“Chiquita,” he said.

She jumped into his arms, and he held her, rocking gently side to side. Kha-to-nay sat silent as a stone.

“Pony Flores,” Allie said. “How perfectly lovely. Come sit on the porch, you and your friend.”

Pony said something to Kha-to-nay in Apache. Kha-to-nay shook his head. Pony spoke again. Kha-to-nay did not answer, nor did he look at any of us.

“My brother is a donkey,” Pony said. “But he is my brother.”

WE SAT on the porch and passed around a jug of corn whiskey. Allie put a marker in her etiquette book, went to get small glasses for herself and Laurel.

“Ladies don’t drink from jugs,” Allie said.

Virgil poured a little for each lady, and took a pull from the jug before he handed it to Pony Flores. Laurel sat close beside Virgil and did not look at Kha-to-nay.

Kha-to-nay would not touch the jug or even acknowledge that it existed. But he did finally get off his horse and lean on the porch railing, with his Winchester, looking toward town, standing as far away from the rest of us as possible.

“For true Chiricahua, Blue-Eyed Devil not exist,” Pony said. “What Kha-to-nay believe.”

“You’re a half Mex,” Virgil said. “Ain’t he?”

“All Chiricahua,” Pony said. “Same mother. Different father.”

“He hate us all?” I said.

“Like only Chiricahua,” Pony said.

“We take away his land?” I said.

“Take away everything,” Pony said.

“How you feel about that?”

“You come, take away what Chiricahua have,” Pony said.

“While ago Chiricahua come and take away from other people. Other people come long time ago, take away.” Pony shrugged. “Somebody probably come one day, take away from Blue-Eyed Devil,” Pony said. “Happen always.”

“S’pose it does,” I said. “Kha-to-nay know you feel like that?”

“Sí,” Pony said.

“You talk about it?” I said.

“Sí,” Pony said. “I think man live now, do what need to be done, keep word, don’t think how things be before.”

“And Kha-to-nay?” I said.

Pony smiled.

“Say I am only half Chiricahua.”

I nodded. Kha-to-nay stared into the middle distance. Pony took a pull on the whiskey jug.

“What kinda help you need?” Virgil said.

“I know you come back to Appaloosa. I think you be the lawman here,” Pony said.

Virgil nodded.

“Kha-to-nay kill an Indian agent and rob train,” Pony said.

Without looking at us, Kha-to-nay said something in Apache. Pony answered. Kha-to-nay said something else. Pony nodded.

“Kha-to-nay say he not rob train. He destroy train. He say Chiricahua people at war with white-eyes. Say destroy train is act of war.”

“How ’bout the Indian agent?” Virgil said.

“Kill white-eye… tirano?” Pony said, and looked at me.

“Tyrant,” I said.

“Kill white-eye tyrant,” Pony said. “Free Chiricahua people.”

“So, the government is after him for the Indian agent,” Virgil said. “And the Pinkertons are after him for the railroad.”

“U.S. Marshals arrest Kha-to-nay,” Pony said. “Put him in jail. I get him out. We come here.”

“How’d you get him out of Yaqui?” Virgil said.

Pony smiled and patted his Colt. Virgil nodded.

“There a bounty on him?” Virgil said.

“Sí,” Pony said.

Virgil rocked back a little in his chair and took the jug from me and took a pull.

“Well,” Virgil said. “We can’t let ’em take you.”

YOU WANT to move in here?” Virgil said. Pony shook his head.

“Kha-to-nay not stay with white devil,” Pony said.

“Don’t blame him,” Virgil said. “Wasn’t one myself I wouldn’t stay with him, either.”

“Not understand,” Pony said.

“Virgil’s making a joke,” I said.

“Got any money?” Virgil said.

Pony smiled and nodded.

“When Kha-to-nay destroy train in war with white tyrant, he take money, too.”

“Kha-to-nay’s not so dumb,” I said.

From his place at the far end of the porch Kha-to-nay said nothing.

“Anybody on your trail?” Virgil said.

Pony shook his head.

“Only man can track Pony Flores,” he said, “is me.”

“Good,” Virgil said. “Police ain’t on our side here.”

“You on other side of law now?” Pony said.

“Neither side,” Virgil said. “Just keeping order in the Boston House saloon.”

“You not the law,” Pony said. “Maybe we bring you trouble. Maybe should move on.”

“Where?” Virgil said. “Here, you got two friends in town.”

“Four,” Allie said.

We all looked at her. Virgil nodded slowly.

“Four friends in town,” he said.

Pony nodded.

“All good with gun,” he said, and smiled at Laurel.

She almost smiled back.

“We stay,” Pony said, “for while.”

“Then what?” Allie said.

“We see,” Pony said.

“See what?” Allie said.

Pony looked at Virgil.

“See what develops, Allie,” Virgil said.

“That’s your plan?” Allie said.

“Plan gonna depend on what develops,” Virgil said.

“So, how do you know you can handle what develops?” Allie said.

Ladies, don’t drink from the jug, I thought, but they sometimes have several from the glass.

“Don’t,” Virgil said.

“What about all of that stuff Everett talks about from Who’s-he-which on War?” Allie said.

“Clausewitz,” I said. “Prepare for what your enemy can do, not what you think he will do.”

“How about that?” Allie said to Virgil.

“Hell, Allie,” Virgil said. “Don’t know who the enemy is yet.”

“So, you just wander into it,” Allie said. “The great Virgil Cole, full of yourself, assuming, as you always do, that you can handle everything.”

Virgil said, “Don’t know how else to go, Allie.”

“Everett’s no better,” Allie said. “You go, he goes, too.”

She poured an unladylike slug of whiskey into her glass and drank some.

“Well, what about me? What happens to Laurel?” she said.

“Wouldn’t have found Laurel without Pony,” Virgil said.

Allie didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then she said, “Men!” and shook her head.

Laurel looked as solemn as always.

A SHORT, fat man with a goatee, wearing a flat-crowned black hat, came into the Boston House in the late afternoon with Lamar Speck. He and Speck located Virgil leaning on the bar.

“Virgil,” Speck said. “This is Buford Posner.”

Virgil nodded.

“I own the Golden Palace,” Posner said, “down the street, and there’s trouble there right now.”

“I suggested you and Everett,” Speck said.

He was speaking very fast.

“Whaddya need?” Virgil said to Posner.

“A group of cowboys are causing trouble in my place,” Posner said. “They’ve run off my lookout, and Lamar tells me you’ve been successful with this sort of thing in the past.”

“Why not the police?” Virgil said.

“Like Lamar, I am not on good terms with the police,” Posner said. “I will pay you, of course.”

“Be a favor to me, Virgil,” Speck said.

Virgil looked at me.

“Everett?”

“Why not,” I said.

“They say they are going to destroy my saloon,” Posner said.

“Then we better hurry,” Virgil said. “Everett, bring your eight-gauge.”

The Golden Palace wasn’t much on the outside, but inside it was a fancy, fussy little place with murals painted on the walls and ornate plaster moldings. There were eight cowboys in there, drinking whiskey from the bottle. A couple were sitting on the bar, the rest at a pair of tables. The spittoons had been tipped over. There was broken glass on the floor, and someone had shot holes, kind of strategically, in the mural of a wood nymph.

Behind us, Posner said, “My God,” and backed out the door. Virgil and I went in without him.

One of the cowboys looked at us as we pushed into the saloon and said, “Who the fuck are you?”