“Allie was bragging about how she can get her way when she wants it,” Virgil said. “Told Mrs. Callico that she made us send Pony away.”

“You tell her that?” I said to Virgil.

“I did,” Virgil said. “Thought she’d like it.”

I nodded.

“Keep forgetting that you can’t always count on her,” he said.

“Easy mistake to make,” I said. “Shot Choctaw Brown for you in Brimstone.”

“Keep remembering that,” Virgil said. “Keep forgetting how we got to be in Brimstone in the first place.”

“Have to assume she’ll tell Amos,” I said.

“And there’s a reward on both Pony and Kha-to-nay,” Virgil said.

“Figure we should ride up there,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“We’ll go on home, and tell Allie we got to go north for a few days,” Virgil said to Laurel. “You don’t say a word to her ’bout anything you told me.”

Laurel nodded. Then she leaned close to Virgil again and whispered.

When she was done, Virgil said, “Don’t worry ’bout Pony. Pony can take care of himself pretty good. And we’ll go up.”

Laurel nodded. She leaned over again. Again Virgil listened carefully.

Then he said, “Nothing going to happen to Pony Flores. I promise.”

She whispered again. Virgil nodded.

“You promise, too, Everett?” he said.

“I promise,” I said to Laurel.

She looked at Virgil. He nodded. She looked at me. I nodded. Then she nodded back at both of us. And smiled.

LAUREL’S SO QUIET,” Virgil said. “Folks forget she’s there, and they say things in front of her.”

“Think she’ll ever talk?” I said to Virgil.

“Talks to me,” Virgil said.

“Think she’ll ever talk to anybody else?” I said.

“Don’t know,” Virgil said.

We were riding easy down a low slope. The horses had settled in for the ride, and picked their way comfortably through the prairie grass. It was warm. The sun was at our backs. And we had a ways to go before we got to Resolution.

“Know why she won’t talk to anybody but you?” I said.

“No more’n you,” Virgil said.

“Had to do with what happened to her,” I said. “But Pony and me saved her, too. How come she only talks to you.”

“Knows I’m the smart one,” Virgil said.

I nodded.

“Probably it,” I said. “I wonder if we took her back east. Boston. Philadelphia. Someplace like that. Maybe a doctor could fix her, or a school, something.”

“She don’t want to go,” Virgil said.

“She said so?”

“She did,” Virgil said. “I asked her and she said no.”

“Maybe she oughta go anyway,” I said. “For her own good.”

Virgil shook his head.

“Child’s sixteen years old,” I said. “How she gonna meet a husband? Have children? Live a life? She won’t say nothing.”

“Allie’ll work with her,” Virgil said.

I didn’t say anything. Ahead of us a sage hen flurried up and canted off with a lot of wing flapping before she resettled maybe a hundred yards from us.

“We both know Allie got her problems,” Virgil said after a while.

“We do,” I said.

“Allie’s had a lot of hard times of her own,” Virgil said.

“And you and me can’t do it.”

“No.”

“That monthly stuff, and all,” Virgil said.

“We can’t do it,” I said.

“So, we got to let Allie do it,” Virgil said. “She’s trying.”

“And we got no one better,” I said.

“Nope.”

“Maybe we can find a way to send Allie back east with her.”

Virgil shrugged.

“Ain’t gonna make Laurel go,” Virgil said.

“Maybe we should.”

“Done too much she don’t want to do,” Virgil said. “She don’t want to talk, she don’t have to.”

“No,” I said. “I s’pose that’s right.”

“Make it our business to see to it she don’t have to do what she don’t want to,” Virgil said.

“Her whole life?”

“Long as is needed,” Virgil said.

“Might mean in the end she don’t get to do things she does want to,” I said.

“I can see to that, too,” Virgil said.

“Not so sure you can,” I said.

Virgil shrugged.

“Hell,” he said. “Talking ain’t worth so much, anyway.”

LAW IN RESOLUTION was still Cato and Rose. Frank Rose was a big, showy guy with a handlebar mustache and two pearl-handled Colts. Cato Tillson was small with droopy eyes and a sharp nose. He carried one Colt, with a dark walnut handle. They were both good with Colts. Cato maybe a little better.

“Fella we know got a small place outside of town,” Rose said. “Your Indians are sleeping in his hayloft.”

“Ain’t mine,” Virgil said. “And Pony’s a breed.”

“Well, they ain’t give us no trouble,” Rose said.

We were in the Blackfoot Saloon, sitting at a round table in the rear, sipping whiskey. Whatever the conversation, as they sat together, Virgil and Cato Tillson always eyed each other. No hostility, just a kind of professional carefulness.

“Anybody else know that?” Virgil said.

“Sure,” Rose said. “You used to be here. Town’s still ’bout the size of a corncrib.”

“There’s a bounty on them,” I said.

“Didn’t know that,” Rose said. “You know that, Cato?”

“Nope.”

“Make a difference?” Virgil said.

Rose looked at Cato. Cato shrugged.

“Not to us,” Rose said. “Might to some folks.”

“Police chief in Appaloosa probably knows, by now, that they’re here,” I said.

“He gonna come after them?”

“Probably will,” Virgil said.

“He’s the law in Appaloosa,” Rose said.

Virgil said, “Yep.”

“We the law here,” Cato said.

Virgil nodded.

“Bounty hunters out?” Rose said.

Virgil nodded again.

“Might be some Pinkertons, too,” he said.

“Might have to hire us couple of deputies,” Rose said. “Fellas with experience, say, like you boys.”

“Could arrest them,” Cato said.

“Cole’s Indian?” Rose said.

“Can’t make us give up our prisoners,” Cato said.

“’Course they can’t,” Rose said.

Virgil shook his head.

“Indian won’t go for it,” he said.

“The breed’s brother?” Rose said.

Virgil nodded.

“He won’t go to jail,” Rose said.

Virgil shook his head.

“We leave the cell unlocked,” Cato said.

“He won’t,” Virgil said.

“Don’t make no sense,” Rose said. “You think Virgil’s right, Everett?”

“Might be,” I said. “Often is.”

“Well,” Rose said. “Let’s go talk to them. They don’t want to come in, least we can give them a running start.”

“Maybe they don’t want to run,” Virgil said.

Rose looked at Cato again, and leaned back a little in his chair and smiled.

“They want to stay and fight,” Rose said. “The least we can do is offer them some high-priced backup.”

VIRGIL HAD BROUGHT some whiskey in his saddlebags, and we sat on a plank bench outside of the small barn and passed the bottle. Kah-to-nay declined to drink. A few dark red chickens scratched in the barnyard. A sow with a litter wallowed in a pen beside the barn. Two big-footed farm horses stood placidly in a corral, their heads hanging over the top rail. Our own horses were gathered at the watering trough.

“How long you think before Callico come here?” Pony said.

“Dunno,” Virgil said. “All I’m sure is that his wife knows you’re here.”

“Chiquita warned you,” Pony said.

“Yes.”

Pony smiled.

“Chiquita doesn’t want anything to happen to Pony Flores,” he said.

“True,” Virgil said.

Pony said something in Apache to Kah-to-nay. Kah-to-nay made a faint shrug.

“If wife don’t gossip to him,” Pony said. “He maybe not come for weeks.”

“Maybe,” Virgil said. “Or maybe he’s waiting for us at the jail when we get back to town.”

“We can arrest you,” Rose said. “Put you in the jail. We wouldn’t lock the cell. That way, we can say you our prisoner and we won’t release you to him.”