hung on the wall. Wasn’t even the right year. But it had a picture on it, of a little house in the middle of a field, with a tree over it, and a little stream running past. There was a man and woman standing outside the house with two little children beside them.”
The Chinaman came out from the hotel kitchen with fresh coffee, and poured some in our cups. When he left, Mrs. Redmond started talking again. I wasn’t exactly sure how much she was talking to us.
“That’s what we wanted, Bob maybe even more than me. And finally, when we got the homestead land out here, we thought we was going to have it.”
“Nobody never really gets the pretty picture,” I said.
“I guess not,” she said. “Maybe if it wasn’t for Wolfson…”
“There’s always a Wolfson,” Virgil said.
She nodded.
“He tried so hard,” she said.
Her voice thickened as she spoke, and she sounded like she might cry.
“He’s still trying. Trying to make a profit, trying to organize the other homesteaders to fight Wolfson…”
“And it ain’t working out,” I said.
“No,” she said.
“And he’s taking it out on you?” I said.
“I nagged him awful,” she said.
Across the street, at the Excelsior, Cato and Rose came out on their porch and looked at the rain. Mrs. Redmond waved at them. Rose waved back.
“That Mr. Cato doesn’t say much, does he,” she said.
“Cato’s his first name, ma’am,” I said. “Cato Tillson. And no, he don’t say much.”
“He seems like a good man, though,” she said.
I smiled.
“Depends on your definition,” I said.
“Like how?” she said.
“Cato shoots people,” Virgil said. “But he don’t do it for the hell of it. And he ain’t a back shooter. And he gives you his word, he keeps it.”
“That’s like you,” Mrs. Redmond said.
“Some,” Virgil said.
“Would he have really shot my husband that day in the saloon?” she said. “When he offered?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I said.
The rain picked up a little so that it drummed hard on the shed roof of the porch, and the runoff formed almost a curtain between us and the street. We drank our coffee.
“I wish you could help him,” Mrs. Redmond said after a time.
Neither Virgil nor I answered her. Across the street, Frank Rose was smoking a cigar, and the homey smell of it drifted through the rain to our porch.
“You still care about him,” I said.
“Yes.”
I nodded slowly.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “You’re thinking I’m with Virgil and…”
I nodded. She looked at Virgil. He didn’t say anything.
“My husband was hurting me. I was alone, no money, no place to go. I was terrified. I couldn’t see my children. Then Virgil come along and made all that go away. I am so grateful.”
“Good reasons,” I said.
She still looked at Virgil.
“Do you understand?” she said. “It ain’t just all that. I care about you, but… do you understand?”
Virgil nodded slowly.
“I do,” he said.
47.
It was a little after noon, with the sun out again, when a Cavalry lieutenant and a master sergeant showed up in front of the Blackfoot. They stopped their horses in front of where Virgil and I were taking in the sun. The lieutenant nodded at us, and the sergeant spoke.
“This town got a mayor?” he said.
“Nope,” I said.
The sergeant looked at the lieutenant. The lieutenant took over.
“Town council?” he said.
“Nope.”
“Sheriff?”
“Nope.”
The lieutenant was annoyed.
“Marshal?”
I shook my head.
“So who the fuck is in charge around here?” the lieutenant said.
I thought about it for a minute.
“Well,” I said, “fella named Wolfson owns the bank, the store, the hotel, the saloon, and the saloon across the street. I suppose he might be the one.”
“Where do I find him?” the lieutenant said.
“Usually eats breakfast,” I said, “’bout this time. In the saloon.”
The lieutenant glanced up at the sun.
“Breakfast?” he said.
“Works late hours,” I said.
The lieutenant nodded.
“Canavan,” he said to the sergeant.
“Sir.”
“See if you can find him and get him out here.”
The sergeant swung down and went into the saloon. The lieutenant was quiet, looking around the town. Then he looked back at us.
“You work for this fella, Wolfson?” he said.
I nodded.
“You ain’t bartenders,” he said.
“No,” I said.
“My name’s Mulcahey,” he said. “What’s yours.”
“Everett Hitch,” I said. “This here’s Virgil Cole.”
Mulcahey looked at Virgil for a silent moment.
Then he said, “Heard of you.”
Virgil nodded modestly.
“Any other gun hands in town?” Mulcahey said.
“Why do you ask?” Virgil said.
“Might need ’em,” Mulcahey said.
“Couple of boys across the street,” Virgil said, and nodded at the Excelsior. “Cato and Rose.”
“They any good?” Mulcahey said.
He was talking to Virgil now instead of to me.
“Yes,” Virgil said.
Sergeant Canavan came out of the Blackfoot with Wolfson.
