“Don’t need to be delicate with me, Everett,” Virgil said. “I didn’t like it when she was fucking the patrons.”
“Most folks wouldn’t,” I said.
“Why you suppose she was like that?” Virgil said.
I shook my head.
“Don’t know,” I said. “I’d guess she was scared. Been on her own most of her life, and the only way she had to . . . you know . . . get anything . . . get anyone to do anything was to pull up her skirt.”
“I suppose,” Virgil said. “But when she was with me?”
I shrugged.
“She was with you,” I said.
“And when I wasn’t around?” Virgil said.
“She was with somebody else. Somebody to take care of her.”
“Like Ring Shelton,” he said.
“Like Ring,” I said.
“Would you stay with her?” Virgil said.
“No,” I said. “Probably wouldn’t.”
“I ain’t touched her since I got her back,” Virgil said.
“Not ready?” I said.
“Not yet,” he said.
“Why do you hang on to her?” I said.
“Don’t know,” Virgil said.
“Never seen you,” I said, “not know what you needed to know.”
“Except Allie,” he said.
“Must be scaring hell out of her,” I said. “Not having any sex with you.”
“She got hold of a Bible someplace,” Virgil said. “Been reading it a lot.”
“Anything that keeps her from cooking,” I said.
Virgil nodded.
“Lemme ask you something about the Bible,” he said.
“Don’t know much about the Bible,” I said. “Never got much past the ‘begets’ stuff.”
Virgil nodded.
“Adam and Eve were the first humans, right?” he said.
“I guess.”
“And they had two sons, Cain and Abel, right?”
“I guess,” I said again.
“And all the rest of us descended from them.”
“Far as I know,” I said.
“So who’d Cain and Abel mate with?”
“Check with Allie on that,” I said.
Virgil grinned.
“Or Br’er Percival,” he said.
“Even better,” I said. “Want to go get something to eat ’fore Allie comes back and catches us?”
“Be fools not to,” Virgil said.
17
A SHORT, THICK MAN with a big hat and a two-day growth of beard came into the sheriff’s office.
“Which of you boys is the sheriff,” he said.
“Both deputies,” Virgil said. “Sheriff’s in Del Rio.”
“Name’s Lester,” he said. “Abe Lester. I’m trail boss for an outfit with quite some number of cows milling around at the moment about a day outside of town.”
Virgil nodded.
“Virgil Cole,” he said. “This here’s Everett Hitch.”
“Pleased,” Lester said. “We’ll bring ’em in tomorrow, and I just wanted to give you boys a little notice.”
“How many cows?” Virgil said.
“ ’Bout four thousand,” Lester said. “Won’t know exact till we tally.”
“How many drovers?”
“Forty-eight,” Lester said. “Plus one wrangler, the cook, and me.”
“Can you control ’em?” Virgil said.
Lester smiled.
“Cattle? Sure,” Lester said.
“How ’bout the cowboys?” Virgil said.
“They’ll drive the cattle into town tomorrow and herd ’em into the pens,” Lester said. “That’s what they signed on for. When they’re done I pay ’em off.”
“You control them until you pay ’em?”
“Always have,” Lester said.
“And after?”
“Ain’t mine anymore,” Lester said.
“Guess they get to be mine,” Virgil said. “And Everett’s.”
“I’d say so,” Lester said.
“Why they pay us,” Virgil said.
“You the same Virgil Cole was in Abilene a while back?” Lester said.
“I was in Abilene.”
“So I guess you know how,” Lester said.
“We do,” Virgil said.
Lester looked at me and nodded.
“One other thing, I guess you should know,” Lester said. “Two, two and a half days ago, we run into a few Indians.”
“Comanche?”
“Probably,” Lester said. “They slaughtered a couple of cows.”
“You see ’em?”
“Nope.”
“How you know it was Indians.”
“One of the drovers is a breed,” Lester said. “Can read sign. Says the horses weren’t shod. Actually, said it might be only one horse.”
Virgil nodded.
“So it might be only one Indian,” he said.
“Maybe. Either way. Somebody left an arrow stuck into one of the dead steers,” Lester said. “Like some kind of sign.”
“Your breed know what?” Virgil said.
“Garr don’t know. Says it looks like a Comanche arrow, but he don’t know why it’s there.”
“Didn’t kill the steer with it?” Virgil said.
“Nope. Shot the steer with a rifle.”
“Everett?” Virgil said.
“Sounds like somebody wanted you to know something,” I said.
“Sign?” Virgil said.
“I was here,” I said.
“Why would somebody want us to know?” Virgil said.
“Don’t know,” I said. “Fella who left it wouldn’ta known you had a tracker. Maybe he wanted you to know it was Comanche that slaughtered your cows.”
“You go after them?” Virgil said.
“Nope, let ’em have the beef. Figured it would keep them from bothering us anymore.”
“And it did?”
Lester nodded.
“Guess so,” Lester said. “There wasn’t many of ’em, Garr says.”
“And there’s fifty-one of you,” Virgil said.
“Yep, all with Winchesters.”
“That mighta kept them from bothering you,” Virgil said.
“Coulda been a factor,” Lester said.
“You staying around after you pen the herd?” Virgil said.
“Nope. I’ll stay for the tally. Then I’m on a train to Fort Worth. Take a bath, get drunk, find a woman, and do all of it by myself.”
“Thanks for stopping by,” Virgil said.
18
“FELLAS BRINGING four thousand head a cattle into town tomorrow,” Virgil said.
Pike nodded. He was leaning his elbows on his big, elegant bar. The heel of one boot hooked over the brass rail. It wasn’t J.D. in the lookout chair today.
“Leave ’em at the station?” Pike said.
“Yep.”
“Pay off the drovers?” Pike said.
“Uh-huh.”
Pike looked over at the lookout.
“Looks like you and J.D. gonna be busy, Kirby.”
“Might be,” Kirby said.
Kirby was a big man with a thick, dark mustache and a bald head.
“Thought me ’n Everett would come by, let you know, see if you had a plan for dealing with any trouble might arise.”
“Kind of you,” Pike said. “You boys want a beer, or something with more muscle?”
“Beer’s good,” Virgil said.
“On the house,” Pike said, and nodded at one of the bartenders.
“Any plan?” Virgil said.
“I’m grateful for your concern, Virgil.”
“Well, there’s fifty-one of them and two of us, so I’m making a, whatcha call it, Everett, what we’re doing.”
“We’re making a tactical assessment,” I said.
Pike nodded.
“See who can protect themselves,” he said. “And who needs you two boys to do it.”
“There you have it,” Vir
gil said.
“ ’Course, there may not be any trouble,” Pike said.
“Maybe not,” Virgil said.
“Not a lot of cowboys gonna cross Virgil Cole,” Pike said.
Spec set beer on the bar in front of us.
“But I don’t want to take no chance that some drunken vaquero with cow shit on his heels comes in here and busts up my beautiful Palace.”
“Be a shame,” Virgil said.
“Well, we’ll have J.D. in the chair, and Kirby at the door. Spec here can do a little more than draw beer. I’ll be here. And some of my other associates’ll be draped around the room here, ready to, ah, intercede if the revelers get too lively.”
“Called away from their normal duties,” I said.
Pike grinned at me.
“Those are their normal duties,” he said.
“Left over from the old days,” I said.
“Some,” Pike said.
“Okay, Pike,” Virgil said. “You do what you need to do to protect yourself and your place.”
“Be my plan,” Pike said.
“And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do more than you had to,” Virgil said.
“Don’t see no reason to,” Pike said.
19
ALL ALONG ARROW STREET it was pretty much the same. They’d had trail drives before.
“But nothing this size,” I said to the manager at a saloon called The Cheyenne Gentleman’s Bar.
“No,” he said. “That’s true. But we got Roy here.”
He nodded at a hugely fat bouncer near the door.
“And I hear tell you boys know how to keep order.”
We moved on.
“They don’t get it,” I said to Virgil. “They ain’t never experienced forty-eight or so soused cattle drivers with cash in their pockets, blowing in all at once, with a big thirst and a fearsome hard-on.”
“May not turn out to be so proud of all them extra cattle pens,” Virgil said.
At a woman’s clothing store, the owner spoke to Virgil.
“I believe I’ll be closing,” she said, “while those cowboys are loose in town. I don’t sell things cowboys want anyway.”
“Might have wives or girlfriends at home,” Virgil said.
“They won’t be buying things for the wife on their first night off the trail,” the woman said. “Maybe the night they leave.”
“Guilt?” I said.
“Guilt,” she said.
Aside from the dress-shop lady, most of the places along Arrow Street were thinking less about damage and more about profit. Virgil’s reputation probably accounted for a lot of that. None of them could imagine somebody standing up to him . . . assuming the standee knew his reputation.
We paused in front of The Church of the Brotherhood.
“Suppose Brother Percival got the same right to know as anybody else,” Virgil said.
“ ’Less God already told him,” I said.
We walked up the steps and in through the pen doors. Inside, it was dim in its flint-blue way, and the organ was playing. We walked forward toward the altar and turned and looked up into the choir loft. It was Allie.
“Thought it sounded pretty bad,” Virgil said.
“Loud, though,” I said.
Virgil nodded.
“Well, she ain’t singing,” I said.
“Hallelujah,” Virgil said.
Brother Percival strode gravely up the aisle.
“Isn’t she wonderful?” he said, nodding at Allie above.
“Wonderful,” Virgil said.
“She’s practicing now,” Percival said.
“Good,” Virgil said.
“Pretty little woman,” Percival said. “Been coming here every day for morning service. Last week she asked if she could try playing the organ. Now she plays every day.”
“Big trail herd being delivered here tomorrow,” Virgil said. “Town will be full of drunken cowboys.”
“Why is that my concern?”
“Might cause some trouble,” Virgil said.
“That should be your concern.”
“Is,” Virgil said. “Why I’m coming around . . . making a tactical assessment.”
“We can take care of ourselves,” Brother Percival said. “Ours is a muscular and militant Christianity.”
“Being as Choctaw is one of your deacons, made me kind of suspect that,” Virgil said.
“Deacon Brown is a fine church member,” Percival said.
“Sure,” Virgil said.
“And I can’t believe these cowboys would invade a church,” Percival said.
“Ain’t likely,” Virgil said.
“But if they should, we can and will defend ourselves.”
“Only thing is,” Virgil said, “if you got to defend yourself, I’d like to be sure that Choctaw don’t get too militant and muscular.”
“Deacon Brown, like all of us here in the congregation, will do what he must,” Percival said.
“Don’t we all,” Virgil said.
“It is God’s work,” Percival said.
Virgil nodded and looked up in the choir loft where Allie was still laboring over the organ. I didn’t recognize what she was playing.
“Hope so,” Virgil said.
20
ABE LESTER BROUGHT HIS HERD in from the south, right after sunrise. He trailed them along the river so he wouldn’t have to run them through town. At the pens they made a lot of noise and kicked up a lot of dust as the drovers herded them in. It took nearly all day to get them penned, and by midafternoon the dust was hanging over the town like smoke above a brush fire.
When Lester began to pay off the drovers, Virgil and I strolled down to observe.
“Every man taken care of his string, Spanish?” Lester said to a Mexican cowboy standing to the side.
“Sí,” the vaquero said. “All in the remuda pen, been rubbed down, got feed and water.”
We were in the tally shack at the pens. Lester was at a table with a big box in front of him. Virgil and I stood behind him. Both of us were wearing our badges. I was carrying the eight-gauge, which almost always got people’s attention.
Before the first man stepped up to be paid, Virgil spoke.
“My name’s Virgil Cole,” he said. “Fella with the eight-gauge is Everett Hitch. We want to welcome you to Brimstone. We want you to have a hell of a good time in Brimstone. And we want you to do it without hurting anybody or breaking anything.”
No one said anything.
Finally, Lester spoke.
“I pay you off,” he said, “and you don’t have no reason to do what I tell you anymore.”
From the back of the line somebody gave a soft rebel yell. A couple of the men laughed.
“On the other hand,” Lester said, “I got no obligation to help you out, you get in trouble. I assume some of you boys know who Virgil Cole is.”
Nobody spoke.
“Okay,” Lester said.
The drovers came up, one at a time, still sweating, with dust caked on their faces, and took their money. Several of them looked us over. None of them said anything. The Mexican wrangler was the last. With the money distributed and the box empty, Lester closed the lid and stood.
“Good luck with them,” he said.
Virgil nodded.
Lester put the box under his arm and walked out of the tally shed.
“Lotta cowboys,” I said to Virgil.
“Yep.”
“Don’t seem a bad lot,” I said.
“Yet,” Virgil said.
“Some of them were heeled,” I said. “Some weren’t.”
“Don’t matter if they’re heeled right now,” Virgil said.
“I know,” I said.
“Matter more tonight,” Virgil said.
“What’s your guess?” I said.
“ ’Bout tonight?” Virgil said.
“Yeah,” I said. “Think we’ll have to kill one?”
“Might,” Virgil said.
21
>
BY MIDNIGHT MOST OF THE drovers had settled in with a whore or passed out somewhere. Two of them were in our jail. Virgil and I walked along Arrow Street past The Church of the Brotherhood. It was dark and still.
“No cowboys,” I said.
“No deacons, either,” Virgil said.
“Guess the cowboys got other things to do,” I said.
“Don’t nobody seem much interested in the church,” Virgil said. “ ’Cept Allie.”
“She goes a lot?” I said.
“ ’Bout every day.”
“That bad?” I said.
“Hell, no,” Virgil said. “It’s good. Otherwise, she’d be home cooking and washing. She’s ruined half my shirts.”
“She’s trying,” I said.
“She is,” Virgil said.
“She’s had a rough go,” I said.
“Yep.”
“S’pose she brought most of it on herself,” I said.
“She did,” Virgil said.
“Maybe the church will help her,” I said.
“Hope so,” Virgil said.
Arrow Street was mostly dark now. The shops were closed, and the saloons that were still open were quiet. Ahead, at the corner of Fifth and Arrow, a group of drovers was standing in the street. In the quiet I heard their voices.
“You got no business treating us like that, Pike.”
As we got closer, I could see Pike standing on the boardwalk in front of the Palace.
“Ah, but I do, my friend,” Pike said.
J.D. and Kirby stood on the boardwalk with him. All three wore Colts.
“You broke Charlie’s arm,” the cowboy said.
“I did,” Pike said. “Keep yammering at me, I might break yours.”
The door to the Palace opened and a fourth man came out wearing a gun.
“Choctaw,” Virgil said to me.
He quickened his pace.
“He wasn’t doin’ anything,” the cowboy said.
“He was messing up my saloon,” Pike said. “I don’t tolerate anybody messing up my saloon.”
“Well,” the cowboy said, “we don’t tolerate nobody hurting our friend.”
The man’s voice had risen. I could hear the whiskey in it.
But we weren’t close enough.
“Well, then, my friend,” Pike said. “You best make your move.”
Virgil yelled, “Hold it.”
But it was too late. The cowboy fumbled at his gun and a couple of men beside him did the same. Pike shot three of them before they got anywhere near clearing their holsters. One bullet each. The rest of the cowboys froze. J.D. and Kirby and Choctaw had their guns out but didn’t shoot.
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