ON SUNDAY MORNING Virgil was sitting where he sat, in front of the Boston House. He was heeled and his Winchester leaned against the wall beside his chair. I was across the street with the eight-gauge, standing on the boardwalk in the shade in front of the feed store. Above us the sky was a pale, even, uninterrupted blue that appeared to stretch clear west at least to California.

People were on the street, dressed up, the women especially, going to church. I saw Allie go by in her best dress, with Laurel. They were walking with a tall, handsome woman in clothes that looked like she’d shopped in New York. Allie waved at Virgil as she passed. Virgil touched the brim of his hat.

We waited. That was okay. We were good at it. Virgil and I could wait as long as we needed to. Around midday, Callico came down the street with his Winchester escorts. They stopped in front of Virgil. Callico looked around, saw me across the street, and murmured something to his escort. Three of the policemen turned and faced me. I nodded at them. Nobody nodded back.

“I’ve decided not to kill you, Virgil,” Callico said.

He had a big voice, and it carried easily from the Boston House to the feed store.

Virgil looked at the armed policemen.

“You ever go anyplace alone, Amos?” Virgil said.

“I’m not a violent man,” Callico said. “And I figure it’s easier to get along with you than kill both of you.”

“A sight easier,” Virgil said.

“Long as you don’t break the law,” Callico said.

Virgil didn’t comment.

“And I’ll be keeping my eye on you,” Callico said.

“Expect you will,” Virgil said.

“You break a law and I’ll come down on you like an avalanche.”

“Avalanche,” Virgil said.

“Like a mountain fell on you,” Callico said.

Virgil nodded.

“Amos,” he said. “You got to stop trying to scare us. Ain’t effective. Me ’n Everett been doin’ gun work too long.”

“This is a small town,” Callico said. “And a big country. I’m not going to sacrifice the big for the small, you understand that?”

“Surely do,” Virgil said.

“So, you do your business, and I’ll do mine, and you stay clean, we won’t bother each other.”

“That sounds fine,” Virgil said.

He raised his voice.

“That sound fine to you, Everett?” he said.

“Fine,” I said.

“We think it’s fine,” Virgil said.

Callico looked at Virgil for a considerable time without a sound.

Then he said, “Mind your step, Virgil. Just mind your step.”

He turned and led his policemen on down the street. I strolled over to where Virgil was and sat down beside him.

“Pompous son of a bitch,” I said.

“Don’t mean he ain’t good with a Colt,” Virgil said.

“Stringer claims he’s one of the best,” I said.

“Stringer knows something about that,” Virgil said.

“On the other hand, we’re pretty good, too,” I said.

“We are,” Virgil said. “Ain’t we.”

Tilda came out with coffee and we settled in for another day.

ALLIE AND LAUREL liked to walk up Main Street in the evening, but Laurel wouldn’t leave the house without Virgil, so when they wanted to go, we went, too, and strolled with them past the dress shop window, where Allie told Laurel how beautiful the clothes were. Laurel stared at them silently.

At the end of Main Street, past Seventh, were the short-time whorehouses, so we stopped before we reached them, and crossed the street and headed back down along Main Street. Walking ahead with Virgil, Laurel would pause sometimes and whisper to him. Allie and I dropped a few steps behind.

“You think she’ll ever talk to me, Everett?” Allie said.

“Might,” I said.

“I’ve been a mother to her since what happened,” Allie said.

“You’ve been a good one, Allie.”

“I guess she talks to Virgil because he saved her,” Allie said.

“I saved her, too,” I said. “And she won’t talk to me.”

“Or Pony Flores,” Allie said. “Virgil always says you wouldn’t have found her without Pony Flores.”

“True,” I said.

“She even hugs him, but doesn’t speak.”

“I know,” I said.

“There must be something about Virgil,” she said.

“Virgil’s not like other people, Allie.”

“No,” she said. “He certainly isn’t.”

We passed the Golden Palace. The light and sound spilled gladly out onto the street.

“Everything seems so peaceful now,” Allie said.

“Yes.”

“Did Virgil ask Pony to leave?” Allie said.

“Pinkertons showed up looking for him,” I said. “We sent them up to Resolution. Know the law there.”

“Resolution was where you and Virgil were for a time, while I was… away.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Why doesn’t Kha-to-nay go back to his people?” Allie said.

“First place they’d look for him,” I said. “And Pony is afraid that if he’s back with the tribe he’ll instigate trouble.”

“So, it wasn’t because I asked him,” Allie said.

We passed the Boston House.

“How are things with the police chief,” Allie said.

“Fine.”

“Mrs. Callico invited me and Laurel to tea after church last Sunday,” Allie said. “She’s so elegant. From New Orleans.”

“Never been to New Orleans,” I said.

“And she speaks French,” Allie said.

Ahead of us, Virgil walked with a slight forward bend, so he could listen when Laurel whispered to him.

“And she has clothes sent to her from there,” Allie said.

We reached First Street and turned right on it, toward Front Street.

“And she has a Mexican woman who cooks and serves,” Allie said.

“Can see why Callico needs income,” I said.

“Oh, he’s going to be very wealthy,” Allie said.

“You’re sure?”

“Mrs. Callico says he has a plan worked out. He’ll get elected sheriff next year. And then, later, he’ll go to Congress and come back and be a governor, and he says one day he’ll be President.”

“Of the country?” I said.

“That’s what Mrs. Callico told me.”

“The United States of America,” I said.

“President of the United States,” Allie said.

“Amos Callico,” I said.

“Wouldn’t that be exciting if he was, and we knew him?”

“Why would anybody want to be President?” I said.

“Oh, Everett,” Allie said. “Don’t be so silly.”

EVERY COUPLE OF HOURS, more often at night, Virgil or I toured the saloons we were hired to protect. The one not touring would be in place in front of the Boston House in case there was trouble and someone sent for us. On a pleasant evening, with a lot of starlight, I was on tour. As I came out of the Sweet Water Saloon, Tilda, the Boston House waitress, came running.

“Trouble,” she said. “Come fast.”

“Boston House?” I said.

“Yes.”

I went up Main Street at a run, carrying the eight-gauge.

In the Boston House, Virgil was in the doorway that led to the hotel lobby. He was leaning his left shoulder against the jamb. Standing across the room, with a half dozen of his ranch hands behind him, Nicky Laird was drunk. So were the hands.

“Sign says no guns,” Nicky said to Virgil.

“Does,” Virgil said.

“We got guns.”

“Yeah, you do,” Virgil said.

“Gonna try to do something ’bout that?” Nicky said.

“Have to ask you to leave,” Virgil said.

“We ain’t goin’,” Nicky said.

“Then I have to disarm you.”

“All seven of us?” Nicky said.

“Yep.”

“Even if you got a round under the hammer,” Nicky said. “You only got six.”

“Three choices,” Virgil said. “You leave, you take off the guns, or you pull on me. Anybody pulls on me, I kill you, too.”

Behind Nicky I thumbed both hammers back on the eight-gauge. It was a loud sound in the quiet room. Several patrons silently moved out of the line of fire.