“And he’s not the best,” Billie said.

“Nowhere near,” I said. “And if he ain’t the best, then he ain’t safe. Somebody might kill him.”

“He got embarrassed at target practice the other day. So he got drunk and went off on Frank Rose and Cato Tillson. It coulda got him killed. But instead it got him humiliated again. Now he’ll have to do something else, ’cause he can’t stand feeling the way he does.”

“Why?” Billie said.

“Don’t know,” Virgil said.

“Most of the people start trouble like that are scared,” I said. “Wickman was scared.”

“It’s funny, you know? If you boys are right, then the way you know a guy’s not scared is if he don’t start trouble. And the way you know he is is if he does.”

“Some truth to it,” Virgil said. “You know what you can do, and you know that you’re willing to do it, and you don’t have to show anybody anything. It’s kind of calming.”

“I don’t know, though,” Billie said. “I’m scared. I get humiliated. I don’t start a lot of trouble.”

“Maybe you ain’t as scared as you think,” Virgil said.

“And you ain’t a man,” I said.

“I wasn’t sure you knew that,” Billie said.

"Being a man in these parts can pressure you some,” Virgil said.

Virgil sat alone near the back of the saloon sipping a beer, looking at nothing, and seeing everything, the way he did. Wolfson was eating supper at the bar. He seemed in a hurry to finish. After he finished his supper, Wolfson strolled over to me in the lookout chair.

“Want you to be sure and stay close tonight,” he said. “Cole, too.”

“Can’t speak for Virgil, but I’ll be here.”

“Which means he’ll be here, too,” Wolfson said. “Maybe you could speak to him when we’re through talking here.”

I nodded and said, “You expecting trouble?”

Wolfson smiled and leaned closer to me.

“Sent some boys out to O’Malley’s to hit him tonight,” Wolfson said, “when he ain’t ready for it.”

“And Cato and Rose are at the Excelsior,” I said.

“Yep.”

“And you kept me and Virgil here?” I said.

“Case it doesn’t work, I’ll need protection.”

“What are the boys planning on doing when they get there?” I said.

“Killin’ every last soul,” Wolfson said.

“Who’s leadin’ ’em?”

“Boyle,” Wolfson said.

I didn’t say anything.

“He’s perfect for the job,” Wolfson said. “Couldn’t wait.”

“Bet he couldn’t,” I said.

“I mean, ain’t every man ready to go out and kill twenty people for no reason ’cept I told him,” Wolfson said.

“Probably a good thing,” I said.

“Oh… yeah,” Wolfson said. “Sure. Boyle’s a fucking lizard. But when you’re at war with a bunch of fucking lizards, fella like him is handy.”

“You know Cato Tillson backed him down on the street the other night,” I said.

“Heard about that,” Wolfson said. “Boyle claims he was too drunk to see, let alone fight.”

I nodded.

“Probably so,” I said.

“Okay, stay close,” Wolfson said. “Might have some high celebrating later on.”

“What about the miners?” I said.

“A few could get hurt, I suppose,” Wolfson said. “Can’t be helped if they do. We’re in a fucking war, you know.”

“Right,” I said.

“I’ll be here in the saloon, until the boys come back,” Wolfson said. “Speak to Cole. I want you and him watching me tight.”

“Sure,” I said.

Wolfson gestured to Patrick, who handed him a bottle and a glass. Wolfson took it and sat near the bar at a table where I could see him.

Wasn’t a bad plan, if you don’t mind back-shooting twenty men, who would probably have back-shot you first if they’d thought of it before you did. If it worked, it would end Wolfson’s troubles right then, and leave him in charge of the town with twenty gun hands to back him.

I climbed down from the chair, took the eight-gauge with me, and went to talk with Virgil.

Henry Boyle came into the Blackfoot about an hour later. His eyes were big and his face was flushed. He held the saloon doors open and behind him came the two buffalo skinners carrying a body, which they dropped on the floor near the bar. Wolfson walked over and looked down. It was O’Malley.

“What the fuck are you bringing that in here for?” Wolfson said.

“Thought you’d want to see him, prove that he’s dead,” Boyle said.

His voice had a high, strained tone to it.

"Okay,” Wolfson said. “He’s dead. Now get him the fuck out of my saloon.”

“You heard the man,” Boyle said in his odd voice. “Throw him in the street in front of the Excelsior.”

The two skinners dragged the body out through the rest of Boyle’s mob, which came boiling in through the door.

“We wiped ’em out,” Boyle said to Wolfson. “Ones ain’t dead are heading for Texas.”

He made a sound that might have been a giggle.

“And running hard,” he said.

Wolfson nodded absently.

“We lost two hands.”

“Good work, Henry,” Wolfson said.

Then he turned and raised his voice to the room.

“Great work, men,” he shouted. “Rest of the night, drinks on me.”

The mob cheered. Wolfson looked over at me.

“Anything goes tonight, Everett,” he said. “No rules. You may as well take the night off.”

I nodded.

“Billie,” I said. “Go to my room and go in and lock the door and don’t let anybody in but me… or Virgil.”

“I might make some money,” Billie said.

“Not enough,” I said. “Stay in my room. I’ll take you.”

She nodded. We stood and I walked with her through the saloon. Near the door to the hotel, one of Boyle’s mob grabbed at Billie’s arm.

“Hey, Billie, where you going,” he said. “You should fuck us all.”

I clubbed him across the side of the head with my fist and forearm, and he staggered back against the doorjamb, and we went out and went upstairs to my room. I took my spare handgun off the top shelf of the closet, made sure it was loaded, and put it on the nightstand.

“You know how to shoot it?” I said.

“Cock it and pull the trigger,” Billie said.

“Okay,” I said. “Use both hands. And don’t be afraid to shoot.”

“I ain’t afraid to shoot,” Billie said. “Anybody comes in here I’ll shoot him in the pecker.”

“Aim for the middle of his body,” I said. “Gives you a bigger margin for error.”

Billie nodded. Her eyes were very big.

“I’ll wait outside until I hear the door lock,” I said.

I patted her on the backside and went out. The door locked behind me, and I went on back downstairs.

Boyle was standing on the bar, with a whiskey bottle in his left hand.

"We ain’t done yet,” he screamed. “Don’t get drunk till we done.”

The mob didn’t stop drinking, but they looked at him. He pointed at the street side of the saloon.

“Across the street,” he said. “Burn the Excelsior.”

There was a kind of hiccup in the noise level. Then the mob cheered. “No,” Wolfson shouted, but no one paid any attention.

“I want the property,” Wolfson said.

“Burn it,” somebody yelled. The mob took it up.

“Burn it. Burn it.”

It became like a battle cry.

“No, for crissake. That’s valuable property.” Wolfson was screaming now, but if anyone heard him, they didn’t care.

“Cato and Rose,” Wolfson screamed.

The mob did hear him.

“Cato and Rose,” somebody yelled.

Once again, the mob took it.

“Cato and Rose,” they screamed, “Cato and Rose.”

Boyle took a slug from his bottle.

“Yes,” he shouted. “Yes.”

“Get them,” Wolfson yelled. “That’ll end it.”

“Drag them out of there and hang them,” Boyle said.

“And don’t burn the saloon,” Wolfson screamed.

I walked to the back of the room where Virgil stood motionless, leaning on the back wall. My eight-gauge was leaning on the wall beside him. I picked it up.