The fourth book in the Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch series, 2010

LAW ENFORCEMENT in Appaloosa had once been Virgil Cole and me. Now there were a chief of police and twelve policemen. Our third day back in town, the chief invited us to the office for a talk.

He was tall and very fat in a derby hat and a dark suit, with a star on his vest, and big black-handled Colt in a Huckleberry inside his coat. Standing silently around the room were four of his police officers, dressed in white shirts and dark pants, each with a Colt on his hip.

The chief gestured for us to sit. Virgil sat. I leaned my shotgun on the wall by the door and sat beside him.

“Heard ’bout both of you,” he said. “Heard ’bout that thing, too. What’s it fire, grapeshot?”

“It’s an eight-gauge,” I said. “Good for grouse.”

“Or fucking hippopotamuses,” the chief said.

“Them, too,” I said.

“Name’s Amos Callico,” he said. “Thought we should have a chitchat.”

Virgil nodded.

“You’re Virgil Cole,” Callico said.

“I am,” Virgil said. “Big fella here with the eight-gauge is Everett Hitch.”

“I know who he is,” Callico said.

Virgil nodded again.

“What I hear ’bout you is mostly good,” Callico said.

Virgil looked at me.

“Mostly,” he said.

“Probably meant ‘all,’ ” I said.

Callico paid no attention. He took a cigar from a box on his desk, didn’t offer us one, trimmed it and lit it, and got it burning right. The four policemen stood silently, watching us.

“I know your reputation, Cole,” he said. “And I know that you ran the town, ’fore I got here. And I want you both to understand that you don’t run it now.”

“That would be you,” Virgil said.

“And I’ve got a dozen officers to back me,” Callico said.

Virgil didn’t say anything.

“On the other hand, none of them are like you,” Callico said. “I could use couple of gun hands like you.”

Virgil shook his head slowly.

“Pay you fifty a month,” Callico said.

“Nope,” Virgil said.

“Make you a sergeant,” Callico said.

“Nope.”

“You speakin’ for Hitch, too?” Callico said.

“Yep.”

“Why the hell not?” Callico said.

Virgil looked at me.

“You think you’re important,” I said to Callico. “Virgil don’t think anybody’s important. Bad match.”

Virgil nodded.

“That right, Cole?” Callico said.

“ ’ Tis,” Virgil said.

Callico puffed on his cigar and blew some smoke past the lit end. He studied it for a moment.

“So, what are you going to do in town?” Callico said.

“Sit on my porch,” Virgil said. “Drink a little whiskey. Play some cards.”

“That’s all?” Callico said.

“See what develops,” Virgil said.

Callico smoked his cigar some more. Then he looked at me.

“You boys done a nice job when you was in this office,” Callico said. “Bragg and the Shelton brothers and all.”

Virgil nodded. Callico looked at me.

“Heard you killed Randall Bragg ’fore you left town,” Callico said.

“I did,” I said.

“Why?”

“Self-defense,” I said.

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

“I got nothing to do,” I said, “with what you hear.”

“Was it over a woman?”

I shook my head.

“You know why he killed Bragg?” Callico said to Virgil.

“Bragg come at him with a gun,” Virgil said.

“Why?”

“Have to ask Bragg,” Virgil said.

“Bragg’s dead,” Callico said.

“So he is,” Virgil said.

We all sat and thought about that. Callico nodded slowly.

“Don’t want no trouble from you boys,” he said.

“Don’t plan to give you none,” Virgil said.

Callico looked at me.

“Me, either,” I said.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Callico said.

Virgil stood.

“Nice meeting you,” he said.

He looked around the room at the four policemen.

“And you fellas,” Virgil said.

He turned and left, and I followed him.

On the street, I said to Virgil, “We’re gonna have trouble with him.”

“I believe we are,” Virgil said.

VIRGIL’S HOUSE hadn’t changed much in the time we’d been away. Allie and Laurel cleaned it up as soon as we arrived back in Appaloosa, and we moved right in. I bunked with Virgil in one bedroom, and Allie slept with Laurel in the second.

All four of us were sitting on the front porch sipping whiskey in the early evening while it was still light, when a tall, thin man with a big mustache walked up the front path. It was Stringer, the chief sheriff’s deputy.

“Ev’nin,” he said.

“Stringer,” Virgil said.

“I’m down to pick up a prisoner, heard you folks was back in town. Thought you might be drinking whiskey.”

“Sit,” I said. “Have some.”

Stringer adjusted his gun belt a little and sat.

“Allie,” Virgil said. “You remember Deputy Stringer.”

“I don’t recall us meeting,” Allie said.

“You was with the Shelton brothers,” Virgil said. “Probably thinking ’bout other things.”

Allie nodded.

“At the train,” she said.

“That’s me,” Stringer said.

“How do you do,” she said to Stringer, and made a small curtsy.

“Glad you’re well,” Stringer said. “Who’s this young lady?”

“Her name’s Laurel,” Virgil said. “She don’t say much. Laurel, this here is Deputy Stringer.”

Laurel looked at Stringer and nodded slowly and made her small curtsy. Then she went to Virgil and whispered to him. He whispered back. She whispered again.

“Well, sure, sort of like Pony Flores,” Virgil said.

“She shy?” Stringer said.

“Indian took her,” Virgil said. “She had a pretty bad time till we got her back.”

“Her folks are dead,” Allie said. “I’m looking out for her.”

“Since we got her back,” I said, “won’t talk to nobody ’cept Virgil.”

Stringer sipped some whiskey.

“Who’s Pony Flores?” Stringer said.

“Tracker,” Virgil said. “Helped us get her back.”

Laurel whispered again to Virgil. He listened and nodded.

“He gave her a gun,” Virgil said. “She wants to show it to you.”

Stringer nodded. Laurel took the derringer out of the pocket of her pinafore and held it out in the palm of her hand. Stringer looked at it carefully.

“That’s a very fine derringer,” he said.

He looked at Virgil.

“Loaded,” he said.

“She knows how to use it,” Virgil said. “Makes her feel safer.”

Stringer nodded.

“What are you boys gonna do here?” Stringer said.

“We’re posturing that,” Virgil said.

“Or pondering,” I said.

“Pondering,” Virgil said. “That’s what we’re doing. Everett went to the Military Academy.”

“Could speak to the sheriff for you,” Stringer said.

“Foraged up some money in Brimstone,” Virgil said. “We figure to take some time and look around.”

“You boys good at anything but gun work?” Stringer said.

“Might be,” Virgil said.

“Like what?” Stringer said.

“We’re ponderin’ that, too,” Virgil said.

“Meet the new chief of police?” Stringer said.

His voice was neutral, but there was something in the way he said “chief of police.”

“Yep,” Virgil said.

“And?” Stringer said.

“Offered us a job,” Virgil said.

“Which you turned down,” Stringer said.

“Everett and me don’t like him,” Virgil said.

Stringer studied the surface of his whiskey for a moment and then drank some.

“How come?” Stringer said.