Resolution

“Been a long ride,” he said. “I’ll turn in.”

“See you in the morning,” I said.

Virgil nodded and took the bottle and headed out the side entrance of the saloon and into the hotel. I knew he had things to say. But he wasn’t ready to say them yet.

16.

It was raining in the morning. No wind, and not very cold, with the rain coming straight down and steady. Virgil and I took our coffee outside and sat under the awning on the front porch of the hotel. At the south end of town you could see through the rain how the land sloped down to the plains, where the small ranchers lived. At the north end, where the land rose, the trees were bright green in the wet. The street was muddy and getting worse, and nobody was moving around much. We drank some coffee.

“Small,” Virgil said.

“It is,” I said.

A single rider hunched in a slicker rode a bay horse toward the livery stable. The rider’s collar was up and his hat was pulled down to his ears. The horse’s coat was dark and wet with rain. His hooves made a soft sucking sound as he waded through the mud.

“Allie run off,” Virgil said.

I nodded. Virgil looked after the horse and rider for a time.

“She run off with fella owned a spread in New Mexico,” Virgil said.

I nodded again.

“He didn’t have no ranch,” Virgil said. “He just tole her that so he could fuck her.”

I didn’t say anything.

“So he got her as far as Little Springs and dumped her. I found her working in a saloon there.”

“Playing piano?” I said.

“No.”

I nodded.

“I left her there,” Virgil said. “Followed him.”

“And?” I said.

“Caught up with him in Three Forks,” Virgil said.

“Arrest him?”

“Ain’t against the law to fuck Allie,” Virgil said.

“No,” I said.

The rider turned his horse into the livery stable and out of sight.

“You kill him?” I said.

“Yes,” Virgil said.

“He draw on you?”

“Gave him the chance,” Virgil said. “He said he wouldn’t. Tole him draw or not draw, I was going to shoot him where he stood. He wouldn’t draw.”

“So you shot him.”

“I did,” Virgil said.

“How ’bout Allie?”

“I went back to Little Springs, but they tole me she lit out, soon as I went after the tinhorn.”

“You go looking for her?” I said.

“No.”

“What was the tinhorn’s name?” I said, just to be saying something.

“Never did know,” Virgil said.

I didn’t say anything. I knew what was bothering Virgil. I wondered if he did. Virgil drank the rest of his coffee and went back into the hotel to get some more. I looked at the rain while he was gone. Virgil came out with a full coffee-pot. He poured some in my cup.

“Already got sugar in it,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“There ranches down there on the plain?” Virgil said.

“Yep.”

“Hard to see them through the rain,” Virgil said.

“It is,” I said.

“I know why you killed Randall Bragg in Appaloosa,” Virgil said.

“No reason not to,” I said.

“Allie was fucking him, too,” Virgil said. “And you knew if I found out I’d have to kill him.”

“Something like that.”

“You knew he hadn’t broken no law,” Virgil said.

“Not right then he hadn’t.”

“But you knew I’d kill him anyway,” Virgil said.

“Yes.”

“So you done it for me,” Virgil said. “So I wouldn’t have to.”

“I guess.”

Virgil took the bone-handled six-shooter out of his holster and looked at it.

“I’m good with this,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Always been good with it. Made my living most of my life being good with it,” Virgil said.

“I know,” I said.

“Because most people ain’t as good as I am with it,” he said.

“So far, none,” I said.

He nodded.

“Don’t give me the right to go round shooting people,” he said. “Just ’cause I can.”

“It’s good to have a reason,” I said.

“I been a lawman,” Virgil said. “Never shot nobody ’cept according to the law.”

“You always had rules, Virgil.”

“Why you shot Bragg for me,” Virgil said.

“So you wouldn’t have to break your rules,” I said. “I didn’t mind.”

“I appreciate it,” Virgil said.

We were quiet. I knew we weren’t done with it yet. He was still chewing on it.

“’Cept now I done it,” Virgil said. “I shot that tinhorn for fucking Allie.”

“And leaving her,” I said. “In a whorehouse.”

Virgil nodded. “None of that is against the law.”

“Might be against some sort of law,” I said.

“None I ever seen written down,” Virgil said.

“They ain’t all written down,” I said.

“They are for me,” Virgil said.

I had no answer for that. Virgil turned his hand over and looked at the six-gun some more.

“What are you go

“I ain’t a lawman no more,” Virgil said.

“For the moment,” I said.

“Nope. Lawman obeys the rules. I broke ’em.”

“So what are you go

“Hang around here, I guess,” he said. “Talk with you.”

He moved the gun back and forth in front of him.

“This is all I really know how to do,” he said. “Guess I’m a gunman now.”

“Wolfson offered you a job,” I said.

“Don’t know ’bout that yet.”

“Either way,” I said. “I’ll enjoy the company.”

“Always helps when I talk with you, Everett,” Virgil said.

I gri

“Virgil,” I said. “Ain’t you ever noticed that mostly you talk? And mostly I listen?”

He nodded, and looked at me for the first time since we’d sat on the porch.

“Damn,” he said. “No wonder I like it so much.”

17.

Bob Redmond came into the Blackfoot and walked to my end of the bar. He held both hands palms out in front of him as if he were stopping something.

“I don’t want no trouble, Hitch,” he said.

“Okay.”

“I need to talk with you.”

“Okay.”

“Private,” Redmond said.

“You want a drink?” I said.

“I would, in fact,” Redmond said.

I gestured to Patrick and he brought a bottle and two glasses. I picked them up and we went to a table. I poured a drink into one glass and pushed it to Redmond. He picked it up and drank it and put the empty glass back down on the table. I poured him another one.

“How ’bout you?” he said.

“Maybe later,” I said.

Redmond drank a small amount of his second drink and put it down and leaned forward across the table toward me.

“I got a proposition for you,” he said.

I nodded.

“We want to hire you.”

“We?” I said.

“The Ranchers Association.”

“What do you want to hire me to do?” I said.

“Help us against Wolfson.”

“Wouldn’t that be sorta awkward?” I said.

“I mean we’d hire you away from him,” Redmond said. “We’d pay you more.”

“And what would I do to help?” I said.

“Be our gun hand instead of his,” Redmond said.

“Until somebody hired me away from you by paying me more,” I said.

“No, you couldn’t do that.”

“If I could do it to him, why couldn’t I do it to you?”

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Besides,” I said. “You hire me away from Wolfson, Wolfson’ll hire somebody else.”

“But you can stand up to him, whoever he hires. Some of us seen you with Wickman.”

“So you hire me away. He hires a replacement. I kill the replacement for you,” I said.

“Yes.”

“’Less the replacement kills me,” I said.

“Goddamn it,” Redmond said. “You turn everything I say around.”

“Ain’t hard to do,” I said. “I gather you ain’t got many shooters in your association.”

“Well, not like you,” Redmond said. “I mean, we mostly have a Winchester around, keep the vermin away from the calves, or, I guess, if we had to, to protect ourselves. But we ain’t got no professional shooters. Not like you, or them two fellas Eamon O’Malley hired.”