THERE WERE A LOT OF PEOPLE standing around on Arrow Street as we rode into town. There was a crowd in front of Pike’s Palace, looking at the shattered front windows in the swinging doors.

Pike came out of the saloon and stood on the porch.

“Pony,” he said. “Where the fuck were you?”

Pony grinned and made a big circular motion with his hand.

“Round and round,” he said.

“And you fucking deputies,” Pike said. “Where the fuck you been?”

With no expression on his face, Virgil looked at Pike for a long silent moment.

Then he said, “Round and round.”

“Fucking Indian rode in here, dozen people saw him, big as life,” Pike said. “Like he’s the fucking mayor or something. Rides right up Arrow Street. Hauls out a shotgun and unloads both barrels through my windows. You know how much those cocksuckers cost me? They come all the way from fucking Saint Louis, and that fucking red nigger blows them apart and rides out.”

“Anybody hurt?” I said.

“Couple of drunks got nicked,” Pike said. “They’ll live.”

Virgil was looking at the street in front of the saloon.

“Left him an arrow,” Virgil said.

I nodded.

“I don’t give a fuck what he left. What are you gonna do about it.”

“We’ll probably chase him again,” Virgil said.

“Don’t bother,” Pike said. “I sent Kirby and J.D. after him.”

“Anybody else?” Virgil said.

“J.D. and Kirby’s usually enough,” Pike said.

Virgil nodded.

“You know why this fella shot up your saloon,” he said.

“ ’Cause he’s a fucking prairie coon, and he don’t know what else to do,” Pike said.

Virgil nodded.

“Figured there’d be a reason,” he said. “Pony, come on down to the office with us.”

“I want Pony here,” Pike said.

“None of us cares much what you want, at this here moment,” Virgil said. “Me and Everett are deputy sheriffs, and we’re planning to question Pony.”

Pike looked at Virgil. Virgil looked back. The crowd began to open up a little. I stepped away from Virgil and rested the eight-gauge barrel up on my shoulder, and thumbed both hammers back. It was so quiet that I could hear the sound of cicadas singing.

They sang for a while.

Then Pike said, “Pony, when you’re through with the deputies, come on back here, if you would.”

Pony nodded, and turned and walked down to the office with me and Virgil. Behind us, Pike went back into his saloon, and the crowd began to thin out.

“WHADDYA THINK?” Virgil said to Pony as we sat out front of the sheriff’s office and looked at things.

“J.D. and Kirby town men,” Pony said. “Good with guns, but…” He shook his head.

“Not so good on the prairie?” Virgil said.

“No,” Pony said.

“Not as good as the Indian,” Virgil said.

“No.”

“You as good as the Indian?” Virgil said.

Pony nodded.

“Better,” he said.

The stage from Barrow went past, heading for the St. Louis Hotel, the big draft horses walking easily. The driver held the reins loosely. They’d made the run so often that the horses knew when to slow down and where to go.

“This whole thing was supposed to get someone to ride out after the Indian,” I said.

“Seems so,” Virgil said.

“He didn’t go to all this trouble to get us out of town so he could ride in and shoot out Pike’s windows,” I said.

“Think he wanted J.D. and Kirby?” Virgil said.

“I think he wanted Pike,” I said.

“Makes more sense,” Virgil said. “Don’t it.”

“Certainly gotta be some reason he’s hanging around here,” I said. “ ’Stead of someplace else.”

“Same reason,” Pony said, “coyotes around dead buffalo.”

“Just that?” I said. “ ’Cause the killing is easy?”

Pony shrugged.

“Maybe,” he said.

“Any reason he might have for killing people round here?” Virgil said.

“Indian people always have reason to kill white people,” Pony said.

Virgil nodded.

“Indian always happy to kill white,” Pony said. “So this Indian come here and he kill cow and not much happen. Except he get some beef. Then he kill a man and steal his horses. He get to do something he like, and he get to take horses, and he get to look at you.”

“Us,” Virgil said.

“Yes, he get to see what you are like.”

“Same with the women?”

Pony nodded.

“Kill white man, take white women, have white women, sell white women, see what you do.”

“And now this,” Virgil said.

Pony nodded again.

“You think it’s about Pike?” Virgil said.

“Maybe,” Pony said. “Maybe about you.”

Virgil was sitting with his chair tilted back. He let it slowly come forward until it was flat.

“He’s thinking we’ll come after him,” Virgil said.

“Maybe,” Pony said.

“So maybe it ain’t about Pike,” Virgil said.

“Maybe about all,” Pony said.

“Pike and Everett and me.”

“Might,” Pony said.

“You been with Pike a long time,” Virgil said.

“Scouted for him in Army,” Pony said.

“He done anything,” Virgil said, “you know about, might rile this Indian?”

“Pike killed a lot of Indians,” Pony said.

“But you work for him,” I said.

“Half Mexican,” Pony said.

“And half Indian,” I said.

“Half Chiricahua,” Pony said. “Pike didn’t kill no Chiricahua.”

“Who’d he kill most?” Virgil said.

“Comanche,” Pony said. “Hell, I kill Comanche, too.”

“Think this Indian’s Comanche?” Virgil said.

“Don’t know,” Pony said. “It’s Comanche land. Arrow could be Comanche.”

“But you don’t know,” I said.

“Indian make arrow out of what he can find,” Pony said. “ ’Specially toy arrow he going to leave behind.”

“Name’s Buffalo Calf,” I said.

Pony shrugged.

“Speaks English good,” Virgil said.

“Me too,” Pony said.

“Sometimes,” I said, “some Indians’ camp would get wiped out and they’d take a couple kids that survived and send them to Indian school. Teach them to be good Americans.”

Virgil nodded. He sat silently for a while, then tilted his chair back again and looked at the street.

“So maybe he’s after Pike because Pike killed some Comanches when he was in the Army,” Virgil said.

“Not in battle, though,” I said. “Comanches see death in battle as honorable. Part of how things are. No reason to revenge such a death.”

“So it would be something else, then,” Virgil said.

“Maybe women, children, something like that,” I said.

“Pony?” Virgil said.

“Sí, jefe,” Pony said. “Comanche people, Chiricahua people, most Indian people, death between warriors honrosco.”

“And maybe Buffalo Calf got scooped up and sent to school,” Virgil said. “And now he’s grown up and wants revenge?”

Pony shrugged. I shrugged.

“Could be,” I said.

“So, if he’s after Pike, why all the rigmarole,” Virgil said.

“Maybe he wants Pike to know it’s him,” I said. “And to think about it. Maybe it’s got some private meaning to him.”

“And maybe we got it all wrong,” Virgil said.

“And maybe we’ll never know, even when it’s over,” I said.

“Sometimes you don’t,” Virgil said.

“Even if you went to West Point?” I said.

“Maybe even then,” Virgil said.

“Disappointing,” I said.

“Sometimes it’s just about shooting,” Virgil said.

“Least we’re good at that,” I said.

“And if it ain’t Pike?” Virgil said. “Why us?”

“Power?” I said, and looked at Pony.

Pony nodded.

“He see you come look at first dead man,” Pony said. “He see you come take women back. See you have power. He kill you. He take your power.”

“And Pike?” Virgil said.

“He kills Pike,” I said, “we still have power.”

Virgil nodded.

“Complexicated,” he said.

“Very,” I said.

Virgil looked at Pony, who was looking at nothing and seeing everything, the way Virgil did.