As soon as the Indians disappeared down the side street, a wisp of smoke began to rise on the left, from behind the buildings facing Main Street. Then smoke came from the right. I could smell the coal oil.
In the center of the empty street Virgil put his hands above his head and gestured for us to join him. The balloon was up.
45
THE FLAMES were beginning to frolic above the roof-lines. The smoke was thick and black and smelled of coal oil. No Indians were in sight on Main Street. But there were periodic gunshots from the side streets, and people, mostly women and children, rushed out of them and began to mill on Main Street.
“He’s corralling them on Main Street,” I said.
“Then kill them,” Pony said.
“Can’t fight the fire,” Virgil said. “Can’t protect all the people. Only thing we can do is kill Apaches. Too few of us to spread out. We stay together. Kill any Indian we see.”
He looked at Pony.
“Have to,” he said.
Pony nodded.
“Boston House not burning yet,” he said.
“It will,” Virgil said.
“I go there,” Pony said.
Someone released two horses from the livery, and they skittered together down Slate Street and toward the open prairie.
“Indians gonna collect them later,” Chauncey said.
“And a lotta scalps,” I said.
We moved in the same direction down Bow Street. At the end of the block where Bow crossed Sixth Street two Apaches with Winchesters held their excited horses hard as they stepped and turned, blocking the street. Virgil killed them both.
“Roof,” Chauncey said, and killed an Apache straddling the ridgepole. The Indian tumbled off the ridge and rolled down the roof slant and fell to the street. His Winchester stayed halfway down the roof. Next door a building collapsed, the roof falling in with an explosion of flame, and smoke, and sparks, and debris.
A brave came out of an alley in front of us and rode straight at us, firing a big old Navy Colt. Indians in general were not great shooters, and the fact that we were standing, and they were shooting from horseback, gave us another edge. The tight choke of eight-gauge shot hit the Indian full in the chest and knocked him backward off his horse as if he had run into a wall. Somewhere a woman screamed. We could hear a baby crying above the roar of the flames. And occasionally came the awful scream of a war cry. We moved up Sixth Street to Slate and turned the corner. Virgil and I stayed tight to the wall. Chauncey Teagarden had an ivory-handled Colt in each hand.
“Fuck this,” he said, and stepped into the center of Slate Street, heading back toward Main. A bullet kicked up dirt in front of him and, almost negligently, he snapped off a shot with his left-hand gun and killed an Indian on a pinto horse. Main Street was full of terrified citizens milling desperately in the searing heat, under a pall of black smoke. The Indians herded them the way cowboys herded cattle. Mounted and moving among the citizens, the Apache were not easy targets. Teagarden stayed in the open street. Gunfire continued to miss him. If we got out of this we’d learn a couple of things. Teagarden could shoot. And he didn’t scare easily.
Suddenly the shooting stopped. The flames still tossed and snarled above the buildings, and the smoke still hung low over the street. But it seemed somehow as if everything stopped when Kha-to-nay rode into the maelstrom with four warriors behind him. A young girl with her skirts pushed up high on her bare legs straddled the big bay horse in front of Kha-to-nay, clamped against him by Kha-to-nay’s arm holding the reins. It was Laurel. With his left hand Kha-to-nay pressed the edge of a bowie knife against her stomach.
“Virgil Cole,” Kha-to-nay bellowed. “Put down your guns and show yourselves, or I will gut your little whore right here.”
Virgil stood in the doorway of the hardware store, looking at the situation. We could not let Laurel be cut. We could not give up our guns.
Pony Flores appeared from behind the Boston House, riding a horse with no saddle. Kha-to-nay raised a “hold your fire” hand to his troops, as Pony’s horse picked his way through the terrified crowd. He stopped beside Kha-to-nay. On Kha-to-nay’s left side. Laurel stared at him.
“Chiquita,” he said to her. “I have come get you, again.”
Kha-to-nay spoke to Pony in Apache. Pony answered. Kha-to-nay shook his head. Pony spoke again. Kha-to-nay spoke again, louder, shaking his head as he did so. Pony moved so quickly it was hard to follow. He took hold of Kha-to-nay’s knife hand and pulled it away from Laurel. His right leg swung over his horse’s withers and he was on Kha-to-nay’s horse, behind him. The knife appeared from the top of his moccasin. He cut Kha-to-nay’s throat, shoved him off the horse, slid forward behind Laurel, got hold of the reins with his arms around her, and kicked the horse forward. As the horse moved we opened up on the four warriors with Kha-to-nay. Three of them went down. Pony flattened Laurel out over the horse’s neck and himself over her, and they galloped into the coming darkness of the prairie.
The remaining rider stepped off his horse and squatted next to Kha-to-nay. Chauncey Teagarden raised one of his Colts.
“No,” Virgil said.
Chauncey shrugged and held the gun half raised. The Indian began to chant something. In a short while the rest of the still-surviving Indians moved slowly through the crowd and gathered around Kha-to-nay’s body. They joined the chant. It was nightfall, and the mourning Apaches gathered around their fallen leader were lit only by the violent flames of the burning town.
“It’s over,” Virgil said. “You know enough Apache to tell them that?”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Say they can take him and go. We won’t bother them,” Virgil said.
“We got ’em in front of us,” Teagarden said. “We could clean them up for god.”
“I know,” Virgil said.
He nodded toward the group of Apaches.
“Talk to ’em,” Virgil said.
It was as much sign language as me speaking Apache, but I was able to get it across that they were free to take Kha-to-nay and go. The terrified and now delirious crowd in the streets watched them as they rode past bodies they’d killed, out of Appaloosa and away from it. I thought about how far they would have to ride before the burning town would no longer be visible.
“I thought Pony was trying to save his brother,” Chauncey said.
“He was,” Virgil said.
“Guess he wanted to save the girl more,” Chauncey said.
“Guess he did,” Virgil said.
46
VIRGIL AND ALLIE and I were sitting on what was left of the front porch of the Boston House. Much of the town was burned out. Against the charred backdrop of it, women and children and old men were walking aimlessly about.
“Why do you suppose they didn’t burn our house?” Allie said.
Virgil shrugged. He was looking down Main Street at some riders coming in. It was Callico.
“Because we’re friends of Pony?” I said.
“But he took Laurel and was going to kill her,” Allie said.
“Things weren’t going the way he wanted,” Virgil said.
“And he’d change like that?” Allie said.
“Folks do,” Virgil said.
“Savages do,” Allie said.
Virgil nodded.
“How’d he get hold of Laurel?” Virgil said.
“She saw the flames. She became hysterical. I tried to keep her with me. But despite all I’ve done for her, she paid me no mind. She was in the street and he saw her and must have recognized her.”
Virgil nodded.
“Got him killed,” he said.
“His own brother,” Allie said.
“Laurel,” Virgil said.
We sat quietly as Amos Callico and his troops straggled back into the smoldering town.
When he saw us, Callico pulled his horse over and stopped. He was spattered with mud, and his clothes were rumpled. He took his hat off.
“Miss All
ie,” he said, and bowed his head slightly.
“Welcome home, Mr. Callico,” Allie said.
“Thank you very kindly, Miss Allie,” Callico said.
He looked at Virgil and me.
“Well,” Callico said. “We did it.”
“We surely did,” Virgil said.
“Don’t expect those red niggers will try this town again.”
“Probably not,” Virgil said.
“Thanks for your help,” Callico said.
Virgil and I both nodded.
“Well,” Callico said, and looked around at the ruin of a town. “Get me a bath and a night’s sleep, and we’ll start putting this town back together.”
“Gonna cost some money,” I said.
“Those Indians are from a United States government reservation,” Callico said. “I figure the government owes us.”
“Think you can convince them?” I said.
“You boys just watch me,” Callico said.
“We will,” Virgil said.
Callico turned his horse and fell back in among the returning straggle.
We watched him ride away.
“The hero of Appaloosa,” I said.
“He gets government money to rebuild this place,” Virgil said, “he will be.”
“And they’ll never remember what he was doing while the place was burning,” I said.
“He knows many important people,” Allie said. “I’ll bet he can do it.”
Virgil nodded.
“When will Pony bring Laurel back?” Allie said.
“Soon as he thinks she’s safe,” Virgil said.
“Do you know where he took her?” Allie said.
“Red Castle Rock, probably,” Virgil said.
“You know where that is?” Allie said.
“I do,” Virgil said.
“Well, why on earth don’t you go out there,” Allie said. “And bring her back.”
“He’ll bring her back,” Virgil said. “When it’s time.”
“She’s alone, sleeping God knows where with a half-breed tracker,” Allie said. “She’s sixteen, for God’s sake. I’m trying to bring her up right.”
“Doin’ a fine job,” Virgil said.
“And one thing I know,” Allie said. “If I know anything, I know men.”
Virgil nodded.
“And let me tell you right now,” Allie said, “that no good will come of him running off with her someplace alone.”
Staring down the smoke-soiled main street of Appaloosa, Virgil turned his head and squinted at Allie.
“I love you, Allie,” Virgil said. “Not exactly sure why sometimes. And it looks like I’m keep doing it.”
“Why, thank you, Virgil,” Allie said.
“But you say some of the goddamned stupidest things I have ever heard,” he said.
“Everett,” Allie said. “Are you going to let him speak that way to me?”
“Pony killed his brother to save Laurel,” I said.
“Does that make him a good candidate for husband?” Allie said.
“Might mean he loves her,” I said.
“Oh, piffle,” Allie said. “Why does anybody love a nybody?”
Virgil squinted at her some more.
“Damned if I know,” he said.
47
FAT WILLIS MCDONOUGH, who had no bar to tend at the moment, walked down to Virgil’s house from the remains of the Boston House.
“Your friend Pony Flores is in some trouble up on Main Street,” Willis said.
“Girl with him?” Virgil said.
“Yep.”
Virgil stood.
“You fellas go ahead,” Fat Willis said. “Never much liked hurrying.”
“Not generally much need,” Virgil said.
We started up First Street. And when we reached Main, we turned left.
Pony was there, still mounted, with Laurel sitting behind him, her arms around his waist. Standing in front of them in a semicircle in the street were Callico and his four surviving cops.
“Managed to get two of them killed at the ford the other day,” Virgil said.
Standing on the street beside Pony, near his left stirrup, with his two ivory-handled Colts gleaming in the sunlight, was Chauncey Teagarden.
“Fellas want to arrest the hero of the great Apache war,” Teagarden said to us. “Don’t seem right to me.”
We paused so that Callico had Teagarden and Pony in front of him, and me and Virgil behind him. His uniformed officers may have lost some of their confidence in him at the river crossing. They looked at us a little uneasily.
“You are interfering with an officer in performance of his legal duties,” Callico said sternly.
Teagarden smiled.
“You bet your ass,” he said.
“We are five armed men,” Callico said.
“And we’re only four,” Teagarden said. “What a shame.”
Virgil said, “What you arresting him for, Amos?”
“I want to know what part he played in all of this,” Callico said. “I mean, his brother was the one burned the town. Why’d this man take that girl? How much did he help his brother with the burning and looting?”
I smiled to myself. They’d been too busy with the burning to do much looting. That would probably have come next day, along with raping, if Pony hadn’t cut the whole thing short.
“He helped save your town,” Virgil said.
“Got to find that out officially, Virg,” Callico said. “Got to take him in.”
“No,” Virgil said.
“Virg,” Callico said. “You gotta understand. We’ll turn him loose, soon’s we clear him.”
Virgil said nothing.
I said, “Callico, we all know that this is about looking like the man in charge at the battle of Appaloosa.”
“You’re planning to interfere?” Callico said.
“We are,” I said.
“All three of you?”
“Four,” Pony said.
Callico nodded forcefully.
“We’ll discuss this again,” he said.
“No,” Virgil said. “We won’t.”
The sound of hammers and saws filled the street. A big freight wagon hulked past, stacked with partially burned lumber, the massive draft horses leaning hard into their harness. Callico turned sharply, jerked his head at his policemen, and walked back down Main Street. We watched them go. Pony looked at Virgil and smiled.
“ ‘Virg’?” he said.
“My mother didn’t even call me that,” Virgil said.
“What did she call you?” I said.
“Don’t remember,” Virgil said.
48
WE WENT back down First Street toward Virgil’s house. When we got there, Allie was on the front porch. Laurel slid off the back of Pony’s horse and ran to her. Pony stayed on the horse.
“My child is home safe,” Allie crooned. “My child is home.”
“Don’t think she’s staying, Allie,” Virgil said.
He was standing on the first step of the porch, next to Laurel.
“What,” Allie said. “What.”
Virgil said, “You stayin’, Laurel?”
She shook her head.
“You going away?” Virgil said.
She nodded.
“With who?” Virgil said.
Laurel pointed at Pony.
“You can say his name,” Virgil said.
Laurel stared at Virgil.
“You can,” Virgil said.
She stared some more. Virgil leaned forward and whispered in her ear. She nodded. He whispered again. She shook her head. He whispered again. She was motionless. Then she looked at Pony. And at me and Allie, and obliquely at Chauncey Teagarden. She looked back at Virgil and then at Pony again.
“Pony,” she whispered.
I saw Allie’s eyes widen. Her mouth opened. But something stopped her before she spoke.
“You want that, Pony?” Virgil said.
Pony was tu
rned sideways in his saddle. His right foot was in the stirrup, and his left knee hooked over the saddle. He was rolling a cigarette.
“Sí,” Pony said, and lit the cigarette.
“Got some money left from Brimstone,” Virgil said. “I’ll get you some.”
Pony shook his head.
“Good way to start, Jefe,” he said. “Each other, nothing else.”
Virgil nodded.
“Buy her a horse,” he said.
Pony smiled.
“I get her horse, Jefe.”
Virgil nodded slowly.
“Kinda what I was afraid of,” he said.
Pony looked at me and put out his hand.
“Everett,” he said.
“Pony.”
He looked at Teagarden.
“Gracias,” he said.
Teagarden shook his hand.
“On down the road,” he said.
Pony nodded. He looked at Allie.
“Señorita,” he said.
She was holding her apron up to her face.
Virgil stood in front of Laurel with his hands at his sides.
“Wherever you go. Whatever happens. You got some people here who love you.”
She nodded. Then put her arms around Virgil and buried her face in his neck and cried. He put his arms around her and stood expressionless, holding her comfortably until she was through.
She stepped away from him and looked at Pony.
“Chiquita,” he said, and put out his hand.
She swung up behind him. He turned the horse and kicked him into a trot and they left. All of us watched as they rode off. Allie sniffled loudly.
“Nice ceremony,” Teagarden said.
49
EMMA SCARLET wore a red wig for business, but since we were more friends than anything else, and since this morning we had finished our business already, she left the wig on its holder while we drank coffee in her room.
“So, the girl ran off with the half-breed,” Emma said.
“Laurel,” I said. “With Pony Flores.”
“Love,” Emma said.
“I guess.”
We drank some coffee.
“I think Allie was a little upset,” I said.
“You do,” Emma said.
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