.

  “I need you to let go of my arm now, Allie,” Virgil said.

  His voice was quiet. He could have been asking her to pass him the sugar. He was Virgil Cole again. Even with the stakes as high as they would ever get for him, he was now Virgil Cole. It was a relief. At the end of the street we stopped and the six men stopped across from us. The railroad station was on their side. We looked at one another. Pig was at the far left end of the line that now faced us.

  “Hey, Whoreman,” Pig shouted. “Whatcha gonna do now?”

  “Same deal,” Virgil said to me. “Pig goes first. You start at the right end.”

  “Yep.”

  “Allie,” Virgil said. “Any shooting, you lie flat down in the street, you unnerstand?”

  “Virgil . . .”

  “Unnerstand?” Virgil said again.

  His voice was still calm, but it had flattened a little.

  “Yes,” Allie said in a small voice.

  “Okay,” Virgil said, and stepped off the boardwalk and into the street.

  Allie moved behind me. She was mumbling softly to herself, and after a moment I realized she was praying. Virgil walked straight across the street toward the six men, and specifically toward Pig.

  I knew what he was doing. Never let it be you and them, Virgil always said. Always make it between you and some of them.

  “I want my whore back,” Pig said.

  Virgil kept walking. Pig hadn’t expected it. He wasn’t quite sure what he should do.

  “You think you gonna hit me again when I ain’t ready?” Pig said.

  “I’m gonna kill you,” Virgil said.

  Virgil didn’t speak very loudly, but all of us heard him, and his voice made Pig flinch back a half step. I brought the eight-gauge up to a kind of parade rest position. The men to Pig’s left moved a little away. Virgil was close now. If Pig was going to make his move he’d need to do it now, before Virgil was on top of him. He knew it, and tried to draw his gun. Virgil shot him before Pig got his hand on the butt. Without any pause Virgil shot the man next to him. I picked off the two at the other end of the line. The remaining two didn’t know whether to shoot at me or Virgil and ended up running away.

  Time slows down in a gunfight. Even so, including Virgil’s walk across the street it had lasted less than a minute. Virgil reloaded and went to each of the down men to be sure they were dead. Then he holstered his gun and walked back.

  “Train comes at noon,” Virgil said.

  And we walked on to the station.

  8

  WE SAT IN THE BACK of the train, on the left side, Virgil on the aisle. Virgil always sat on the left on the aisle so that his gun hand was unencumbered. Allie sat next to him. I sat across from them, facing the rear. Since people could board from either end, it was nice to watch both doors. The train bumped along. Virgil had his feet up and his hat tipped down. Allie sat erect beside him with her hands folded in her lap, looking out the window at the west Texas countryside. Occasionally, we passed cattle. Otherwise, there was nothing much to see but grassland.

  “You ever pray, Everett?” Allie said.

  “Not much,” I said.

  “Ever think about it?”

  “Praying?”

  “God,” Allie said.

  “Not much,” I said.

  “You know, after I run off,” Allie said, “got taken up by a Mexican man, I think. He took me a ways and sold me to couple men who were half Comanche. They kept me awhile and sold me to Pig.”

  I nodded. Virgil appeared to be asleep, though I doubted that he was.

  “When I was in that place,” Allie said, “I started praying. I prayed that Virgil would come and find me. And you too, Everett.”

  Allie didn’t want to hurt my feelings.

  “Heard you praying back in the street,” I said.

  “I was,” Allie said. “I believe it helped.”

  “Didn’t hurt,” I said.

  She nodded and went back to looking out the window. Virgil never stirred. The conductor came into our car, and the loud rattle of the train came in with him as he opened the door and passed from the next car to ours. When he came to us I handed him three tickets. He punched them and looked at the eight-gauge leaning against the corner of the seat by the window.

  “What the hell’s that thing?” he said.

  “Eight-gauge shotgun,” I said.

  “You planning on hunting locomotives?” the conductor said.

  “Only if one attacks me,” I said.

  “Be a fool if it did,” he said, looking at the eight-gauge. “Where you folks headed.”

  “Next town, I guess,” I said.

  “That’d be Greavy,” he said. “You got business in Greavy.”

  “Looking for work,” I said.

  The conductor looked at Virgil and at me and at the eight-gauge. From the corner of his eye, he took a quick look at Allie in her pathetic dress and ratty Mexican sandals. But he didn’t look long.

  “I guess you’re not cowboys,” he said.

  “No,” I said. “We ain’t.”

  “Well, good luck with it,” the conductor said.

  “How long to Greavy?” I said.

  “Maybe another hour or so,” the conductor said.

  “Got a place there to buy ladies’ clothes?” I said.

  “Sure, up-and-coming little town, Greavy. Got a good general store. Sells most everything.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He gave his cap bill a little tug and headed back down the train.

  Nobody said anything for a while. Virgil remained motionless.

  Then Allie turned from the window and said, “Thank you for asking about the clothes, Everett.”

  I was pretty sure that was for Virgil. I was pretty sure all of her conversation had been for Virgil. She knew he wasn’t sleeping.

  “Pleasure,” I said.

  9

  GREAVY WAS AN IMPROVEMENT over Placido. It was neat. Several of the buildings were painted. There were two restaurants, a bank, a big general store, and a big livery stable. We got Allie some clothes, ate some boiled beef and pinto beans at Chez Barcelona, and strolled on down to the marshal’s office. Allie hung back as we went in, and stood outside near the door. The marshal was a square-built man named Sheehan. He was as tall as Virgil and a little shorter than me. He wasn’t wearing a gun, though a Winchester lay on the desk beside him as we talked.

  “Nope, sorry, boys,” he said. “Got six deputies already. More than the town needs except when they bring cattle in. You boys been marshaling before?”

  “We have,” Virgil said.

  “Whereabouts?” Sheehan said.

&nbs
p; “All over,” Virgil said. “Most recent, I guess, we was in Appaloosa.”

  “Appaloosa?” Sheehan said. “How recent?”

  “Couple years now, ain’t it, Everett?”

  “ ’Bout,” I said.

  “You ain’t Virgil Cole?” Sheehan said.

  “I am,” Virgil said.

  “Jesus Christ,” Sheehan said.

  “Wasn’t you up in Resolution last year?”

  “I was, but I weren’t marshaling,” Virgil said. “This here’s Everett Hitch.”

  “Sure thing,” Sheehan said. “I know who you are. You boys are famous.”

  “Know any gun work around here?” I said.

  “Maybe,” Sheehan said. “I don’t think he’s pressed, but the railroad just expanded service to Brimstone, up north a ways. They’re building new stock pens, more cattle coming in. And Dave Morrissey was saying last time I saw him he might need to add a couple gun hands.”

  “Who’s Morrissey?” Virgil said.

  “Val Verde County sheriff,” Sheehan said. “Up there filling in right now, ’cause he had a deputy quit on him.”

  “Why’d the deputy quit?” Virgil said.

  “Got married; wife insisted it was too dangerous.”

  “How far up north,” Virgil said.

  “ ’Bout two days’ ride,” Sheehan said. “Virgil Cole! By God! What I’m gonna do is I’m gonna wire Dave, tell him you’re coming. Tell him not to hire no one else.”

  “ ’Preciate it,” Virgil said.

  Allie came into the office almost tiptoeing.

  “ ’Scuse me, Marshal,” she said. “I’m Allie French. I’m with these gentlemen, and I just bought some clothes. Do you suppose I could go into one of your cells and change?”

  “Cells?”

  “Long as you promise not to peek,” she said.

  Sheehan looked at Virgil. Virgil nodded faintly.

  “Sure thing, ma’am,” Sheehan said. He opened the door to the cell row.

  “We got no guests at the moment,” he said. “Use any cell.”

  Sheehan looked at us for a moment and decided not to ask anything.

  “Whyn’t you boys wait here for the lady,” Sheehan said. “And I’ll go over and send Dave a telegram. Time you get there, he’ll be waiting for you.”

  10

  WE BOUGHT A BUCKBOARD and a mule for about what we’d sold one of the horses for. And with me driving, and Allie between us on the seat, we set out the next morning for Brimstone. Allie’s new clothes were an improvement. She had a ribbon in her hair. And she was wearing a little makeup. She was still kind of skinny. But she was looking better.

  We were quiet. The buckboard was easy enough through the low grasslands, for a buckboard. There’s a reason it’s called a buckboard, and an easy ride ain’t it. The mule plodded along a sort of wagon rut west toward the Paiute River. It was sunny and hot. We could hear the soft coo of doves, and occasionally we kicked up a flutter of them as we rode by. We passed cattle. Mostly shorthorns, but still now and then a longhorn bull.

  Virgil was looking at the landscape.

  “Wolves,” he said.

  The mule must have caught scent of them. He tossed his head and shied and made a short snorting sound. I didn’t see them yet. Then I did, three gray shapes trotting in line, heading east, appearing and disappearing in the high grass.

  “Following that cattle herd,” I said.

  “Likely,” Virgil said.

  “Are you going to shoot them?” Allie said.

  “No reason,” Virgil said.

  “But the cattle . . .” Allie said.

  “Not my cattle,” Virgil said.

  “But the poor cows,” Allie said.

  “What you think them cows are for, Allie? Wolves eat ’em. People eat ’em. Don’t seem to me make much difference to the cow.”

  Allie watched them until they were gone, and the mule settled back into his walk.

  “How’d you see them so quick, Virgil,” Allie said.

  “Eyesight’s good,” he said.

  “But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” Allie said. “You always see everything.”

  Virgil didn’t answer. We rode in silence for a while.

  Then Allie said, “You know what I’d like to do again?”

  Virgil didn’t say anything.

  So I said, “What’s that, Allie.”

  “I’d like to be Allie again.”

  “Be nice,” I said.

  “It would,” Allie said.

  Virgil was looking at the landscape again.

  “Virgil isn’t very talkative,” Allie said. “Is he, Everett.”

  “Don’t seem so,” I said.

  “Used to be a talker,” Allie said.

  I nodded.

  “How come you don’t talk to us, Virgil?” Allie said.

  “Got nothing to say,” Virgil answered.

  “When we were together in Appaloosa,” Allie said, “you used to talk a lot about nothing.”

  “Lotta things happened since Appaloosa,” Virgil said.

  “You thinking about all those things, Virgil?” Allie said.

  “Yep.”

  “Wasn’t easy on me, you know?” Allie said.

  “I know.”

  “You gonna stop thinking about all that, one of these days?” Allie said.

  “Might,” Virgil said.

  Nobody said anything else. I looked over at Allie once and saw that her lips were moving. Appeared she was praying again. Other than that, we bumped along in silence until we reached the Paiute River, where we made camp and slept under the buckboard.

  11

  WE HEADED NORTH ALONG the Paiute at sunrise, and by the middle of the afternoon we were in a hotel in Brimstone, Allie and Virgil in one room, me next door.

  “Heard you was out of the law business,” Dave Morrissey said when we went to see him.

  “Was,” Virgil said.

  “What changed your mind?” Morrissey said.

  Virgil was silent for a moment.

  “Well, some things bothered me,” Virgil said. “But Everett and I talked some, and now they don’t bother me so much.”

  I was startled. First time he’d ever admitted that I had any influence on him.

  “Anything else?” Morrissey said.

  Virgil grinned.

  “Need the money,” he said.

  Morrissey nodded.

  “Ain’t quite commensurate with the risk,” he said. “But only a fool would do it for free.”

  “How ’bout you, Hitch?” Morrissey said.

  He looked like he might have been a cowboy once, sort of bowlegged and smallish. He had a big drooping mustache, and wore a long duster.

  “Well,” I said, “I done law and not law for a long time. Don’t make a lot of difference to me. I’m not too scared, and I’m decent with the eight-gauge.”

  “That’s what that thing is,” Morrissey said. “Thought it might be a cannon.”

  “Two barrels,” I said.

  Morrissey grinned.

  “God’s truth,” he said. “I heard about you boys, and when Sheehan telegrammed me I was interested. I’m told you’ll stand, and your word is good.”

  “It is,” Virgil said.

  “And I hire you, you won’t sell me out for a higher offer.”

  “We don’t promise to work for you forever,” Virgil said. “But we won’t work against you, ’less you force it.”

  “Fair enough,” Morrissey said. “What I told Sheehan was true, we’re booming. Cattle mostly. Railroad’s expanding, bigger herds coming in. I come down from Del Rio every once in a while, and a Ranger comes by every month or so. But right now there ain’t no permanent law here, and the place is growing like a damn weed.”

  “Town grows too fast,” Virgil said, “leaves an empty space; people fight to fill it.”

  “You’ve worked a lot of towns,” Morrissey said.

  “We have,” Virgil said.

  “The situation
in this one is a little peculiar,” Morrissey said. “We have a fella named Pike. I don’t even know his first name. Everyone calls him Pike. . . . Hell, maybe Pike is his first name.”

  Virgil shrugged.

  “Anyway,” Morrissey said, “he showed up here a few years ago with the remains of a gang that the Pinkertons chased into exhaustion.”

  “They’ll do that,” I said.

  “Sometimes,” Morrissey said. “He had a few of his boys with him and some money they probably stole from a railroad, and they bought a saloon at the north end of town. Never broke no law here. And they run a first-class operation. Booze is good, games are honest, girls are clean. They police themselves. No trouble. We’ve never even had to go up there since they been in town.”

  “Model citizens,” I said.

  “And then, ’bout a year ago, here come Brother Percival.”

  “Percival,” Virgil murmured.

  “What he calls himself,” Morrissey said. “Brother Percival.”

  “Preacher?” I said.

  “Yep,” Morrissey said. “Come to town with a tent show, preaching against sin like he was the first man to discover it. Nobody paid him much attention for a time. But he kept collecting people to his whatever it is, and then he built himself a church, brought in a damned organ from Kansas City. And him and some of the people come with him when he arrived, they decide to make a target of the biggest and best saloon in town.”

  “Pike’s,” Virgil said.

  “What’s Brother Percival want?” I said.

  “Damned if I know. Maybe he is acting on behalf of the Kingdom of Heaven. Maybe he wants to take over Texas.”

  “And Pike?” I said.

  Morrissey smiled a little.

  “He wants to take over Texas,” Morrissey said.

  “Potential there for conflict,” Virgil said.

  Morrissey nodded.

  “You want the job?” he said.

  “Sure,” Virgil said.

  12

  “COMMENSURATE?” Virgil said outside Morrissey’s office.

  “Sort of like equal to,” I said.

  “Might as well go right at ’em,” Virgil said. “See what we got.”

  “Which one first?” I said.

  “Start with Pike,” Virgil said.