50
SOMEONE HAD SET UP a steam saw at the corner of Main and Second Street, and you could hear it eighteen hours a day, every day, all over town. It was like the base melody for an orchestra of hand tools: hammers, chisels, mallets, and handsaws hovering in lighter cadence. The raucous language of the laborers formed a vocalization.
Several saloons had set up tents with plank-and-barrel bars, and enough people got drunk to keep me and Virgil in business from our headquarters on what was left of the Boston House’s front porch.
Virgil was looking at it all.
“We had this many government folks before,” Virgil said, “Kah-to-nay wouldn’t have attacked.”
“And Callico has kissed the ass of every one of them since,” I said.
“The hero of the recovery,” Virgil said.
“Lot people will remember him for it, and be grateful,” I said. “He knows a lot of people. He’s brought in lot of money for rebuilding.”
“The savior of Appaloosa,” Virgil said.
“Been better if he never lost it in the first place,” I said.
“Would,” Virgil said.
A big lumber wagon pulled by eight oxen drudged up Main Street past us toward the steam saw with a load of logs.
“When they get that cut up,” I said, “think they’ll cure it proper?”
“Nope.”
I smiled.
“Be good not to buy a new building in town for a few years,” I said. “Let it dry out.”
A handsome two-bench buggy went by in the other direction, pulled by two gray horses. A driver sat on the front seat, and in back was General Laird, with Chauncey Teagarden beside him. Chauncey was wearing a black jacket with conchos, and his ivory handle gleamed in contrast.
“Chauncey’s looking good,” I said.
“He is good,” Virgil said.
“He still here for you, you think?”
“Be my guess,” Virgil said.
“Because of the son,” I said.
“Yep.”
“What are they waiting for?” I said.
“Chauncey likes to play the fish for a rime, ’fore he catches him,” Virgil said. “And during the recent Indian thing we was kinda useful.”
“I got another theory,” I said.
“Figured you would,” Virgil said. “Bein’ as how you went to West Point and all.”
“Things are in a state of some flux,” I said.
“ ‘Flux’?” Virgil said.
“Like flow,” I said. “Things are moving and changing.”
“Does a river flux?”
“No, it flows,” I said.
“Don’t it mean the same thing?” Virgil said.
“Pretty much,” I said. “Except people just say it the way they say it.”
“So, things are fluxing,” Virgil said.
I nodded.
“So, Laird may be thinking it’s a good idea to have a first-rate gun hand available until things shake out.”
“That would be Chauncey,” Virgil said.
“And if Chauncey kills you,” I said, “he probably would need to go away.”
“Not, I’m betting, because of Amos Callico,” Virgil said.
“Maybe, maybe not. Depends how things are when he has to decide. But Stringer might come down from the sheriff’s office. Hell, I might even get sort of bothersome ’bout it.”
“It would make sense for Chauncey to flux on out of Appaloosa after he killed me,” Virgil said.
“Which,” I said, “would leave Laird without the gun hand that he might need if, say, he finds it too hard to get along with Callico.”
“Nicky probably done that work for him before,” Virgil said.
“Or wanted to,” I said.
Virgil shook his head sadly.
“Wasn’t good enough,” he said.
“But Chauncey is,” I said.
“Maybe,” Virgil said.
“And if you kill him…” I said.
“Laird’s gotta find somebody else.”
“Ain’t too many in Chauncey’s class,” I said.
“Nope.”
“So, we wait and watch,” I said.
“Yep.”
“Least he won’t back-shoot you,” I said. “He’ll come at you straight on.”
Virgil nodded.
“Be too bad if I have to kill him,” Virgil said. “He’s been pretty useful so far.”
“So have you,” I said.
“I have,” Virgil said. “Haven’t I?”
51
THE FRONT of the Golden Palace where it faced the street was still open. And carpenters were bringing in lumber and millwork. But the back of the room was enclosed and there were a few odd tables set up near a bar made from a couple of tailgates.
Buford Posner brought a bottle of whiskey and four glasses to the table where Virgil and I were sitting with Lamar Speck. He poured some whiskey for each of us. Speck raised his glass.
“Almost back,” he said, and drank. We joined him.
“Get that front closed in,” Speck said. “And you can get started on the finish.”
“Got a new bar,” Posner said, “coming in from Denver. Amos got them to ship it to me on credit through the Reclamation Commission.”
“And got a little finder’s fee,” Speck said.
“Sure,” Posner said. “Amos always gets a little finder’s fee.”
“Didn’t know we had a Reclamation Commission,” I said.
“What Amos calls it,” Posner said. “Calls himself commissioner, too.”
“He would,” I said.
“Not a bad idea, though,” Speck said. “Town was originally thrown up building at a time with no oversight. So Amos got together with some of the better-off business interests in town, and he says we got a second chance, let’s do it right. And he brings the general aboard, first off, and when people see that, they’re interested. Me ’n Buford came aboard.”
Virgil seemed interested in the framing work going on in the front of the saloon. But I knew he heard what was being said. Virgil, as far as I know, always heard everything that mattered. And saw everything, and knew what to
