“Why is he so crazy to take over?” Wolfson said. “A fucking war, for crissake!”
“Remember what he said, when he made the offer? A mine is all overhead until it peters out.”
“He wants overhead,” Wolfson said. “I’ll show him fucking overhead. He’s making big, big money up there.”
“Until it peters out,” I said.
Wolfson stared at me.
“You think it’s petering out?”
“He seems eager to get into a new business,” I said.
“Goddamn,” Wolfson said. “Goddamn.”
He poured more whiskey. Virgil and I declined again.
“He’s petering out, and we can hold him off long enough he’ll run out of money,” Wolfson said. “Will Cato and Rose stick with him if there’s no money?”
“No,” Virgil said.
“Nobody else he hires, either,” I said.
“So we hold him off he’ll have to quit.”
“He knows that, too,” Virgil said.
“Meaning?” Wolfson said.
'Meaning he’ll push pretty hard to get it done ’fore that happens,” I said.
23.
Me and Virgil were sitting on the front porch of the Blackfoot Hotel. Across the street at Zorn Tully’s old saloon, there was a new sign in place that read
“You ever heard about the Battle of Waterloo?” I said to Virgil.
“In Europe?” Virgil said.
“Uh-huh. The Duke of Wellington defeated Napoléon there.”
“Napoléon was the Empire of France, wasn’t he?”
“Something like that,” I said.
I knew he meant emperor.
“When I was at the Academy,” I said, “we had to read about it. The Duke’s army was full of riffraff, a lot of them had been grabbed off the street by press gangs, a lot of them been let out of prison to fight.”
Virgil nodded, watching the horsemen.
“So,” I said. “Somebody asks the Duke before the battle how he feels about his army. And he says, ‘I don’t know if they will scare the French, but they scare the hell out of me.’”
Virgil smiled and nodded as he watched the horsemen. Three riders pulled up in front of where we were sitting. The one closest to us was a kid with his hat brim turned up in front, and a feeble-looking little beard starting on his face. He had a Winchester in the saddle boot, and a big showy Colt with a white handle on his hip.
“You Virgil Cole?” he said.
“I am,” Virgil said.
“I heard you was the best,” the kid said.
Virgil shrugged.
“So far,” he said.
“My name’s Henry Boyle,” the kid said.
Virgil nodded.
“Lotta people claim I’m as good as anybody,” the kid said.
“Nice to know,” Virgil said.
“You working for Wolfson?” the kid said.
“I’m with Hitch,” Virgil said.
“Hitch working for Wolfson?”
“I am,” I said.
“Well, we’re on the same side, I guess,” the kid said.
Virgil said nothing.
The kid looked at Virgil. Virgil looked back. The kid glanced at the other two riders. They didn’t have anything to say. The kid looked back at Virgil, then at me. Nobody had anything to say.
“Well, nice talking to you,” the kid said.
Virgil nodded. The three riders moved on toward the livery.
“What the fuck is Willy Beck sending us?” I said.
“Not much,” Virgil said.
“I’ll bet Wolfson haggled on price,” I said.
Virgil looked after the departing Henry Boyle.
“And lost,” Virgil said.
24.
Bob Redmond walked up the board sidewalk toward the front porch of the Blackfoot.
'Mind if I sit?” he said.
Virgil didn’t respond, and I realized that I had assumed he would. It was funny, me and Virgil these days. Always before, he’d been in charge. Always before, I had worked for him. Now I wasn’t sure if I was in charge, and he didn’t exactly work for me. But things were different.
“Don’t mind,” I said. “This is Virgil Cole.”
“I heard of you,” Redmond said.
Virgil nodded.
“You working for Wolfson now?” Redmond said.
“Visiting Everett,” Virgil said.
“But if there was trouble?”
“You think there’ll be trouble?” Virgil said.
“It’s coming,” Redmond said. “Sure as hell.”
'Wolfson and O’Malley?” I said.
“O’Malley came and talked with us last night,” Redmond said.
“Who’s us?” I said.
“Ranchers, said there was trouble coming. Said we’re either with him or with Wolfson. Tole us if he ran things we’d get a fair shake on the beef prices, and a decent rate at the bank.”
“He want your help?” I said.
“I don’t know,” Redmond said. “My sense is that he just don’t want us, you know, sniping at his flank.”
“How many ranchers,” Virgil said.
“All told maybe fifty.”
“How many at the meetin’?” Virgil said.
Redmond paused and counted in his head.
“Me and six others,” he said.
Virgil didn’t say anything.
“We’re scattered,” Redmond said. “We work hard. Lot of us can’t get to meetin’s.”
“You speak for them all?” I said.
“I don’t know. Yeah, I guess I do. Nobody else does.”
