“Yep. Soldiered for ten years. Out here mostly,” Pike said.
“Indian wars?” I said.
Pike nodded.
“Southern Cheyenne. Apache, Kiowa, Comanche. Comanches were a bitch.”
“Still are,” I said.
“Got to be a captain,” Pike said. “But…”
He shook his head.
“Rules got to be too much,” he said.
“Yep,” I said.
“You too?” Pike said.
I nodded.
“Yep.”
“How you get along with Brother Percival?” Virgil said.
Pike looked as if he’d been brought back from a reverie.
“Brother Percival,” he said, and shook his head. “Brother Percival.”
“Understand he’s opposed to sin,” Virgil said.
“Appears so,” Pike said. “Which can be identified by seeing if people enjoy it.”
“And if they do?” Virgil said.
“It’s sin,” Pike said.
“You seem to be selling a lot of it here,” Virgil said.
“Much as I can,” Pike said.
“He bother you?” Virgil said.
“So far a lotta blah, blah,” Pike said.
“You think there might be more?” Virgil said.
There was no meaning in his voice, just aimless talk. Except, if you knew Virgil, you knew there was nothing aimless about him.
“He’s got a lot of hard-looking deacons,” Pike said.
“What do you think that means?” Virgil said.
“Might just mean he needs a lot of people to make the collections,” Pike said.
“Or?” Virgil said.
“Virgil,” Pike said. “I gotta tell you, I don’t know. I don’t understand Brother Percival. I don’t know if he’s a God-fearing Christian, or a lunatic, or a rogue. He might be running a church or a flimflam. His deacons may be prayerful or they may be troops. What I know is I don’t like him.”
“And you have a few troops of your own,” Virgil said.
Pike smiled.
“Some,” he said.
“Left over from the old days.”
“Some.”
“Doing this and that,” Virgil said.
“Exactly,” Pike said.
“So you’re prepared.”
“Me and Mr. Clausewitz,” Pike said.
He grinned at both of us.
“Plus,” he said, “I know you boys’ll protect me.”
“Sure thing,” Virgil said.
13
WE ATE DINNER at the hotel with Allie, and then the three of us sat outside on the front porch of the hotel and watched the evening action on Arrow Street. Virgil and Allie sat on a bench. I had my own chair. A lot of towns Virgil and I had worked were whores and drunks, teamsters and drovers and thugs. Brimstone was an actual town. Women walked along the street, some with children. Men who might work in banks strolled along with them. In the street among the horses and wagons were neat carriages, one- and two-horse rigs, with leather seats and canvas canopies to keep the rain off.
“I found a house for rent,” Allie said. “Other end of Seventh Street. They’re building a whole row of them.”
Virgil nodded.
“Got a kitchen, got a front room, bedroom, got a room for Everett,” Allie said. “Be cheaper than the hotel, and Everett could chip in.”
“Sounds fine, Allie,” Virgil said.
“I can cook for both of you. I can wash and iron your clothes, and clean up. Make you breakfast in the morning.”
“That’d be nice, Allie,” Virgil said.
“Can we do it?” Allie said. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“Sure,” Virgil said.
“Oh, Virgil,” Allie said, putting her arms around Virgil and pressing her face into his neck. Virgil didn’t move.
Allie straightened up and patted her hair.
“We’ll move in tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll do it. You want me to move your stuff, Everett.”
“Ain’t much to move,” I said. “I’ll take care of it when you tell me.”
“Oh, this is grand,” Allie said. “This will be grand.”
Virgil nodded. The sun was down, the street was darkening, and the air was warm and still. There were no streetlamps yet, but a lot of the merchants hung lanterns outside their doorways, and the soft light made Arrow Street look serene as the night came down.
Allie was looking at the lights.
“I’m going to make it up to you, Virgil. To both of you,” Allie said. “You too, Everett. I’ve been awful to both of you.”
She was including me to be polite, and I knew it.
“I want to change,” she said. “I don’t want to be that woman, that Allie, anymore. I want to be a good woman, take care of a man, sing in the church, keep a proper house.”
Neither Virgil nor I spoke. Allie was staring at the lights, in some sort of dream, and I wasn’t even sure she was talking to Virgil.
“I was in the bottom of the pit in Placido,” she said. “The bottom, no way to go down deeper. I was gonna die there.”
She looked at Virgil.
“And then you came, and you brought me out.”
“Everett and me,” Virgil said.
“Yes, Everett, too. And it was like you were from heaven come to save me, and you did; after all I done to drive you away, you found me and you saved me.”
“I ain’t one for giving up on things,” Virgil said.
“And you bore me away and brought me here,” Allie said.
“On a buckboard,” Virgil said.
“Oh, don’t tease me,” Allie said. “This is too much… I got too much feeling. I’m gonna change, Virgil, I swear to God, I swear… I’m changing now, I can feel it going on.”
“Good,” Virgil said. “You was looking a bit peaked when I found you.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Virgil.”
“I know it ain’t, Allie,” Virgil said.
