“Showed you how to shoot,” Virgil said. “You need to, shoot.”

Allie didn’t say anything. But she nodded and took the gun. Virgil picked up his Winchester. I picked up the eight-gauge.

Virgil looked at the women.

“Be back soon,” he said.

They both nodded. And we started up toward Arrow Street.

THERE WAS LOW CLOUD COVER preventing the moon and stars from being visible. On Arrow Street there were some coal-oil lamps. But the clouds made the side streets very black. I could barely see Virgil beside me. We could hear singing ahead, and when we reached Arrow Street, we could see the singers, Percival and his people, lined up opposite Pike’s Palace, holding torches, singing “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

Mine eyes have seen the glory…

“Jesus,” Virgil said.

… of the coming of the Lord…

At the center of the line and a little forward was Brother Percival, with Choctaw Brown beside him. Brother Percival was singing at full throat. Choctaw was silent.

… trampling out the vintage…

On the front porch of Pike’s Palace stood maybe a dozen men, all armed. Pike was there, and Abner Noonan, the new shotgun lookout, was beside Pike. I recognized most of the rest from seeing them in the Palace. There were people I didn’t see. I knew Pike had at least twenty.

… where the grapes of wrath are stored…

“Where’s the rest of Pike’s people,” I said.

Virgil nodded at the photographer’s shop across the way. There was an alley on each side of the shop, leading to Market Street. In both alley mouths I could see men.

“If the ball goes up,” I said, “Pike’ll cut them to pieces.”

“Yep.”

“We gonna do anything ’bout that?” I said.

“Nope.”

“Why not.”

“What we gain ain’t commensurate with what we might lose,” Virgil said.

He’d waited all this time to use his new word.

“So we lie back here in the weeds and watch,” I said.

“We do,” Virgil said.

“And if they start shooting, when it’s over, we’ll have that many fewer people to deal with.”

“Exactly right,” Virgil said.

… loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword…

Percival’s people plodded on through the “Battle Hymn,” with the torches dancing in the night air, and Pike and his men motionless and silent on the porch before them.

… glory, glory, hallelujah…

When they finished, everything was quiet. I could hear the torches burning. Then Percival stepped forward and up onto the porch. He stood directly in front of Pike.

“I am here to do my Father’s will,” he said. “I am here to close this pestilence and drive you from this town.”

“I’m not going to fuck with this, Percival,” Pike said. “You people bother me and a lot of you will get hurt.”

“You think we fear you?” Percival said.

“I think you should,” Pike said.

“Because we are godly does not mean we are weak,” Percival said.

He raised his fists in some sort of boxing stance. Pike looked at him in mock amazement.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he said.

Percival punched him on the chin. It took Pike by surprise and made him rock back on his heels for a moment. Then he exploded. He lunged his mass into Percival’s, and half turned and clubbed Percival across the side of the head. It turned Percival and sent him staggering backward and off the porch, where he landed facedown in the dirt. A low sound came from the assembled torchbearers. Percival rolled around in the dirt for a moment in some sort of frenzy, then turned and, sitting in the street, faced Pike. He was covered with dirt. He leveled his arm at Pike, pointing with his forefinger.

“Choctaw,” he screamed. “Kill him.”

Choctaw looked down at Percival for a minute with a half-smile and shook his head. Then he stepped up onto the porch and stood beside Pike and Abner. Percival was on his hands and knees in the street now, staring up at the men on the porch.

“Judas,” he said.

Then he scrambled around and screamed at his deacons.

“Kill them. Kill all of them.”

The deacons didn’t have a chance. Abner killed two. Choctaw killed two. Pike killed three, and a half-dozen others went down, caught in the crossfire from both sides of the street, before the rest broke and ran. When it was over, Percival was still crouched in the street. The abandoned torches flickered and guttered out. The darkness closed in a little.

Pike looked down at him without speaking. Percival didn’t move. He stayed on his hands and knees, his head hanging. Pike climbed down from the porch and walked over to him and kicked him. Percival fell on his side and doubled over.

“You be outta this town before the sun comes up tomorrow,” Pike said. “Or I’ll kill you.”

Pike turned and walked back up onto the porch and across it and into his saloon. Percival remained curled up in the street.

On the porch Choctaw said in a voice meant to sound like Percival, “Choctaw, kill him.” Then he laughed and followed Pike inside.

Percival stayed lying in the street for a while, with his knees drawn up. Then he got to his hands and knees for a time, his head hanging. Then slowly he got to his feet, and stood and looked around. The street was empty except for me and Virgil and the dead bodies of Percival’s supporters. It must have looked even emp tier to Percival. If he saw us, he didn’t care. After a time he turned and began to trudge like a man exhausted down Arrow Street toward his church. Nothing else moved in the silent darkness.

“That it for the night?” I said to Virgil.

“Let’s watch a little longer,” Virgil said.

“For what?” I said.

Virgil shrugged.

“Percival’s crazy,” Virgil said.

“And we want to see how crazy,” I said.

“Don’t hurt to see,” Virgil said.

I nodded. We stood. Percival went into the church and closed the doors behind him. A coyote trotted out from one of the alleys and sniffed the corpses. Virgil shooed him away. The coyote slunk back into the alley, looking resentful. Time passes slowly when you are doing nothing in the dark. We stood for a long time, I think. But finally, there was a kind of explosion from the church, and flames burst out of the front door. By the time we got there the building was fully burning. We had to stop maybe twenty feet away, as the heat made a barrier we couldn’t penetrate. We heard a single gunshot from somewhere in the fire, and then nothing, except the sound of the fire as it consumed The Church of the Brotherhood and, probably, the dead body of its pastor.

THE DAY AFTER WAS BRIGHT and still. The volunteer fire brigade hadn’t been able to save the church, which Percival appeared to have soaked with coal oil, but there had been no wind, and they had managed to keep it from spreading. By the time Virgil and I had slept late and eaten breakfast, and had gone to survey things, Arrow Street had been cleaned up. The undertaker had done his job. The corpses were gone and there was nothing to see but the charred ruins of the church, from which, here and there, some smoke still rose. The remnants of Brother Percival were probably in there somewhere, but no one seemed interested in looking.

“Well,” Virgil said, “let’s go visit Pike. See how part two is going to play.”

“No reason to wait,” I said.

“None,” Virgil said.

We walked up to the Palace and went in. Choctaw was in the lookout chair, and Pike was having a later breakfast than we had, sitting near the bar. I stood against the wall with the eight-gauge where I could look at Choctaw and he could look at me. Virgil walked over to Pike.

“Virgil,” Pike said. “Pull up a chair, my friend.”

Virgil sat.

“Coffee?” Pike said