“Olson told me Bragg bought it in Scotland. It’s a Black Angus.”
“Olson seems pretty snug with Bragg,” Cole said, “don’t he.”
“Olson says Bragg’s fixing to start a herd, got some Angus cows coming, too.”
“Sort of small bull,” Cole said.
“Olson says the steers make real good eating,” I said. “Says that some of the fancy hotels and restaurants back east will pay a lot more for them.”
The hands turned the bull at the foot of the street, and we couldn’t see him anymore. The boys trailed around the corner after them.
“Bragg’s busy,” Cole said.
“Fancy cows,” I said. “Saloons, hotels.”
“I hear Abner Raines left town,” Cole said.
“Going where?”
“I think back to Kansas, said he was going to farm a little.”
“Farm?”
“What he said.”
“Who’s running the hotel?”
“Bragg put a man in here,” Cole said.
“Be interesting to know where Bragg got his money,” I said.
“That ain’t as interesting as what he’s gonna do with it,” Cole said.
“You’re right,” I said. “Fact is, where he got it don’t matter much.”
Cole nodded.
We were quiet. From where we sat, we could see the bull again, small in the distance, kicking up some dust, going up the hill toward Bragg’s ranch.
“So that leaves Olson as the only alderman,” I said.
“Un-huh.”
“And he’s getting friendlier with Bragg every day.”
“Un-huh.
“Next June first,” Cole said, “town meeting’s gonna have to elect some new alderman in October.”
“Gives Bragg ’bout three months,” I said.
“Yep.”
“You think Bragg’s really a changed man?” I said.
“ ’Course not.”
“Me, either,” I said. “What do you think he wants?”
“I think he wants to own this town,” Cole said, “and everybody in it. “
“And then what?”
“I don’t know,” Cole said. “He probably don’t know, either.”
“Well,” I said. “So far, he ain’t buttin’ heads with you and me. Like he done last time.”
“Not yet.”
“So there’s nothing for us to do about him,” I said.
“Ain’t done nothing ain’t legal,” Cole said.
“But we know he’s going to.”
“We got to wait till he does,” Cole said.
“We know he killed Jack Bell and a deputy.”
Cole nodded.
“We know he hired Ring and Mackie to bust him loose.”
Cole nodded.
“We know Allie got kidnapped in the process.”
“He’s been pardoned,” Cole said.
“Not by us,” I said.
“We can’t be starting things like that,” Cole said. “Only way to stay clean is to stay with the rules.”
It was an old discussion. We’d had it before. The outcome never changed.
“Well,” I said after a while, “he seems to be going at it smarter, this time.”
“He’s got some money this time.”
“Money makes it easier to be smart,” I said.
“Never had none,” Cole said. “So I wouldn’t know.”
“I guess I ain’t, either,” I said. “So I guess I don’t know. But it seems like it would be easier.”
“Might be harder,” Cole said.
“Might be, I suppose. When you think of it, there ain’t that much a fella needs.”
“If he lives alone,” Cole said.
“If he lives alone,” I said.
“Allie likes things,” Cole said.
“She plays the piano. She gets paid,” I said. “And tips.”
“She wants more.”
“Got a nice house,” I said.
Cole didn’t say anything for a while.
“Always had enough,” Cole said.
I nodded.
“You got enough,” Cole said.
“I do,” I said. “I got a place to sleep. I can buy whiskey and food and feed the horse and purchase a pump from Katie Goode when I need one. I get cigars from you once in a while. I had more money, I don’t know what I’d do with it.”
“You could give it to Allie,” Cole said. “She’d know.”
I grinned.
“She wants me to get another job.”
“You want to do that?”
“I’m good at this,” Cole said.
Barely visible now, the black bull disappeared over the crest of the far hill. The hint of dust hung for a minute where the bull had gone, and then it dispersed and nothing moved on the hilltop.
“You are,” I said.
We had a miner in jail for beating up a whore named Big Ass Sally Lowe, and I had sat and listened to him all day. Now it was Cole’s turn, and I went up to the Boston House Saloon for supper and a drink.
The saloon at the Boston House was looking good. There was a big, new, dark mahogany bar, and a big, new, gilt-trimmed mirror behind it, and a big chandelier with a lot of cut glass in the middle of the room. There were four card tables in the back and a man to deal faro. Bragg had made a deal with Phil Olson, the lone remaining alderman, for a special deputy with powers limited to the hotel, who sat lookout with a shotgun in a high chair near the faro layout.
Allie had a new piano to play, which was a waste of money, and she was playing hard when I sat down near the bar. Bragg was there, dark suit, white shirt, gold chain, good cigar. He came to my table.
“Buy you a drink, Everett?”
“Got one,” I said.
Bragg turned his palms up.
“Fine,” he said. “Perfectly fine. Cigar?”
I shook my head.
