Appaloosa / Resolution / Brimstone / Blue-Eyed Devil

by Robert B. Parker

“We’ll have our parlor here,” she said, “where we can look out and see who’s coming to call. And this will be the kitchen.”

  There’s always something sort of dreamish about being sheltered on a rainy day. The rain drummed pleasantly on the roof. And, as it fell outside, it formed a kind of silvery curtain around the open sides of the unfinished building. There was coziness inside under the roof, even though there were no walls. Allie still held the hand with which she’d led me through the small framing. Her shoulder touched my arm.

  “You think it will be nice, Everett?”

  “It’ll be elegant,” I said.

  She rubbed her cheek against my shoulder.

  “Will you come often and visit us?”

  “Every time I’m invited.”

  “I can cook, you know,” Allie said.

  She had put her hand on my back and was beginning to move it up and down my spine.

  “I never thought you couldn’t,” I said.

  She turned in toward me and put both arms around my waist. She looked up at me, and her eyes looked sort of dazed, as if she wasn’t focusing too well.

  “Do you think I’m pretty?”

  “Yes.”

  I sounded hoarse. I felt as if my throat had closed up a little. She tightened her arms around my waist and pressed herself against me, arching her back a little to look up at me. The movement made her pelvis press against me, and caused me some excitement.

  “Allie,” I said.

  “I want you to kiss me, Everett.”

  “Allie,” I said again. “I think we ought to stop here.”

  She slid her hands up my back and behind my neck and pulled herself up on tiptoes and bent my head down toward her a little and kissed me hard with her mouth open. She smelled good. I kissed her back. Then I forced her away from me and held her there at arm’s length.

  “I’m with Virgil,” I said. “And so are you.”

  “Virgil’s not here,” she said. “Mostly, Virgil’s never here.”

  She was trying to press back against me.

  “Ain’t true, Allie,” I said. “But even if it was, we ain’t with each other. We’re both with him.”

  She was silent; her face had turned white. She was pressing hard against my hands as I held her away.

  “Allie,” I said. “For Christ’s sake, we’re right out in the open here.”

  “Let me go,” she said.

  Her voice was harsh and unlovely.

  “Let me go, goddamn you,” she said.

  “I’m leaving, Allie,” I said.

  “You bastard,” she said. “You sonova bitch.”

  The words came out slurred and almost hissing with rage. Her face was perfectly white and twisted with anger. There were tears in her eyes, though she wasn’t crying yet. I gave her a little shove that set her back for a moment and turned and ran.

  “You prick,” she screamed after me.

  I ran through the sucking mud and got up on the dry boardwalk and walked fast up Front Street toward Second.

  “You fucking prick,” she screamed.

  I hunched my shoulders a little and kept walking through the hard rain.

  22

  Vince came back with twenty riders on a hot, still day with no clouds and a hard sun. I was sitting out front with Whitfield when they turned the corner at Second Street and started down toward us at a slow walk, nobody saying anything.

  “God, Jesus,” Whitfield said and stood up.

  “There’s a loaded gun in the table drawer,” I said to him. “If they rush us, shoot Bragg.”

  Whitfield went inside the office. I took out my Colt and fired two shots in the air and reloaded and holstered. A couple of the horses in Vince’s party shied at the gunfire. No one else reacted. I picked up the eight-gauge and stood. There were people on the sidewalks on Main Street. As the riders approached, the people disappeared into the nearest doors. The riders fanned out across the street behind Vince three rows deep, halted in front of the office, and turned their horses toward me. The riders in the second and third rows moved slowly sideways to form a big single-file circle in front of me. Some of them had Winchesters.

  “Morning, Hitch,” Vince said to me.

  “Vince,” I said.

  “We come for Mr. Bragg,” Vince said.

  “Can’t have him,” I said.

  “We’ll take him if we have to.”

  The rider on the far right end of the circle had a riderless saddle horse on a lead. To my right, Virgil Cole came walking on the boardwalk toward us. He didn’t seem to raise his voice, but everyone heard him clear.

  “If you do, he’ll be dead.”

  No one said anything.

  “Everett,” Cole said, “you step on into the office with that eight-gauge and first thing, anything happens, you blow Mr. Bragg’s head off.”

  I wanted to say that Whitfield had that assignment and I could do him more good out here. But I didn’t. I did what he told me. I always did what he told me, because in a lot of towns over a lot of years, I’d learned that in a tight crease, you’d best do what Virgil Cole told you. No questions. Virgil always knew the situation better than you did, and he always knew what he was doing better than anyone did. I reached behind me and pushed open the office door and went inside.

  Behind me, I heard Cole say, “You boys best wheel them animals around and shoo.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Bragg.

  Bragg was standing in his cell, close to the bars, looking at me.

  “We come for Bragg,” Vince said.

  I glanced at Whitfield. There was no Whitfield. Past the two cells was a door that led down a little hall to the store behind us that sold dry goods and hardware. The door was open.

  “Can’t have him,” Cole said.

  I went and closed it and slid the bolt. Bragg smiled at me.

  “We know you’re good, Cole,” I heard Vince say. “But you ain’t as good as twenty of us.”

  “You know the arrangement, boys,” Cole said pleasantly.

  I went to the table drawer and opened it. The gun Whitfield was supposed to use was still there.

  “First time one of you does an ineluctable thing . . .” Cole said.

  He didn’t finish the sentence. But I knew, because I’d seen him do this before, that he had pointed at the office and pretended to shoot Bragg with his thumb and forefinger.

  “You can’t just shoot a prisoner,” Vince said. “You’re a fucking lawman.”

  I smiled. Cole already had them backing up a little. He didn’t need me out there with the shotgun.

  It ain’t firepower, he’d always said. It was firepower, we’d lose most of the time, because most of the time it’s just you and me against a whole passel.

  “Prisoner tries to escape, I’m supposed to shoot him,” Cole said.

  “You shoot him, you think we’ll ride off?”

  “Nope.”

  “We’ll kill you and Hitch,” Vince said.

  “You’ll try.”

  “There’s twenty of us, for God’s sake,” Vince said. “You willing to die to keep us from taking him?”

  “Sure,” Cole said.

  Everyone was silent. I could see Vince staring hard at Cole. Vince was a hard case. Jack Bell had been a hard case. But Vince was looking at something Vince had never seen before.

  “Hitch?” Vince raised his voice. “You willing to die, too?”

  I stood near the corner of the two cells, against the wall, where I wouldn’t get shot right away, and where I could get a clear shot at Bragg if they came. I could see Vince and some of the riders through the window. I couldn’t see Cole.

  “ ’Course he’s willin’ to die,” Cole said. “You think we do this kinda work ’cause we scared to die?”

  Even though I couldn’t see him, I knew how he was. I’d seen him at other times. He was motionless. His six-gun was still holstered. His arms were relaxed at his side. He was looking at Vince with no expression, and his eyes were perfectl
y dead, like two stones.

  “Any man’s scared a dying,” Vince said.

  “He’s got ’em turned,” I said softly to Bragg. “They’re arguing with him.”

  Bragg was silent, struggling, I assumed, with hope, fear, and rage.

  “You?” Cole said.

  Vince said, “Me?”

  “You afraid to die,” Cole said.

  “I ain’t afraid,” he said.

  “Good,” Cole said. “ ’Cause you go first.”

  Vince rocked very slightly back in his saddle. He probably didn’t know that he’d done it.

  “Ball goes up,” Cole said. “Two things certain. Bragg’s dead. You’re dead.”

  Then I could see Cole. He had stepped forward to the edge of the boardwalk so he was closer to Vince. He appeared to be looking straight at him, but he pointed, apparently without looking, off to his right.

  “And the boy with the Winchester,” Cole said, “with the red scarf. He goes next.”

  The way Cole could see all around him was always sort of magical. And I knew he meant it. I’d been with him in so many gunfights that I knew what he’d do. If it started, he’d shoot Vince long before Vince got a hand on his weapon; then, if there was someone with a rifle, he’d wheel in a comfortable crouch and shoot him. Then, when he’d emptied the sidearm, if he was still alive, he’d dive through the open office door and continue matters with the Winchester he kept just inside. As soon as I’d killed Bragg, of course, I would be shooting past him through the window. No one said anything for a long, quiet moment. Then Cole stepped off the boardwalk and into the street.

  “Go on home, Vince,” Cole said. “Too many people die if you don’t.”

  He took his hat off with his left hand and swatted Vince’s horse across the face. The horse reared and wheeled half around. Cole slapped it on the hindquarters, and the horse reared against the bit and tried to run, with Vince wrestling hard to hold him.

  “Go on,” Cole said, pushing among the horses, his right hand hanging loose near his gun, his left hand slapping with the hat. “Go on home.”

  It’s always one person at a time, Cole would tell me. No matter how many there are, you back them down one at a time so it’s always you against him. And he knows you’re quicker.

  Vince brought his surging horse under control and held him.

  “There’ll be another time, Cole,” he said.

  Then he gave the horse his head, and one after the other, Bragg’s riders headed out of town.

  23

  As soon as the riders were gone, I came out of the office, still carrying the eight-gauge. I took each barrel off cock as I came.

  “Whitfield run off,” I said.

  “Too bad,” Cole said.

  He had his hat back on and set right, and as far as you could tell, he had just gotten up from a nap.

  Up the street, Allie French came out of the Boston House and ran along the boardwalk toward Cole.

  “Oh, Virgil,” she said. “Virgil.”

  Cole stood and waited.

  “Oh, Virgil,” she said again. “Are you all right?”

  “I am,” Cole said.

  She ran right into him and pressed her face against his chest and put her arms around him.

  “That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. Just you and all those men. That was wonderful.”

  Cole seemed a little uneasy about what to do. Being Virgil Cole, he didn’t show much. But he stood still with his arms at his sides and didn’t look at anything.

  “Everett was with me,” he said.

  People had come out of the shops and saloons and housing, where they had earlier taken refuge.

  “Oh, pooh on Everett,” Allie said. “He was inside, hiding. It was you out there all alone, Virgil. That was heroic.”

  “Everett wasn’t exactly hiding, Allie.”

  The people began to gather round, looking at Cole and Allie. I saw Katie Goode in the crowd and nodded at her. Allie lifted her face from Cole’s chest and turned toward the crowd, her arms still holding on to Cole in proud ownership.

  “Isn’t that the most heroic thing you folks have ever seen?” she said.

  Somebody began to clap, and then pretty soon everyone was clapping. Allie stood, holding on to Cole, smiling at the crowd as if they were clapping for her. I was watching Cole. For maybe the first time since I’d met him, he didn’t quite know what was going on. And he didn’t quite know what to do about it.

  “That’ll be fine,” he said to the crowd. “That’ll be fine.”

  Then he turned away and steered Allie away, and they walked into the marshal’s office.

  As they went by, Cole said softly to me, “Send them home, Everett.”

  After I got the crowd moving, I walked with Katie Goode back toward the Boston House.

  “You need a drink?” she said.

  “Be nice,” I said.

  “Yesterday was payday at the mine,” Katie said. “I’ll buy.”

  “Be nice,” I said.

  We had a table near the bar. I drank some beer. Katie had a whiskey.

  “Mr. Raines don’t normally want us to drink in here,” Katie said. “But if I’m with you, he won’t say nothing.”

  “So you had more reason than just how good-lookin’ I am,” I said. “To buy me a beer.”

  “Good-lookin’s enough,” she said.

  Some miners who still had money left were lining the bar. The rainstorm had broken the heat, and it was cool again today, with some air moving in through the street door.

  “He really is something,” Katie said. “Isn’t he?”

  She had on a flowered dress with puffy shoulders and a bonnet. She could have been a ranch woman, or a miner’s wife, except she looked too good, and she smelled sort of soapy. She told me once that she washed herself all over, every day.

  “Virgil?” I said. “I ain’t seen a man like Virgil Cole, ever.”

  “Is he really not afraid to die?”

  “Never seen no sign of it,” I said.

  “Does he feel anything?”

  “I don’t know. I believe he’s feeling something for Allie French.”

  “Her,” Katie said.

  “Don’t know how many women Virgil’s ever actually spent time with. I mean, he has women whenever he wants them, but it’s mostly in and out real quick, without much conversation.”

  “Lotta men are like that,” Katie said.

  “Yes,” I said. “I imagine. But I ain’t sure Virgil ever had a woman call him heroic, ’cept she was drunk and had her drawers off.”

  “Did you like her little performance?” Katie said.

  “Not so much,” I said.

  “You think Mr. Cole liked it?”

  “Hard to say what Virgil likes,” I said. “He wasn’t Virgil Cole, I’d say he might have been embarrassed.”

  “Or flattered.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. “Virgil don’t normally think about things like that.”

  “That’s an evil woman, Everett.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “She is,” Katie said. “I know about evil women, Everett, and I know about sex. And I know how silly men are about it.”

  “Not all of us,” I said.

  “No, you seem pretty level, Everett. I got to say that. But I’ll bet you when Mr. Cole’s not around, she flirts with you.”

  “How do you know that?” I said.

  “She does,” Katie said. “Don’t she?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Fact is, she got kind of hot with me when we were looking at the new house Virgil’s building for her.”

  Katie smiled, as if she was wise. Which she wasn’t really. But she had Allie’s number.

  “What did you do?” Katie said.

  “I run off,” I said.

  “You say anything to Mr. Cole.”

  “No.”

  “You going to say anything?”

  “No. Virgil couldn’t hear something like that.”

 
; She sipped a little of her whiskey, watching me over the rim of the glass.

  “And I don’t want him knowing anything about it from you. I ain’t told anybody else, so if he finds out, I’ll know who couldn’t keep her mouth closed.”

  “I won’t tell,” Katie said. “But ain’t it so, Everett, sometimes I been with you, you didn’t want me keeping my mouth closed.”

  She looked straight at me and we both laughed.

  “There’ll be those times again,” I said.

  “Surely,” Katie said, and sipped whiskey. “But you’re his friend, Everett. Don’t you think you ought to tell him?”

  “Can’t,” I said. “He couldn’t hear it.”

  “What if she tells him?”

  “Why would she tell him?” I said.

  “I tole you, she’s evil,” Katie said. “What if she tells him and says it was your doing.”

  “He’ll kill me,” I said.

  Katie frowned and looked down at her whiskey glass, studying the brown surface of the whiskey.

  “Sooner or later,” Katie said, “she’s gonna tell him.”

  24

  The next morning Whitfield came into the marshal’s office looking bad.

  “I slept in the feed loft,” he said, “at the livery stable.”

  “Well,” Cole said, “you come back.”

  “I can’t face up to guns no more,” Whitfield said.

  “But you’ll testify,” Cole said.

  “I will.”

  “That’s fine,” Cole said. “Everett and me will face up to the guns.”

  Bragg, leaning against the bars of his cell, said, “You gonna get your chance, too, Whitfield.”

  It was like I could see the skin tighten on Whitfield’s face, and the fear come in. Cole took his feet off the tabletop and stood and walked over to the cell. He stood close to the bars, an inch or so away from Bragg.

  “We been treating you kindly,” Cole said to Bragg. “In return for that, we expect you to speak when spoken to and otherwise stay quiet.”

  “I can talk if I want to,” Bragg said.

  “And me and Everett can come into that cell and lock the door behind us and beat the sweet Jesus hell right out of you every morning instead of breakfast.”

  “You wouldn’t talk that way if I had a gun,” Bragg said.