A SHORT, THICK MAN with a big hat and a two-day growth of beard came into the sheriff’s office.

“Which of you boys is the sheriff,” he said.

“Both deputies,” Virgil said. “Sheriff’s in Del Rio.”

“Name’s Lester,” he said. “Abe Lester. I’m trail boss for an outfit with quite some number of cows milling around at the moment about a day outside of town.”

Virgil nodded.

“Virgil Cole,” he said. “This here’s Everett Hitch.”

“Pleased,” Lester said. “We’ll bring ’em in tomorrow, and I just wanted to give you boys a little notice.”

“How many cows?” Virgil said.

“ ’Bout four thousand,” Lester said. “Won’t know exact till we tally.”

“How many drovers?”

“Forty-eight,” Lester said. “Plus one wrangler, the cook, and me.”

“Can you control ’em?” Virgil said.

Lester smiled.

“Cattle? Sure,” Lester said.

“How ’bout the cowboys?” Virgil said.

“They’ll drive the cattle into town tomorrow and herd ’em into the pens,” Lester said. “That’s what they signed on for. When they’re done I pay ’em off.”

“You control them until you pay ’em?”

“Always have,” Lester said.

“And after?”

“Ain’t mine anymore,” Lester said.

“Guess they get to be mine,” Virgil said. “And Everett’s.”

“I’d say so,” Lester said.

“Why they pay us,” Virgil said.

“You the same Virgil Cole was in Abilene a while back?” Lester said.

“I was in Abilene.”

“So I guess you know how,” Lester said.

“We do,” Virgil said.

Lester looked at me and nodded.

“One other thing, I guess you should know,” Lester said. “Two, two and a half days ago, we run into a few Indians.”

“Comanche?”

“Probably,” Lester said. “They slaughtered a couple of cows.”

“You see ’em?”

“Nope.”

“How you know it was Indians.”

“One of the drovers is a breed,” Lester said. “Can read sign. Says the horses weren’t shod. Actually, said it might be only one horse.”

Virgil nodded.

“So it might be only one Indian,” he said.

“Maybe. Either way. Somebody left an arrow stuck into one of the dead steers,” Lester said. “Like some kind of sign.”

“Your breed know what?” Virgil said.

“Garr don’t know. Says it looks like a Comanche arrow, but he don’t know why it’s there.”

“Didn’t kill the steer with it?” Virgil said.

“Nope. Shot the steer with a rifle.”

“Everett?” Virgil said.

“Sounds like somebody wanted you to know something,” I said.

“Sign?” Virgil said.

“I was here,” I said.

“Why would somebody want us to know?” Virgil said.

“Don’t know,” I said. “Fella who left it wouldn’ta known you had a tracker. Maybe he wanted you to know it was Comanche that slaughtered your cows.”

“You go after them?” Virgil said.

“Nope, let ’em have the beef. Figured it would keep them from bothering us anymore.”

“And it did?”

Lester nodded.

“Guess so,” Lester said. “There wasn’t many of ’em, Garr says.”

“And there’s fifty-one of you,” Virgil said.

“Yep, all with Winchesters.”

“That mighta kept them from bothering you,” Virgil said.

“Coulda been a factor,” Lester said.

“You staying around after you pen the herd?” Virgil said.

“Nope. I’ll stay for the tally. Then I’m on a train to Fort Worth. Take a bath, get drunk, find a woman, and do all of it by myself.”

“Thanks for stopping by,” Virgil said.

“FELLAS BRINGING four thousand head a cattle into town tomorrow,” Virgil said.

Pike nodded. He was leaning his elbows on his big, elegant bar. The heel of one boot hooked over the brass rail. It wasn’t J.D. in the lookout chair today.

“Leave ’em at the station?” Pike said.

“Yep.”

“Pay off the drovers?” Pike said.

“Uh-huh.”

Pike looked over at the lookout.

“Looks like you and J.D. gonna be busy, Kirby.”

“Might be,” Kirby said.

Kirby was a big man with a thick, dark mustache and a bald head.

“Thought me ’n Everett would come by, let you know, see if you had a plan for dealing with any trouble might arise.”

“Kind of you,” Pike said. “You boys want a beer, or something with more muscle?”

“Beer’s good,” Virgil said.

“On the house,” Pike said, and nodded at one of the bartenders.

“Any plan?” Virgil said.

“I’m grateful for your concern, Virgil.”

“Well, there’s fifty-one of them and two of us, so I’m making a, whatcha call it, Everett, what we’re doing.”

“We’re making a tactical assessment,” I said.

Pike nodded.

“See who can protect themselves,” he said. “And who needs you two boys to do it.”

“There you have it,” Virgil said.

“ ’Course, there may not be any trouble,” Pike said.

“Maybe not,” Virgil said.

“Not a lot of cowboys gonna cross Virgil Cole,” Pike said.

Spec set beer on the bar in front of us.

“But I don’t want to take no chance that some drunken vaquero with cow shit on his heels comes in here and busts up my beautiful Palace.”

“Be a shame,” Virgil said.

“Well, we’ll have J.D. in the chair, and Kirby at the door. Spec here can do a little more than draw beer. I’ll be here. And some of my other associates’ll be draped around the room here, ready to, ah, intercede if the revelers get too lively.”

“Called away from their normal duties,” I said.

Pike grinned at me.

“Those are their normal duties,” he said.

“Left over from the old days,” I said.

“Some,” Pike said.

“Okay, Pike,” Virgil said. “You do what you need to do to protect yourself and your place.”

“Be my plan,” Pike said.

“And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do more than you had to,” Virgil said.

“Don’t see no reason to,” Pike said.

ALL ALONG ARROW STREET it was pretty much the same. They’d had trail drives before.

“But nothing this size,” I said to the manager at a saloon called The Cheyenne Gentleman’s Bar.

“No,” he said. “That’s true. But we got Roy here.”

He nodded at a hugely fat bouncer near the door.

“And I hear tell you boys know how to keep order.”

We moved on.

“They don’t get it,” I said to Virgil. “They ain’t never experienced forty-eight or so soused cattle drivers with cash in their pockets, blowing in all at once, with a big thirst and a fearsome hard-on.”

“May not turn out to be so proud of all them extra cattle pens,” Virgil said.

At a woman’s clothing store, the owner spoke to Virgil.

“I believe I’ll be closing,” she said, “while those cowboys are loose in town. I don’t sell things cowboys want anyway.”

“Might have wives or girlfriends at home,” Virgil said.

“They won’t be buying things for the wife on their first night off the trail,” the woman said. “Maybe the night they leave.”

“Guilt?” I said.

“Guilt,” she said.

Aside from the dress-shop lady, most of the places along Arrow Street were thinking less about damage and more about profit. Virgil’s reputation probably accounted for a lot of that. None of them could imagine somebody standing up to him… assuming the standee knew his reputation.

We paused in front of The Church of the Brotherhood.

“Suppose Brother Percival got the same right to know as anybody else,” Virgil said.

“ ’Less God already told him,” I said.

We walked up the steps and in through the pen doors. Inside, it was dim in its flint-blue way, and the organ was playing. We walked forward toward the altar and turned and looked up into the choir loft. It was Allie.

“Thought it sounded pretty bad,” Virgil said.

“Loud, though,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“Well, she ain’t singing,” I said.

“Hallelujah,” Virgil said.