“Well, no offense,” I said. “But in my line of work, danger is always present.”

“No offense taken,” she said. “I understand your skepticism, but in my line of work danger never lies.”

I smiled.

“What kind of danger are we talking about here?”

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“You’re not sure?”

She shook her head.

“Not completely, and what I see, what I know, can only provide you awareness, I’m afraid . . . Fait accompli.”

“So, what did you see? What do you know?”

“No need to be patronizing,” she said.

“I’m not. I’m listening.”

She looked around the room for a moment.

“Can we walk?”

“Don’t you want to finish that brandy?”

“Not much of a drinker, I’m afraid,” she said. “Perhaps you could walk me.”

“Sure,” I said.

“Merci,” she said.

I let Wallis know we were leaving. He stepped out from the back room, drying his big hands with a small towel.

“Good night,” he said.

“Au revoir,” Madame Leroux said, and I escorted her out of the Boston House saloon.

The rain seemed to be coming down harder now. They weren’t big drops, but the rain was massive and solid, like it was falling from thick, dense clouds.

We walked for a ways under the awnings of the boardwalk before she spoke.

“When I saw you, I saw something,” she said. “Something not good.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“Normally, I keep others’ événements, um . . . visions of misfortune to myself,” she said. “I remove myself. It is a code of ethics in my line of business.”

“But you feel an ethical need to share something not good with me?”

“Oui,” she said. “You see, you being an officer of the law as you are, I felt it was my obligation, my responsabilité, to share this information with you.”

“By all means,” I said. “Go right ahead.”

“I saw men,” she said. “Young men, running.”

I laughed.

She stopped.

I stopped and looked back to her.

“You must believe me,” she said.

“Men?” I said. “Running?”

She nodded and we continued walking.

“What men?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “They were scared . . . I saw them again, tonight. That’s why I needed to see you. They’ve returned.”

“Where did you see these men?”

“I do not know exactly who they were or where they are,” she said. “That is why I needed to see you. To see if I might have something clearer, stronger.”

I began to feel unusually comfortable with this odd woman I’d just met and this strange unfolding she was sharing with me. Not for a minute did I take to heart her nonsensical bullshit or her vocation, for that matter, but I obliged.

“What makes you think I’m in danger?”

“I understand your doubt,” she said, picking up on my skepticism. “But I know what I see, what I feel.”

She pulled her shawl up to cover her head and we walked past a storefront without an overhang. We felt the steady rain until we were back under an awning over the boardwalk.

“How did you know where to find me?” I said.

“Hocus-pocus, Everett.”

“Because you’ve seen these men and how they felt to you,” I said. “You feel I’m in danger?”

“Yes,” she said.

She lowered her shawl.

“What do your friends call you?” I said.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “You have none?”

“Oh,” she said, “on the contrary, I most certainly do.”

She tapped her temple and said, “I have plenty of friends with me, at all times.”

“What do they call you?” I said. “What is your given name?”

“Séraphine,” she said. “My name is Séraphine.”

We stayed under the awnings as we walked and were exposed to the rain only when there was a break overhead between structures. We turned and walked past a few boardinghouses.

Beneath a canvas cover on the opposite side of the street, three skinny young fellas sat under a lamp, playing cards on a whiskey barrel. They watched us as we passed.

We walked on for a ways, then Séraphine stopped.

“There it is,” she said.

I stopped and turned back to her.

“What?”

She was looking down like she was looking for something on the ground. She turned and looked back to the men playing cards.

“Something has happened,” she said.

I looked back to the men. They weren’t looking in our direction. They were doing just what they were doing, playing cards. One of them laughed. I looked back to her. She looked at me with a troubled look on her face.

“What?” I said.

She looked downward again.

“You okay?”

She shook her head.

“What is it?” I said.

“It’s not good,” she said.

“Your friends talking to you?”

“No,” she said. “Your friends.”

We were standing partially in the rain. I took her by her arm and led her under an overhang of the last structure by the pole lamp at the end of the street.

“My friends?”

“Yes,” she said. “Your guides.”

She sat on a bench in front of the building.

“What about them?”

“Codder,” she said.

“Codder?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Do you know of something or someone named Codder or perhaps Cotter?”

“No.”

She shook her head violently, as if she were trying to get the vision to formulate clearly.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I wish I could tell you what to look out for, but I don’t know. Not now, anyway, but you must believe me.”

“Well,” I said. “It’s kind of like Mother Nature. Not much can be done about the forces of nature.”

“I’m trying to help you,” she said.

“You’ve readily allowed there are men running, scared. Something or someone named Codder or Cotter, but it doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Just be aware,” she said. “Keep those thoughts with you.”

She stood and took a step closer to me.

“Now I must go. I’m just here,” she said, pointing toward the vacant lot where the troupe was camped. “I will scurry through this rain to the dryness. I will see you again.”

She moved a little closer. She leaned in and kissed me, but as I worked to kiss her back she pulled away.

“Be careful, Everett.”

With that she took off running in the rain toward the troupe’s encampment.

I watched her until she faded away into the dark of the rainy night.

“Hocus-pocus,” I said.

— 9 —

The following morning I woke up to the sound of thunder. I looked out the window and it was still raining. It was colder than it had been when I had finally drifted off to sleep in the early morning hours.

Since Virgil and I had been back in Appaloosa I’d been sleeping in a small alley room I’d rented above a survey company on the south side of town. The room consisted of a small bed, a chair, a washbasin, a dresser, a small Pettit and Smith heater, a window, and a door.

I laid in bed looking out the window and watched the rain falling for some time. My head was throbbing a little. I thought about the card game with Virgil and Allie and my strange encounter with Madame Séraphine Leroux. Codder, Cotter, I thought, and men running. What the hell am I supposed to make of that?

I spent the first half of the day in the Appaloosa Livery, the main livery stable in town, drinking coffee with Salt, an old Teton Sioux blacksmith, while I shinbone-oiled my saddle and tack.

I liked old Salt. I’d known him for years. He was a small, easy-moving man with dark, intelligent eyes. What I liked most about Salt was he didn’t say much and when he did he was always worth listening to.

When I left the livery, Salt told me the weather was going to get much worse before it got better.

I walked across town and stopped in for some fried chicken at Hal’s. I sat by the window with two elderly ranchers. They talked about how we needed this water, their fields, their livestock, the price of grain, and life on the farm. I shared with them what Salt had said about the forecast. Most everyone in Appaloosa, including the two ranchers, knew Salt and revered him as a man of wisdom and understanding. Upon hearing Salt’s weather predictions, the old ranchers didn’t waste any time to leave. Saying though they were appreciative of the water, they needed to get back to their spreads and prepare for worsening conditions.