Virgil paid them no mind as we walked.
“I count six,” Virgil said to me softly. “Anything develops, I’ll take the first man. You take the last, and we’ll work our way to the middle.”
I nodded. At this range, with the eight-gauge, I might get two at a time.
“Virgil,” Allie said. “What is it.”
“Nothing to worry about,” Virgil said.
Allie looked for the first time at the men across the street.
“Oh my God, Virgil, it’s Pig.”
“That his name?” Virgil said.
“Don’t let him take me back.”
“Nope,” Virgil said.
“Everett…”
“We’re fine, Allie,” I said. “We’re fine.”
Pig was carrying a big old Navy Colt in a gun belt that sagged under his belly. There was dried blood on his shirt. It appeared that he hadn’t changed it since Virgil hit him. The left side of Pig’s face was swollen and dark, with a long scab where Virgil’s front sight had dragged across the cheekbone. The five men with him were all carrying. I thumbed back both hammers on the eight-gauge.
We kept walking our parallel walk. Allie held tight to Virgil’s left arm. At the end of the street was the Barbary Coast Café, and across the street from that the railroad station, and beyond that the river. And nothing else. It was obvious where we were going.
“I need you to let go of my arm now, Allie,” Virgil said.
His voice was quiet. He could have been asking her to pass him the sugar. He was Virgil Cole again. Even with the stakes as high as they would ever get for him, he was now Virgil Cole. It was a relief. At the end of the street we stopped and the six men stopped across from us. The railroad station was on their side. We looked at one another. Pig was at the far left end of the line that now faced us.
“Hey, Whoreman,” Pig shouted. “Whatcha gonna do now?”
“Same deal,” Virgil said to me. “Pig goes first. You start at the right end.”
“Yep.”
“Allie,” Virgil said. “Any shooting, you lie flat down in the street, you unnerstand?”
“Virgil…”
“Unnerstand?” Virgil said again.
His voice was still calm, but it had flattened a little.
“Yes,” Allie said in a small voice.
“Okay,” Virgil said, and stepped off the boardwalk and into the street.
Allie moved behind me. She was mumbling softly to herself, and after a moment I realized she was praying. Virgil walked straight across the street toward the six men, and specifically toward Pig.
I knew what he was doing. Never let it be you and them, Virgil always said. Always make it between you and some of them.
“I want my whore back,” Pig said.
Virgil kept walking. Pig hadn’t expected it. He wasn’t quite sure what he should do.
“You think you gonna hit me again when I ain’t ready?” Pig said.
“I’m gonna kill you,” Virgil said.
Virgil didn’t speak very loudly, but all of us heard him, and his voice made Pig flinch back a half step. I brought the eight-gauge up to a kind of parade rest position. The men to Pig’s left moved a little away. Virgil was close now. If Pig was going to make his move he’d need to do it now, before Virgil was on top of him. He knew it, and tried to draw his gun. Virgil shot him before Pig got his hand on the butt. Without any pause Virgil shot the man next to him. I picked off the two at the other end of the line. The remaining two didn’t know whether to shoot at me or Virgil and ended up running away.
Time slows down in a gunfight. Even so, including Virgil’s walk across the street it had lasted less than a minute. Virgil reloaded and went to each of the down men to be sure they were dead. Then he holstered his gun and walked back.
“Train comes at noon,” Virgil said.
And we walked on to the station.
8
WE SAT IN THE BACK of the train, on the left side, Virgil on the aisle. Virgil always sat on the left on the aisle so that his gun hand was unencumbered. Allie sat next to him. I sat across from them, facing the rear. Since people could board from either end, it was nice to watch both doors. The train bumped along. Virgil had his feet up and his hat tipped down. Allie sat erect beside him with her hands folded in her lap, looking out the window at the west Texas countryside. Occasionally, we passed cattle. Otherwise, there was nothing much to see but grassland.
“You ever pray, Everett?” Allie said.
“Not much,” I said.
“Ever think about it?”
“Praying?”
“God,” Allie said.
“Not much,” I said.
“You know, after I run off,” Allie said, “got taken up by a Mexican man, I think. He took me a ways and sold me to couple men who were half Comanche. They kept me awhile and sold me to Pig.”
I nodded. Virgil appeared to be asleep, though I doubted that he was.
“When I was in that place,” Allie said, “I started praying. I prayed that Virgil would come and find me. And you too, Everett.”
Allie didn’t want to hurt my feelings.
“Heard you praying back in the street,” I said.
“I was,” Allie said. “I believe it helped.”
“Didn’t hurt,” I said.
She nodded and went back to looking out the window. Virgil never stirred. The conductor came into our car, and the loud rattle of the train came in with him as he opened the door and passed from the next car to ours. When he came to us I handed him three tickets. He punched them and looked at the eight-gauge leaning against the corner of the seat by the window.
“What the hell’s that thing?” he said.
“Eight-gauge shotgun,” I said.
“You planning on hunting locomotives?” the conductor said.
“Only if one attacks me,” I said.
“Be a fool if it did,” he said, looking at the eight-gauge. “Where you folks headed.”
“Next town, I guess,” I said.
“That’d be Greavy,” he said. “You got business in Greavy.”
“Looking for work,” I said.
The conductor looked at Virgil and at me and at the eight-gauge. From the corner of his eye, he took a quick look at Allie in her pathetic dress and ratty Mexican sandals. But he didn’t look long.
“I guess you’re not cowboys,” he said.
“No,” I said. “We ain’t.”
“Well, good luck with it,” the conductor said.
“How long to Greavy?” I said.
“Maybe another hour or so,” the conductor said.
“Got a place there to buy ladies’ clothes?” I said.
