VIRGIL AND I were thinking about lunch, and fearing that Allie would bring some, when a man on a tall gray horse rode alone up Main Street and stopped in front of the Boston House, where Virgil and I were sitting. He was a tall man, barrel-bodied, with a white beard and thick white hair, under the kind of gray slouch hat that Confederate cavalry officers used to wear.

“I’m Horatio Laird,” he said to Virgil. “You killed my son.”

“I’m sorry about that, sir,” Virgil said. “He left me no choice.”

“I know you,” Laird said. “You’re a professional killer. My son was wild, but he was no gunfighter.”

“He was drunk, sir,” Virgil said. “He pulled on me.”

“He didn’t have a chance,” Laird said.

“He did,” Virgil said. “I gave him one. He didn’t take it.”

“He was a proud boy,” General Laird said. “Hotheaded, never a boy to back down.”

Virgil nodded. The general’s voice thickened.

“I… I taught him that,” he said.

Neither Virgil nor I said anything.

“God help me,” the general said.

His big-boned gray was a stallion, with a black mane and tail. I wondered if he was the one that had been after the Appaloosa’s mares. He was so big a horse that the general was high above us, the reins slack over the saddle horn, hands folded on top of them, the knuckles white with effort. He didn’t seem to be carrying a weapon.

“He thought he was faster than he was, sir,” Virgil said.

The general was shaking his head slowly left, right, left, right.

“Wasn’t me,” Virgil said. “It was gonna be somebody.”

“He died standing up,” I said. “Facing the man who killed him.”

“You… think… that matters… to… me?” the general said.

“No, sir,” Virgil said. “Probably don’t. But there ain’t much else to say.”

He shook his head some more. Left, right. Left, right.

“My son’s dead, Cole, and you’re not,” the general said.

“That ain’t right.”

He seemed to be having trouble with his breath.

“I could, I’d kill you where you’re sitting. But you’re too fast.”

His breath was harsh.

“But I’ll make it happen,” he rasped, “if I have to shoot you in the back.”

Nobody spoke. The general struggled with his breath for moment, and then wheeled the stallion and rode off down the street.

“Think he means it?” I said.

“Not about shooting me in the back,” Virgil said. “I expect he can’t. Man like him. Be against the rules.”

“Those rules again,” I said.

“He pretty surely got more than I do,” Virgil said. “He’ll find another way.”

“Hire somebody?” I said.

“S’pect he might,” Virgil said.

CHIEF CALLICO stopped by our place of business, outside the Boston House, where Virgil and I were looking at the town and drinking coffee. He sat with us. He was neighborly Amos today.

“By God, Virgil,” he said. “You’ve put me in a bind.”

“Weren’t my intention,” Virgil said.

He sipped his coffee and looked over the rim of the mug past the rooftops of the town, at the higher country to the west. The land was mostly brown, with some moments of green, where there was water.

“Horatio Laird is the most important man in this part of the country,” Callico said.

“I believe he is,” Virgil said.

“Did you have to kill his only son?” Callico said.

“I did,” Virgil said.

“He’s pressing me real hard about it,” Callico said.

“Wants me arrested,” Virgil said.

“He wants that very bad,” Callico said.

“Can’t say I blame him,” Virgil said.

Tilda came out with a pot of coffee and poured some for us.

“Tilda,” Virgil said. “Why don’t you get a cup for our friend Amos here.”

“Yessir, Mr. Cole,” Tilda said.

“But we both know I can’t arrest you,” Callico said.

He took the cup from Tilda and held it while she poured.

“You got fifty eyewitnesses that it was self-defense,” Callico said.

“Didn’t know it was that many,” Virgil said. “You know that, Everett?”

“Knew there were enough,” I said.

“I got plans,” Callico said. “I’m trying to enforce the law in this town, and do it in a way will help me with those plans, you understand?”

“Heard you was aiming for president,” Virgil said.

“And, by God, I’d be a good one, Virgil,” Callico said.

“But there’s some stops ’fore we get there. And I got to make them.”

“And you don’t get to make them,” I said, “arresting people and having to turn them loose.”

“Correct. And I don’t make them unless I enforce the law right,” Callico said. “And I don’t make them unless I got support from important people, like General Laird.”

“And right now you’re in a squeeze,” I said.

“You see that,” Callico said.

Virgil drank some more coffee.

“Everett went to West Point,” he said.

“Smart fella,” Callico said. “Both of you are smart fellas. You give me any support you can, I’ll appreciate it, and I’ll remember it when I’ve made a few of those stops.”

“Need money to go where you want to go,” Virgil said.

“Sure do,” Callico said. “One reason people like the general are important.”

“Reason why you charge folks a fee for police services, too,” Virgil said.

“Town don’t give us enough operating budget,” Callico said. “Got to do what I can.”

Callico smiled a big, friendly smile.

“Opened up a little business for you boys, too,” he said.

Virgil nodded.

“Did,” he said.

“I can do things like that,” Callico said.

Virgil and I didn’t say anything.

“I ain’t asking you boys for help. You’re the only ones round here could give me trouble. You stay out of my way, and I’ll consider it help.”

“We got no ill will,” Virgil said. “Do we, Everett.”

“Nope.”

“Good,” Callico said. “Thanks for the coffee.”

He stood and walked back down Main Street.

I looked at Virgil.

“You sure we don’t have no ill will?” I said.

Still studying the western horizon, Virgil smiled slowly. “Well,” he said. “Maybe a little.”

I HAD STARTED keeping company with Emma Scarlet. “Your partner killed General Laird’s son,” Emma said.

It was midafternoon and business was slow for both of us, so we took a siesta in her room.

“Yes,” I said.

“And I started it,” Emma said.

“I guess,” I said.

“It’ll get him in trouble with the general,” Emma said.

“Or it might get the general in trouble with Virgil,” I said.

The life hadn’t gotten her yet, and she still looked pretty good with her clothes off.

“General draws an awful lot of water, round here,” Emma said.

“I heard that,” I said.

“Be governor if he hadn’t been a reb,” Emma said.

“People still care?” I said.

“Not around here,” she said. “But lot of other voters. Don’t make much difference to me. I can’t vote, anyhow.”

“What you can do, though, you do pretty well,” I said.

“Pretty well?” she said.

“Best in the history of the goddamned world,” I said.

She giggled.

“Oh, Everett,” she said. “That’s real sweet.”

“Like me,” I said.

“Most men are scared of the general,” she said.

“Virgil ain’t,” I said.

“How do you know so sure?” Emma said.

“’Cause Virgil ain’t scared of anything,” I said.

“I feel kinda bad about Nicky getting killed,” Emma said. “You know? Like it was my fault. Couldn’t Virgil have just whonked him on the head with his gun?”

“Ever see a gunfight, Emma?”

“Sure, I have. I’m a whore. I work saloons. Seen a lot. Drunks, mostly. Usually they miss.”

“There’s another kind, too,” I said.

“Like the ones you and Virgil do?”

“Like those,” I said. “What I learned about those, I learned from Virgil. Because of what he does, what we do, mostly we’re outnumbered.”