himself.”
“Pony ain’t no bank clerk,” I said. “ ’Sides, what would we do for him over here.”
“You’re thinking ’bout the eight-gauge,” Virgil said. “With a Winchester I could hit a jackrabbit from here, never mind a big Indian in a black coat.”
“So, which is it?” I said. “The town, or Pony?”
“We get back to town quick as we can, we’re still an hour after him,” Virgil said.
“And it don’t figure that whatever he’s doing, he’ll spend an hour doing it,” I said.
Virgil nodded.
“So, it’s Pony,” I said.
“It is,” Virgil said.
“Good,” I said.
We rode north along the river, with Pony on the other side. At the ford near town, Pony stopped beside a riderless horse. The horse wore no saddle or bridle. Pony got down and looked at his hooves. Then he looked at the ground for a moment and got back up on his horse. He came across the river.
“Other horse,” he said.
“Hid him near the ford,” Virgil said.
Pony was looking at the ground.
“Ride him to town,” Pony said.
“So he’s got a fresh mount,” I said.
Virgil nodded.
“Let’s see what he did,” Virgil said.
And we rode into town, following the fresh tracks of the new horse straight down Arrow Street.
39
THERE WERE A LOT OF PEOPLE standing around on Arrow Street as we rode into town. There was a crowd in front of Pike’s Palace, looking at the shattered front windows in the swinging doors.
Pike came out of the saloon and stood on the porch.
“Pony,” he said. “Where the fuck were you?”
Pony grinned and made a big circular motion with his hand.
“Round and round,” he said.
“And you fucking deputies,” Pike said. “Where the fuck you been?”
With no expression on his face, Virgil looked at Pike for a long silent moment.
Then he said, “Round and round.”
“Fucking Indian rode in here, dozen people saw him, big as life,” Pike said. “Like he’s the fucking mayor or something. Rides right up Arrow Street. Hauls out a shotgun and unloads both barrels through my windows. You know how much those cocksuckers cost me? They come all the way from fucking Saint Louis, and that fucking red nigger blows them apart and rides out.”
“Anybody hurt?” I said.
“Couple of drunks got nicked,” Pike said. “They’ll live.”
Virgil was looking at the street in front of the saloon.
“Left him an arrow,” Virgil said.
I nodded.
“I don’t give a fuck what he left. What are you gonna do about it.”
“We’ll probably chase him again,” Virgil said.
“Don’t bother,” Pike said. “I sent Kirby and J.D. after him.”
“Anybody else?” Virgil said.
“J.D. and Kirby’s usually enough,” Pike said.
Virgil nodded.
“You know why this fella shot up your saloon,” he said.
“ ’Cause he’s a fucking prairie coon, and he don’t know what else to do,” Pike said.
Virgil nodded.
“Figured there’d be a reason,” he said. “Pony, come on down to the office with us.”
“I want Pony here,” Pike said.
“None of us cares much what you want, at this here moment,” Virgil said. “Me and Everett are deputy sheriffs, and we’re planning to question Pony.”
Pike looked at Virgil. Virgil looked back. The crowd began to open up a little. I stepped away from Virgil and rested the eight-gauge barrel up on my shoulder, and thumbed both hammers back. It was so quiet that I could hear the sound of cicadas singing.
They sang for a while.
Then Pike said, “Pony, when you’re through with the deputies, come on back here, if you would.”
Pony nodded, and turned and walked down to the office with me and Virgil. Behind us, Pike went back into his saloon, and the crowd began to thin out.
40
“WHADDYA THINK?” Virgil said to Pony as we sat out front of the sheriff’s office and looked at things.
“J.D. and Kirby town men,” Pony said. “Good with guns, but…” He shook his head.
“Not so good on the prairie?” Virgil said.
“No,” Pony said.
“Not as good as the Indian,” Virgil said.
“No.”
“You as good as the Indian?” Virgil said.
Pony nodded.
“Better,” he said.
The stage from Barrow went past, heading for the St. Louis Hotel, the big draft horses walking easily. The driver held the reins loosely. They’d made the run so often that the horses knew when to slow down and where to go.
“This whole thing was supposed to get someone to ride out after the Indian,” I said.
“Seems so,” Virgil said.
“He didn’t go to all this trouble to get us out of town so he could ride in and shoot out Pike’s windows,” I said.
“Think he wanted J.D. and Kirby?” Virgil said.
“I think he wanted Pike,” I said.
“Makes more sense,” Virgil said. “Don’t it.”
“Certainly gotta be some reason he’s hanging around here,” I said. “ ’Stead of someplace else.”
“Same reason,” Pony said, “coyotes around dead buffalo.”
“Just that?” I said. “ ’Cause the killing is easy?”
Pony shrugged.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Any reason he might have for killing people round here?” Virgil said.
“Indian people always have reason to kill white people,” Pony said.
Virgil nodded.
“Indian always happy to kill white,” Pony said. “So this Indian come here and he kill cow and not much happen. Except he get some beef. Then he kill a man and steal his horses. He get to do something he like, and he
