“What’s your name,” I said.
“Beth,” she said. “Beth Redmond.”
“Bob Redmond’s wife?” I said.
“Yes.”
The saloon doors on the street side swung open and Redmond pushed in.
“Speak of the devil,” I said.
“Beth,” Redmond said when he saw her standing with us. “What are you, a goddamned whore? Get out of this place.”
She didn’t move.
“You hear me, woman?” Redmond said. “Out! Now!”
Cato Tillson looked at Mrs. Redmond and said, “You want me to kill him?”
“Kill him?” Mrs. Redmond said.
“Yes.”
“I . . . no,” she said. “God, no.”
“Okay,” Cato said.
He picked up his drink and leaned back in his chair to watch. For the first time, I think, it registered to Redmond who we were. He didn’t like it. But he had to be forceful. His wife was watching.
“This is none of your business,” he said. “Any of you.”
None of us said anything.
“I don’t know what she told you; she’s a lying bitch anyway. But I can’t have my wife flaunting herself like a floozy in a saloon.”
None of us said anything.
“So you either come right now, bitch,” he said to his wife, “or I’ll come over and drag you out by the hair of your head.”
None of us said anything. But Virgil stepped away from the bar and moved over to stand in front of Mrs. Redmond.
Redmond paused.
“This is family business,” he said.
Virgil said nothing.
Redmond looked at the rest of us.
“It is, you know,” he said. “Nobody got the right to interfere between a man and his wife.”
None of us said anything. Redmond looked at his wife again.
“What kind of whore are you, hiding from your husband behind this . . . this fucking . . . fucking gun shooter?”
Behind Virgil, Mrs. Redmond shook her head but didn’t say anything. Nobody else said anything. Nobody moved. Redmond didn’t have a gun. His good luck. If he’d had one he might have tried to use it. Bad luck, though, for Mrs. Redmond. If he tried to shoot with Virgil, he’d be dead and she’d be free of him.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay. That’s how it is, whore. Just don’t think you can come home after this.”
“I can’t come with you, Bob,” Mrs. Redmond said. “I can’t anymore.”
“Just stay away from me and my children,” he said.
She opened her mouth and took a short breath, and didn’t speak. He looked at her and turned his head and spit on the floor. He was careful, I noticed, not to spit on Virgil. Then he turned stiffly and marched out.
“Oh my God,” Mrs. Redmond said. “Oh my God!”
She began to cry.
38.
We got her to a table, and she sat down.
"Do you drink whiskey?” Virgil said.
She nodded as she cried. I gestured to Patrick and he brought us a good-sized glass of whiskey.
“Wolfson’s,” Patrick said as he put the glass down.
Mrs. Redmond picked it up with both hands and tried to hold the crying long enough to drink some. Breathing in tiny, shallow breaths, she managed to take a slug and swallow it. Then she put the glass down and cried some more.
After a while she took another slug and said, “What am I going to do?”
“What do you need?” Virgil said.
"I have no money, no clothes, no place to stay, nowhere to go,” she said.
“You can stay here,” Virgil said.
“Here?”
“In the hotel,” Virgil said.
“But I can’t pay.”
“We’ll arrange something,” I said. “Room at the hotel, meals, charge what you need at the emporium.”
“But . . .” She didn’t quite know how to ask the question.
She drank some whiskey.
“But do I have to . . . do I have to do anything?” she said.
Virgil smiled.
“No,” he said. “You don’t.”
Wolfson came into the saloon through the door that connected to the hotel lobby, and walked straight to our table.
“What the hell is she doing here,” he said.
“Having a drink,” Virgil said. “With me.”
It was a simple answer. But there was something in it that made Wolfson rein in.
“Well, I see that, Virgil,” Wolfson said. “But we don’t normally see women like her in here. She ain’t a whore, is she?”
“No,” Virgil said.
“No offense, ma’am,” Wolfson said.
Mrs. Redmond shook her head. She was beginning to enjoy the whiskey.
“I’d like her to be a guest of the Blackfoot,” Virgil said. “Room, board, charge what she needs at the emporium.”
“Sure,” Wolfson said. “Who pays.”
“She doesn’t,” Virgil said.
“So who pays?” Wolfson said.
“We was thinking it would be you, Amos,” I said. “You know, guest of the Blackfoot?”
“Including the emporium?” Wolfson said. “Why the fuck would I do that?”
Frank Rose was sitting with his elbows on the table, and his chin resting on his folded hands. He winked at Mrs. Redmond.
“Harmonious relationship,” he said to Wolfson, “with your gun hands.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Wolfson said.
“Can’t speak for Cole and Hitch,” Rose said. “But me and Cato will quit if she don’t get what she needs.”
“Quit?”
I looked at Virgil and nodded.
“That would be the occasion,” Virgil said, “among me and Everett, too.”
“And some of us might be kind of mad about it,” Rose said.
Cato stared straight at Wolfson and nodded his head slowly.
“You are threatening me,” Wolfson said.
Rose grinned at him.
“Only a little,” Rose said.
“Are you saying that if I don’t give this fucking woman room, board, and emporium charge privileges, you’ll quit?”
Rose looked at Cato, then at Virgil and me. All three of us nodded.
“Yes,” Rose said. “That’s pretty much it.”
“And you might cause trouble?” Wolfson said.
“We’re pretty good at that,” Rose said.
“For crissake,” Wolfson said. “Is she doing all of you?”
“None of us,” Virgil said. “And clean up your talk.”
Wolfson started to say something. Virgil was looking at him steadily.
“Room, board, free stuff at the store,” Wolfson said.
Virgil nodded. Wolfson looked at Mrs. Redmond.
He said, “You got anything to add, lady?”
“Her name is Mrs. Redmond,” Virgil said.
“Beth,” she said. “Beth Redmond.”
“You’re Bob Redmond’s wife?”
She nodded.
“Jesus Christ,” Wolfson said.
He turned away from the table.
“You’ll arrange it?” I said.
"Oh, fuck,” Wolfson said, and kept walking. “I’ll arrange it.”
39.
Patrick brought the bottle over and poured us all another drink. Mrs. Redmond took a drink and stared into her glass. She had stopped crying. And she was a little drunk.
“He isn’t as bad a man as he seems,” she said.
“Hard to be worse,” I said.
“He is just so strained,” she said, “trying to support me and the kids, and trying to organize the ranchers, and trying to fight Mr. Wolfson.”
None of us said anything.
“He gets crazy mad, sometimes,” she said.
“At you,” I said.
She nodded.
“But he never hurts the kids,” she said.
“He ain’t supposed to,” Virgil said.
She stared at him. I knew she didn’t understand him. Most people didn’t. There was about him a flat deadliness that frightened people. And yet he had protected her from her husband and helped her get settled in the Blackfoot.
“He wasn’t always like this,” she said. “It’s just that all we got is that piece of land, and he’s terrified we’re going to lose it. That Mr. Wolfson will take it away from us.”
“Make him feel like a failure,” I said.
“Yes.”
“This ain’t gonna help him,” Virgil said. “Us taking his wife away from him.”
“You didn’t do that,” she said.
“He’ll see it that way,” Virgil said.
Virgil probably knew something about that feeling. Mrs. Redmond drank more whiskey and began to cry again. She talked haltingly while she cried.
“My children.” She gasped. “My children. He won’t let me see my children.”
“He might,” Virgil said.
She shook her head.
“His mind is set,” she said. “When he sets it, ain’t nothing will change it.”
“Couple of us could take you out for a visit,” Virgil said.
She shook her head.
“No,” she said. “There might be trouble. I wouldn’t want the children to see it.”
“Well, then,” Virgil said. “Maybe Everett and me can ride out tomorrow and talk with him about this.”
“Oh, God,” she said. “Not in front of the children.”
“They home all the time?”
“They go a couple hours in the afternoon to Ruth Anne Markey, Charlie Markey’s wife. She teaches some of the kids in her home. Mostly Bob needs them to help with the place.”
“We can do it then,” Virgil said.
She stared at him again.
“Don’t hurt him,” she said. “Please don’t hurt him.”
“’Course not,” Virgil said.
Mrs. Redmond was silent for a time, staring into her glass. Then she pushed the glass away, folded her arms on the tabletop, and put her head down on her arms. In a few moments she was snoring softly.
“Care to give me a hand, Everett,” Virgil said.
I nodded, and we stood, and each with a hand under her arm, we got her to her feet and steered her to her hotel room.
40.
The horses had been ridden together so often that, both geldings, they had become friends. They would occasionally nuzzle each other when we stopped.
“Isn’t this sort of the way you took up with Allie?” I said to Virgil.
“How so?” Virgil said.
“She comes into town alone. No money. No place to stay. You find her a place to stay. Get her a job.”
“Uh-huh.”
“How’d that work out for you?” I said.
“Don’t know yet,” Virgil said.
“Damn,” I said. “You are a stubborn bastard.”
“I am,” Virgil said.
The horses moved along pleasantly. The air was warm, not hot, and there was a nice little breeze. Virgil rode well. He did everything well. When he rode, the horse seemed an extension of him. When he shot, the gun seemed part of him.
“Hard on women out here,” Virgil said.
“Hard on everybody out here,” I said.
“Women need looking after.”
“Allie?” I said. “I figure Allie’s pretty good at taking care of herself.”
“Allie thinks with her twat,” Virgil said. “It gets her in trouble.”
“True,” I said. “So what are you going to do with Mrs. Redmond?”
“Don’t know,” Virgil said. “Can’t let her old man beat on her.”
“We could let Cato kill him,” I said.
“Can’t do that,” Virgil said.
“Why not?” I said.
“Can’t do that,” Virgil said, as if it was an answer.
The horses eased down the trail toward the homesteads on the flat land. The homesteads weren’t much. Weather-grayed cabin and shed. Sparse-looking kitchen garden. An occasional split-rail corral with one or two horses. Redmond’s was no different. We found him straddling the peak of his cabin, patching the roof. When he saw us ride in he climbed down and went inside. By the time we reached the house, he was back outside with a Winchester.
“What do you want?” he said.
“Need to talk,” Virgil said.
“Got nothing to talk about,” Redmond said.
“You do,” Virgil said.
Redmond gestured with the Winchester.
“I know how to use this,” he said.
“’Course you do,” Virgil said. “You might get off a shot. You might even hit one of us. But ’fore you jacked the second shell up into the chamber you’d be dead.”
“And maybe one of you’d be dead.”
“Maybe,” Virgil said.
There was some silence. Virgil’s horse put his head over and snuffled at mine. Redmond lowered the Winchester slightly.
“What you want to talk about?” he said.
“Your wife and children,” Virgil said.
“Goddamn it,” Redmond said. “Wolfson don’t run my family.”
“This ain’t Wolfson,” Virgil said. “This is me.”
He was relaxed and comfortable in his saddle as he talked. Like he always was. Sometimes people would make a bad mistake and think he wasn’t ready. He was. Virgil was always ready. He just never looked it.
“You fucking her yet?” Redmond said.
“Nope.”
“Probably all of you, fucking her,” Redmond said.
“Nope.”
“Well, I’ll give her that,” Redmond said. “She’s hot enough. Or she used to be.”
“That be before you starting smacking her around?” Virgil said.
“That’s none of your business,” Redmond said.
“True enough,” Virgil said. “But she needs to see the kids.”
“She can’t,” Redmond said.
“Me and Everett,” Virgil said, “think she should visit the children, couple times a week. Cato and Rose agree with us.”
“You threatenin’ me?” Redmond said.
“I am,” Virgil said.
Again, silence. Redmond and Virgil looked at each other. Nobody could hold a stare very long with Virgil Cole. Redmond looked away.
“What if I say no?”
“Four of us will bring her out anyway,” Virgil said.
“Four fucking pistoleros against one farmer?” Redmond said.
“Yup.”
“Don’t seem fair,” Redmond said.
“One of us comes out,” Virgil said. “And you might try to shoot it out, and whoever would have to kill you. Four of us come out, and you won’t be that stupid.”
Redmond looked at Virgil. Then at me. I smiled at him. He looked back at Virgil.
“I already told them she’s a whore,” Redmond said.
“Tell ’em she ain’t,” Virgil said.
My horse tossed his head, and the sound of the bridle hardware was the only sound.
“Kids should probably see their mother,” Redmond said.
“Should,” Virgil said.
“When you want to bring her out?” Redmond said finally.
“Monday and Friday,” Virgil said.
Redmond nodded.
“Lunchtime,” Redmond said.
“Okay.”
“Don’t need all four of you to come.”
“Maybe at first,” Virgil said. “See how it goes.”
Redmond thought about it awhile.
“Why do you people give a fuck about me and Beth?” he said.
“Good to keep busy,” Virgil said.
Redmond nodded slowly. More to himself, I think, than to us.
“Four killers,” he said. “Four fucking gun-shooting killers.”
Virgil nodded.
“And all of a sudden,” Redmond said, “you’re like fucking law and order, for crissake.”
&nbs
p; “Peculiar, ain’t it,” Virgil said.
41.
With Cato and Rose at the Excelsior, and me and Virgil at the Blackfoot, things got so peaceful that I stopped sitting in the lookout chair and sat with Virgil at a table near the bar.
“Quiet,” I said to Virgil.
“It is,” he said.
“Makes you wonder if they need us here,” I said.
“They’d need us if we wasn’t here,” Virgil said.
“Same at the Excelsior,” I said.
“Should be,” Virgil said.
“Cute,” I said. “They don’t need us unless we ain’t here; then they do need us.”
“Called keepin’ the peace,” Virgil said.
“That’d be us,” I said.
Two farmers came into the Blackfoot, and looked around, and came to our table.
One of them, a short, chunky guy wearing a pink shirt, said, “Cole and Hitch?”
“He’s Cole,” I said. “I’m Hitch.”
“We got a problem,” the farmer in the pink shirt said.
The man with him was taller and rounder. He was wearing a blue shirt.
“He’s got a problem,” the man in blue said. “Sonovabitch sold me a lame horse.”
“He had a chance to try the horse,” Pink Shirt said. “He didn’t say nothing about her bein’ lame when he bought her.”
“How lame,” Virgil said.
“Lame,” Blue Shirt said, “right front leg’s all swole.”
“Why?”
They both looked at him blankly.
“Why’s it swole?” Virgil said.
“’Cause she’s lame,” Blue Shirt said.
“Wasn’t swole when I sold her,” Pink Shirt said.
Virgil took a long breath through his nose.
“Where’s the horse,” Virgil said.
“Out front,” Blue Shirt said.
“Lemme see her,” Virgil said.
He and I stood, and all of us went outside.
The horse was a sorrel mare and pretty long in the tooth. Virgil sat on his haunches beside her, and looked at her swollen right foreleg without touching it. He nodded to himself.
“Everett,” he said. “Get me a bottle of good whiskey and a clean cloth.”
I went in and got what he ordered and came out with it.
“Gashed her leg on something,” Virgil said. “It’s infected.”
I handed him the cloth and the whiskey.
“Take her head,” Virgil said. “I’m gonna clean her wound.”
Appaloosa / Resolution / Brimstone / Blue-Eyed Devil Page 26
