“Just one man,” Virgil said.
He grinned.
“I know how fearsome you be, Everett,” Virgil said. “But them deputies probably don’t.”
“Hope they spot him soon,” I said. “I don’t want to sit out here all day, or all week.”
“We’ll help them,” Virgil said. “Have him build a cook fire, send up some smoke.”
“You still didn’t answer my question,” I said. “Think he can do it?”
Virgil shook his head.
“Don’t know,” he said. “You.”
“Don’t know, either,” I said.
Virgil grinned again.
“And he’s our hole card,” Virgil said.
68.
Virgil left with Cato and Rose before it was light. After sunup I went and collected Redmond. He had already hitched the wagon and loaded it with tools and lumber. He was carrying a Winchester. His face was pinched, and he looked pale. Mrs. Redmond was with him.
“Where are you going with my husband?” she said to me.
“Doing a little business,” I said. “Shouldn’t take long.”
“He won’t tell me where he’s going,” she said.
I nodded. Virgil had gotten that one right.
“Will you?” she said.
“No, ma’am,” I said.
“Bob?” she said.
“Can’t,” he said.
He climbed into the wagon and stored the Winchester under the wagon seat. He looked at his wife, and his children, who were staring at him wordlessly. I saw him swallow. Then he turned his head away and clucked at the mules and the wagon began to roll. I rode along beside it. I had my Colt on my hip, and a Winchester in a saddle scabbard under my left leg. Both weapons were.45s, so I could load both from my belt. I had the eight-gauge in a scabbard under my right leg, and a belt of shotgun shells looped over my saddle horn.
We didn’t talk as we went, in a wide circle around Resolution, and on south downhill toward his land. Redmond was having trouble keeping his throat open. He swallowed often. He drank frequently from his canteen.
The lumber and tools rattled in the wagon bed. The harness creaked. The mules blew occasionally. Otherwise, no sound on the ride until we got to the top of the little hill where he could look down at the lots that had been marked out on the land where his house once stood. We stopped.
“Jesus,” he said.
I nodded. He looked around.
“I don’t see any of the others, Cole, those fellas.”
“You’re not supposed to,” I said. “They’re here.”
“How do you know?” he said.
“They said they’d be here.”
“Well, what if something happened? Can’t they just let us know they’re here?”
“And anyone that might have spotted us and is laying low with a spyglass?” I said.
“Well, could they maybe just whistle or something?”
“No,” I said. “Now, you remember what we told you. Build a cook fire, send up some smoke. Park the wagon near where you’re working. Leave the Winchester in it. If things start to happen, get behind the wagon. Take out the Winchester. Defend yourself.”
He nodded painfully.
“Where you gonna go?” he said.
“I’m goin’ downhill to the west, like I’m headin’ on. Then I’m circlin’ back in behind them cottonwoods along the creek.”
“You really think somebody is watching us?” he said.
“Nope.”
“But you’re acting like they might be.”
“Yep.”
“’Cause you don’t know they’re not.”
“Correct,” I said. “Remember, stay close to the wagon. Trouble starts, get behind it.”
“You scared, Everett,” Redmond said.
“Of what? Dying? Fella asked Virgil Cole that question once, when we was marshalin’ over in Appaloosa. Virgil says to him, ‘You think me and Hitch are in this line of work ’cause we’re scared to die?’”
“So you ain’t?” Redmond said.
“Don’t look forward to it, but no, I ain’t scared enough so it gets in the way,” I said.
“And Cole ain’t scared.”
“Hell, no,” I said. “But, tell the truth, I don’t think it really occurs to him that he might.”
“I got a wife and kids,” Redmond said.
“I know,” I said. “That makes it harder.”
I gestured toward the house lots at the foot of the hill. He slapped the reins and the mules started down.
“Don’t forget to unhitch the mules,” I said. “No reason they should get shot.”
He nodded as he drove down the hill. I turned my horse and rode west like I said I would and when I was out of sight, looped back and came in behind the cottonwoods.
69.
It was probably the smoke from Redmond’s fire that did it, but with the sun just a little west of noon, they came down the south side of one of the hills in the distance. Too far to be sure, but it looked like six of them riding two by two. They disappeared into the valley and came up over the next hill. They were six, a full squad of Lujack’s deputies. Redmond saw them. He stood frozen for a moment, then looked furtively around.
Don’t look, goddamn it.
The riders kept coming down into the next valley, out of sight, then reappearing on the top of our hill. They sat their horses for a moment, looking down at Redmond. The mules were unhitched, grazing toward the creek near my cottonwoods. Redmond stood frozen with a shovel in his hands in front of the wagon.
Get behind the wagon.
Redmond didn’t move. He looked at the rifle under the wagon seat, then back at the riders.
Behind the fucking wagon.
The riders began to walk their horses down the last slope. I looked at the sky. The sun wasn’t an issue. They were coming from the north. I was coming from the west, but the sun was so nearly straight up that it wasn’t a factor. The riders came on. Close enough now so I could hear the sound of the horses’ hooves on the dry surface of the prairie. Nobody had his gun out. These were essentially town men. Nobody was bent out of the saddle reading sign, seeing how many different horses had ridden by here. Probably weren’t good at sign. And they were sure of themselves. They knew how to do this, and Redmond didn’t. They’d probably spent a lifetime scaring clodhoppers.
Behind the goddamned wagon.
And suddenly Redmond moved. He turned and ran around the wagon as if his knees wouldn’t bend. He looked again at the Winchester under the wagon seat. But he didn’t touch it. Probably scared to start trouble.
The riders came to a halt in front of him and ranged out in a single row of six. One of them, probably the squad leader, spoke to Redmond.
“What are you doing?” he said.
Redmond stared at him for a moment. The squad leader was tall and narrow, with sloping shoulders and a big hawkish nose.
“It’s my land,” he finally said.
Redmond’s voice was hoarse.
“You think so,” the squad leader said.
Redmond nodded. The squad leader took a big revolver out of his holster and held it easily by his side.
“What do you think,” the squad leader said, “’bout being buried on it.”
Redmond’s voice was squeaky.
“I don’t…” He started and didn’t finish.
He looked at the cottonwoods, where he knew I was.
“Say good-bye to it, pig farmer,” the squad leader said.
On the hill, Virgil Cole’s horse stepped out from behind the rocks with Virgil sitting in the saddle. The horse stopped. Virgil drew and fired in the easy, liquid way he had and shot the squad leader between the shoulder blades. The squad leader pitched forward and draped over his horse’s neck. The gun fell from his hand. The horse seemed disinterested. From behind the next hill down from Redmond, Cato and Rose came, pushing their horses hard, bent low over their horses’ necks. I took out the eight-gauge and pushed my horse out of the trees, th
rough the shallow stream, and came at the squad’s right flank on a gallop. Virgil came somewhat more sedately down his hill and shot at least one more as he came. Redmond yanked the Winchester from under the wagon seat and dropped to the ground behind the wagon. I cut loose with the eight-gauge. It is not easy to shoot from a moving horse. But if you’re going to do it, an eight-gauge is the thing to do it with. The rider nearest me had his gun out and was turning toward me when the pellets hit him, about everywhere, and knocked him backward off his horse. The horse scrambled away from him as he fell, and then stopped and stood.
It was over very quick. Four of the deputies were on the ground by the time all of us reached the wagon. The other two were retreating at a gallop. One of the men on the ground was still moving in spasms. Cato rode over and from his horse shot the deputy in the head.
“Hate to see him suffer,” Cato said.
“You want to ride the other two down?” Rose said.
The two runners were already over the second hill.
“Nope,” Virgil said.
Redmond crawled out from under the wagon.
“I shot one,” he said. “I think I shot one.”
Virgil and I looked at each other.
“What?” Redmond said.
Virgil shook his head.
“Sort of ain’t considered, ah, sportin’,” Frank Rose said to him. “Counting up who shot who.”
“Like counting your money,” I said, “while you’re playing poker.”
“Why not?” Redmond said. “I don’t get it.”
Virgil looked at him briefly.
“No,” Virgil said, “you don’t.”
He turned his horse and began to ride north toward the lumber camp. Redmond stared after him.
“He’s just leavin’?” Redmond said. “Like that?”
Cato and Rose followed Virgil.
“Done what he came to do,” I said. “Hitch them mules up.”
“They’re all leavin’,” Redmond said.
“I rode out here with you,” I said. “I’ll ride back with you.”
“But they musta heard the shooting in Resolution,” Redmond said. “Won’t they be riding out here?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Take ’em a while to figure out it wasn’t them shootin’ you,” I said. “And when they do, they’ll stay where they are.”
“Stay in town?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Odds are shrinking,” I said. “They’ll stay in town, protect themselves and Wolfson.”
“They won’t be coming after us?”
“Nope.”
Redmond was harnessing the mules.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “It’s like they ain’t chasin’ us. It’s like now we’re chasin’ them.”
“Sorta like that,” I said.
70.
Frank Rose had liberated several bottles of whiskey from the Excelsior Saloon when he left. He and Cato and Virgil and I took one of them to our spot behind the rocks and passed it around.
“Redmond’s down there telling anybody he can get to hold still,” Rose said, “’bout the big battle out on his land.”
“His first time,” Virgil said.
“Think he actually fired that Winchester?” I said.
Nobody knew.
Above us the moon had waned into something a little more than half. There were a lot of stars, and we could see one another easily. I took some whiskey.
“So they’re down there hunkered behind their fucking barricades,” I said. “And we’re up here hunkerin’ behind ours.”
“And running low on food,” Rose said.
“Guess we got to go down and get them,” Virgil said.
Cato nodded and reached for the bottle.
“Think we should,” he said.
He drank, handed the bottle to Virgil, who drank.
“There’s still twelve of ’em by my count,” I said.
“Thirteen,” Rose said, “if Wolfson will fight.”
“Maybe we should keep sniping them off for a while longer, ” I said.
“Nope,” Virgil said. “They ain’t comin’ out. And I wanna go to Texas.”
“So we gotta go in,” I said.
“Yep.”
Nobody said anything. The bottle passed around some more. From the lumber camp we could hear an occasional domestic sound. Cook pot clattering. Children yelling.
“Think Redmond learned anything today?” I said.
“Nope,” Virgil said.
“Think he can ever learn anything?” I said.
“Nope,” Virgil said.
“Think he’ll beat his wife again?”
“Maybe not,” Virgil said.
The bottle came my way again. I took a drink.
“We can speak to him ’bout that ’fore we leave,” I said.
“Yep,” Virgil said.
He drank some whiskey and gave the bottle to Rose.
“There’ll be sentries posted in town,” I said.
“Sure there will,” Virgil said.
“So we can’t creep up on them so easy,” Rose said.
“Nope.”
We were quiet. The moon had moved west a little. The sounds from the lumber camp had died down. We heard an occasional night bird back in the woods, and somewhere below us and west a coyote was howling.
“They’ll come to us,” Virgil said.
Cato nodded.
“Why?” I said. “They sit tight and wait and after a while people will start drifting away. Not enough food, no way to earn a living, boredom, fear, they wait long enough we’ll have nobody to protect, and in time Wolfson will get what he wants without shooting anybody.”
“Two things,” Virgil said. “Wolfson’s stupid. He got no patience. Can’t stand not getting what he wants. And this looks bad for Lujack. He can’t drive off a bunch of sodbusters? ”
“And us,” I said.
“Four men,” Virgil said. “Who’s gonna hire him next time?”
“I wouldn’t,” I said.
“No,” Virgil said. “You wouldn’t. Also, he’s an arrogant sonovabitch.”
“He can’t believe he can beat us,” Rose said.
“Okay,” I said. “I see that. So what do you think they’ll do?”
“Don’t know,” Virgil said. “But they’ll do something. All we got to do is be ready.”
Rose leaned back against the rock. He looked up at the stars and took a pull at the whiskey bottle.
“Ain’t got all that much else to do,” he said.
71.
Three of us were playing cards for not much money behind the rocks. Cato was among the rocks, watching.
"Somebody coming,” he said.
We all stood up and looked. A young woman was riding an old fat gray roan up the open slope toward us. She didn’t look comfortable on the horse.
“Billie,” I said.
“The little whore?” Virgil said.
“Yes.”
Virgil nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “It’s a start. You talk to her, Everett. She trusts you.”
I waited until she was closer, then I walked out around the stone outcropping and a little ways down the slope.
“Billie,” I yelled.
She looked over.
“It’s Everett,” I said. “Ride over here.”
She pulled the horse’s head left, using both hands, and banged her small heels on the horse’s ribs. I smiled. The horse lumbered slowly toward me.
“Nice to see you, Billie,” I said when she arrived. “Every-body treating you good?”
“I’m all right, Everett,” she said. “We miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” I said. “Where’d you get that horse?”
“Mr. Wolfson got it for me.”
“And sent you up to talk with us?” I said.
“He gimme a note,” Billie said.
She reached inside her dress and fumbled out
a folded-up piece of paper and handed it to me.
“He says I should wait here for you to gimme an answer,” Billie said.
“Can you hold the horse there okay?” I said.
Billie’s skirts were hiked up to her thighs. Her legs were too short for the stirrups and stuck nearly straight out from the sides of the horse.
“I can ride a horse, Everett,” Billie said.
“I can see that,” I said. “You want to get off and sit, I’ll boost you back up when it’s time to go.”
“I’m just fine right here,” Billie said.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be back.”
I went around the rocks and sat down and opened the paper and read it aloud.
Virgil Cole,
I would like to meet with you and try to straighten out the trouble between us. Somewhere neutral, under a white flag. You can bring your men and I will bring mine. I’m sure we can work something out. Please tell Billie your answer.
Sincerely yours,
Amos Wolfson
“Lemme see it,” Virgil said.
I handed it to him, and he frowned over it as he read. Rose looked over his shoulder. Cato was still up in the rocks, watching.
“How’s the girl doing out there,” I said to Cato.
“Horse is eatin’ grass,” Cato said.
“She still got the reins?” I said.
“Yep.”
Virgil handed the letter back to me.
“Whaddya think, Virgil?” Rose said.
Virgil shook his head and stood and walked around the rock and leaned on the downslope side of it and looked down at the town. He could see Billie, and Billie saw him. But he gave her no notice.
“What’s he doing?” Rose said.
“He’s thinking,” I said.
"Hell,” Rose said. “I never done enough of that to know it when I see it.”
72.
From his side of the rocks, Virgil yelled to me.
"Come on out here,” he said. “We’ll talk to the girl.”
I went out, and we walked over to Billie.
“Hello, Mr. Cole,” Billie said.
Virgil tipped his hat.
“You take what I tell you back to Wolfson.”
“He tole me you should write it down,” Billie said.
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