resettled maybe a hundred yards from us.
“We both know Allie got her problems,” Virgil said after a while.
“We do,” I said.
“Allie’s had a lot of hard times of her own,” Virgil said.
“And you and me can’t do it.”
“No.”
“That monthly stuff, and all,” Virgil said.
“We can’t do it,” I said.
“So, we got to let Allie do it,” Virgil said. “She’s trying.”
“And we got no one better,” I said.
“Nope.”
“Maybe we can find a way to send Allie back east with her.”
Virgil shrugged.
“Ain’t gonna make Laurel go,” Virgil said.
“Maybe we should.”
“Done too much she don’t want to do,” Virgil said. “She don’t want to talk, she don’t have to.”
“No,” I said. “I s’pose that’s right.”
“Make it our business to see to it she don’t have to do what she don’t want to,” Virgil said.
“Her whole life?”
“Long as is needed,” Virgil said.
“Might mean in the end she don’t get to do things she does want to,” I said.
“I can see to that, too,” Virgil said.
“Not so sure you can,” I said.
Virgil shrugged.
“Hell,” he said. “Talking ain’t worth so much, anyway.”
30
LAW IN RESOLUTION was still Cato and Rose. Frank Rose was a big, showy guy with a handlebar mustache and two pearl-handled Colts. Cato Tillson was small with droopy eyes and a sharp nose. He carried one Colt, with a dark walnut handle. They were both good with Colts. Cato maybe a little better.
“Fella we know got a small place outside of town,” Rose said. “Your Indians are sleeping in his hayloft.”
“Ain’t mine,” Virgil said. “And Pony’s a breed.”
“Well, they ain’t give us no trouble,” Rose said.
We were in the Blackfoot Saloon, sitting at a round table in the rear, sipping whiskey. Whatever the conversation, as they sat together, Virgil and Cato Tillson always eyed each other. No hostility, just a kind of professional carefulness.
“Anybody else know that?” Virgil said.
“Sure,” Rose said. “You used to be here. Town’s still ’bout the size of a corncrib.”
“There’s a bounty on them,” I said.
“Didn’t know that,” Rose said. “You know that, Cato?”
“Nope.”
“Make a difference?” Virgil said.
Rose looked at Cato. Cato shrugged.
“Not to us,” Rose said. “Might to some folks.”
“Police chief in Appaloosa probably knows, by now, that they’re here,” I said.
“He gonna come after them?”
“Probably will,” Virgil said.
“He’s the law in Appaloosa,” Rose said.
Virgil said, “Yep.”
“We the law here,” Cato said.
Virgil nodded.
“Bounty hunters out?” Rose said.
Virgil nodded again.
“Might be some Pinkertons, too,” he said.
“Might have to hire us couple of deputies,” Rose said. “Fellas with experience, say, like you boys.”
“Could arrest them,” Cato said.
“Cole’s Indian?” Rose said.
“Can’t make us give up our prisoners,” Cato said.
“’Course they can’t,” Rose said.
Virgil shook his head.
“Indian won’t go for it,” he said.
“The breed’s brother?” Rose said.
Virgil nodded.
“He won’t go to jail,” Rose said.
Virgil shook his head.
“We leave the cell unlocked,” Cato said.
“He won’t,” Virgil said.
“Don’t make no sense,” Rose said. “You think Virgil’s right, Everett?”
“Might be,” I said. “Often is.”
“Well,” Rose said. “Let’s go talk to them. They don’t want to come in, least we can give them a running start.”
“Maybe they don’t want to run,” Virgil said.
Rose looked at Cato again, and leaned back a little in his chair and smiled.
“They want to stay and fight,” Rose said. “The least we can do is offer them some high-priced backup.”
31
VIRGIL HAD BROUGHT some whiskey in his saddlebags, and we sat on a plank bench outside of the small barn and passed the bottle. Kah-to-nay declined to drink. A few dark red chickens scratched in the barnyard. A sow with a litter wallowed in a pen beside the barn. Two big-footed farm horses stood placidly in a corral, their heads hanging over the top rail. Our own horses were gathered at the watering trough.
“How long you think before Callico come here?” Pony said.
“Dunno,” Virgil said. “All I’m sure is that his wife knows you’re here.”
“Chiquita warned you,” Pony said.
“Yes.”
Pony smiled.
“Chiquita doesn’t want anything to happen to Pony Flores,” he said.
“True,” Virgil said.
Pony said something in Apache to Kah-to-nay. Kah-to-nay made a faint shrug.
“If wife don’t gossip to him,” Pony said. “He maybe not come for weeks.”
“Maybe,” Virgil said. “Or maybe he’s waiting for us at the jail when we get back to town.”
“We can arrest you,” Rose said. “Put you in the jail. We wouldn’t lock the cell. That way, we can say you our prisoner and we won’t release you to him.”
Kah-to-nay shook his head sharply and spoke in Apache. Pony nodded and held his hand up at his brother.
