BUSINESS WAS GOOD in Appaloosa. Virgil and I kept busy buffaloing drunks, and occasionally a little more, in the saloons we serviced. When we weren’t busy we spent our time watching the mayoral election unfold in virgin territory.
The rain was meager today. Enough drizzle to keep the streets mucky but not to drive the voters away, and they stood in a damp cluster around the stairs to Reclamation Hall, where General Laird was explaining to them why they would be wise to vote him in as mayor.
“I have led men all my life,” he said. “I understand how to run an organization.”
“You understand how to run,” someone said loudly in the front row.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” Laird said.
“Whyn’t you tell ’em how you flat-out run away at Ralesberg,” the loud voice said.
“I did no such thing. We won at Ralesberg.”
“While you was running, you burned out a refugee camp and slaughtered a bunch of women and children,” another voice said just as loudly.
“Sir, that is a lie,” Laird said.
He stood very erect in a slightly shabby gray CSA general officer’s coat, the light rain drizzling down onto his bare head.
The two voices separated themselves from the front row. One belonged to a tall, raw-boned red-haired man with a weak and unimpressive beard. The other was shorter and thicker, with a dense black beard, wearing a Colt on a gun belt over bib overalls.
“You callin’ us liars?” the red-haired man said.
He carried a short-barreled breech-loading cavalry carbine. The people immediately around them moved away.
“Watch Chauncey,” Virgil murmured.
Chauncey had been leaning against the frame of the big front door, sheltered from the rain, watching the a ctivity.
“What you are saying, sir, is untrue,” Laird said.
“I say you are a back-shooting, barn-burning, gray-bellied coward,” the red-haired man said. “Anybody gonna tell me no?”
“I am,” Chauncey said.
“Who the hell are you?”
“General Laird is a gentleman,” Chauncey said. “He is not a murderous thug. He is not going to descend to a street fight with you.”
“And you?” the man with the black beard said.
Chauncey straightened lazily from the door frame and ambled out to stand maybe five feet in front of the two men.
“I am a murderous thug,” Chauncey said.
There was silence. Chauncey’s ivory-handled Colt, sprinkled slightly with raindrops, seemed to gleam in the low, gray light.
“If you’d like,” Chauncey said, “you get to pick where I shoot you.”
“Chauncey,” General Laird said. “I appreciate your support. But this is a democratic process. We cannot have people killed.”
“I’m not running for anything, General,” Chauncey said.
“You are with me,” General Laird said.
“Yessir,” Chauncey said. “I am.”
He smiled at the two hecklers.
“’Nother reason to vote for General Laird,” Chauncey said. “He just saved your lives.”
56
VIRGIL AND I were having breakfast in Cafe Paris when Allie came in with a tall woman in a fancy dress.
“Since you’re not willing to eat my cooking in the morning,” she said, “I decided to join you.”
Virgil and I both stood.
“Please do,” Virgil said.
“This is Amelia Callico,” Allie said. “Her husband, as you know, is chief of police here. She’s been dying to meet you.”lay
We both said we were pleased. Mrs. Callico tipped her head slightly and made the faint hint of a curtsy, and we sat. She looked around.
“How charming,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Virgil said.
“Do many women come in here?” she said.
“Mostly men,” Virgil said.
“We ladies lead such sheltered lives,” Amelia said. “Unless the men take us, we never go anywhere.”
“Lady can’t be too careful,” I said.
“Virgil and I met here,” Allie said. “I was alone and they wouldn’t give me biscuits, and he stepped in.”
“How gallant,” Amelia said, stressing the second syllable.
“Virgil was the marshal here then,” Allie said.
“I understand that he was,” Amelia said. “And what do you do now for work?”
“Odd jobs,” Virgil said.
“For some of the local saloons,” I said.
“How nice,” she said.
“Covers the cost of breakfast,” Virgil said.
“I’m sure,” Amelia said.
“That’s a beautiful dress, Amelia,” Allie said.
“Yes, thank you. I had it made for me in New Orleans.”
“You from New Orleans?” Virgil said.
“Yes,” she said. “I am. What’s good here.”
“I’d stick with the biscuits,” Virgil said.
“That’s all?” Allie said. “Why do you come here when all you eat is biscuits? I can make biscuits for you.”
Virgil’s face didn’t change expression, but something in the set of his shoulders shifted, and I stepped in.
“We eat food that ladies wouldn’t like,” I said. “Sow belly. Fried pinto beans.”
“So, for lady food,” Amelia said, “biscuits is what they offer.”
“’Tis,” I said.
“Then that’s what I’ll have,” she said.
The Chinaman took our order and went to get it.
“I never understand why they are so silent,” Amelia said.
“It’s as if they hate us.”
“Mostly don’t speak much English,” Virgil said.
“Well, they should,” Amelia said. “They’re going to come here and live and take our money.”
“Sure,” Virgil said.
“I wanted to meet you, of course, because of my friendship with Allie,” Amelia said. “But also I wanted to suggest an opportunity for you and your friend to make money, and do yourselves some good.”
“Open a lady-food cafe?” Virgil said.
Amelia smiled. She had a very convincing smile.
“Perhaps,” she said.
She was a good-looking, full-bodied woman with a mass of reddish-brown hair piled on her head.
“As you know,” she said, “my husband, Amos Callico, is running for mayor of Appaloosa. I am convinced that it is only a first step. Indeed, I am utterly convinced that it is the first step on a path that will lead him, ultimately, to
