“No trouble, Everett. An accident. I’ll buy a new bottle.”

“That’ll be good,” I said.

The card player walked to the bar to buy a new bottle. A Chinese man with a broom came from someplace and cleaned up the broken glass.

“Ain’t it grand how they love you, Everett,” Wolfson said.

“Ever hear of a man named Machiavelli?” I said.

“No.”

“When I was at West Point,” I said, “they made us read some things he wrote.”

“I’m not much for reading,” Wolfson said.

“One thing he said sort of stayed with me,” I said. “It’s better to be feared than loved. Because you can’t make them love you. But you can make them fear you.”

“Pretty smart fella,” Wolfson said. “So what?”

I grinned at him.

“Koy Wickman,” I said, “did not die in vain.”

It was payday at Fort Rucker, and the Blackfoot had a lot more soldiers than usual. They were noisy but peaceful, except for one fight, which I convinced the fighters to take outside. I watched them for a little while as they flailed away drunkenly until one of them threw up and the other walked away in disgust.

I was back in my chair when two men came into the Blackfoot who were not soldiers, or ranch hands, or miners, or lumberjacks, or drummers, or wandering preachers. They had on town clothes and smallish town hats, and they wore guns. In fact, one of them wore two. I always thought two guns were for show. And the fact that his were adorned with bright pearl handles didn’t cause me to reconsider. He was as tall as I was, but not as thick, and he wore a big mustache. His partner was shorter and smaller. Kind of scrawny-looking, he was shaved clean, and carried one walnut-handled Colt.

They took a table near the bar and ordered coffee.

We looked at one another.

After a while I said, “You gents new in town?”

The tall one said, “Yes.”

We looked at one another some more.

“Passing through?” I said. “Or you planning to stay?”

“We came to do some work for Eamon O’Malley,” the tall one said.

“That so,” I said. “What kind of work you fellas do?”

The tall one looked at the small one and smiled.

“Hear that, Cato,” he said. “Gentleman wants to know what kind of work we do.”

The little guy nodded.

“A little of this,” he said, “a little of that.”

I nodded back, friendly.

“Cato,” I said. “Cato Tillson?”

The little guy nodded again. His eyes were sort of narrow, and the upper lids drooped so that the eyes seemed hooded.

“And you’d be Frank Rose?” I said to the tall one.

“You heard of us,” he said.

“Cato and Rose,” I said.

Rose seemed pleased.

“That’s what they call us,” he said. “His first name, my last. Kind of funny, huh? How that worked out? Guess people just like the way it sounds.”

He sipped some coffee.

“Cato and Rose,” he said, enjoying the phrase.

“What’s your name?” Cato said.

“Hitch,” I said. “Everett Hitch.”

“With Virgil Cole awhile, wasn’t you?” Cato said.

“I was.”

“Never had a chance to go against Cole,” Rose said.

“Why you’re still here,” I said.

Rose laughed.

“I heard he was pretty good,” Rose said.

“Best,” I said.

“’Course you ain’t seen me and Cato work,” Rose said.

“Nope.”

“Well,” Rose said, “maybe you’ll get the chance.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Either way, we’re grateful to you, I guess, for helping us get this job with Eamon.”

“By shooting Koy Wickman?”

“Opened up a nice slot for us,” Rose said.

“Two of you to replace Koy Wickman?” I said.

Rose grinned some more.

“We’re a matched pair,” he said. “Both or neither.”

He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back a little in his chair. The boots were pretty fancy. Like him. He took a cigar from his vest pocket and bit off the tip and lit it, turning it in the flame until it was burning even.

“You know,” I said, “I could never figure out why O’Malley needed a gun hand at all, let alone two, let alone two like you.”

Rose took a long pull on the cigar and let out the smoke slowly.

“Maybe he figured since Wolfson had you, maybe he should get us,” Rose said.

“I’m just a saloon bouncer,” I said. “Why’s he worried about me?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Don’t make any sense,” I said.

“Not much does,” Rose said.

I looked at Cato. He appeared to have no view on the matter.

“Ever hear from Cole?” Rose said.

“No.”

“Heard he killed a man a little while ago,” Rose said.

“Virgil does that sometimes,” I said.

“Heard it was over a woman,” Rose said.

“In Appaloosa?” I said.

“Yep,” Rose said. “Heard he left town right after.”

“So he’s not marshaling there no more?” I said.

“Don’t know,” Rose said. “All I heard.”

I nodded. Rose and Cato finished their coffee and stood.

“Nice meeting you boys,” I said.

“Same here,” Rose said.

Cato didn’t speak, but he nodded. And the two of them left the saloon. Allie, I thought. Goddamned Allie.

Wolfson and I sat in wicker rockers on the front porch of the hotel next to the saloon and soaked up some early-afternoon sun. At the general store a tired-looking guy with a tired-looking wife and three small kids was loading things onto the back of a buckboard.

“Money in the till,” I said, watching the ranch family.

“Sodbusters,” Wolfson said. “Probably running a tab, won’t be able to pay it, tab gets big enough and I’ll own his ranch.”

“Why do you want his ranch?” I said.

“Why not,” Wolfson said. “Better it should belong to me than him.”

“He probably don’t feel that way,” I said.

“He don’t matter,” Wolfson said.

I nodded. The three kids were looking at us, staring at my gun. I pretended to draw and shoot at them with my forefinger. They didn’t react. Their mother said something and the three of them got up on the back of the buckboard with the groceries. The mother and father got up on the front seat. The father tapped the two mules with the reins, and they moved off south along Main Street.

“You know anything about the two new gun hands Eamon has hired?” Wolfson said.

“Cato and Rose,” I said.

“Sounds like a damn circus act,” Wolfson said.

“It ain’t,” I said.

“They good?”

“Very,” I said.

“Better than Wickman?”

“Much.”

“Better than you?”

“Maybe.”

“And there’s two of them,” Wolfson said.

“Uh-huh.”

“They always work together?”

“Far as I know,” I said.

“How about Cole?” Wolfson said.

“What about him?”

“How they stack up against him?”

“Never seen nobody stacked up against Virgil Cole,” I said.

“Including you?”

“Including me,” I said.

“Have you seen Cato and Rose?”

“Not till yesterday,” I said.

“So you don’t know for sure about them?”

“Never know for sure,” I said.

“Maybe we should get Cole up here,” Wolfson said.

“You expecting trouble?” I said.

“Why are they here?” Wolfson said.

“Somebody’s expecting trouble.”

“Or expecting to cause it,” Wolfson said.

“What would O’Malley want to cause trouble about?” I said.

“I don’t know,” Wolfson said.

I didn’t quite believe that he didn’t know, but I saw no reason to say so.

“Can you get Cole?” Wolfson said.

“Don’t know where he is,” I said.

“He’s not in Appaloosa anymore?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“How can we find him,” Wolfson said.

“Don’t think you’ll have to,” I said. “I expect he might come drifting in here, next few days.”

“Here?” Wolfson said. “Why?”

“See me,” I said. “Sometimes he likes to talk with me about things.”

Wolfson looked like he wanted to ask more, but he didn’t quite know what to ask, and I didn’t help him out. So he didn’t.