Robert Parker - Blue-Eyed Devil

“Or both,” I said.

Virgil stopped and looked at me and thought about it, and nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I was Kah-to-nay I’d do both. While I had them chasing after me out on the plains I’d come in here and fuck up the town. I’d let a few people escape so they’d run to Callico.”

“And when Callico come roaring back into town with blood in his eye, you’d have a spot picked out, and you’d ambush him,” I said.

“Both birds with one shot,” Virgil said.

“If Kha-to-nay’s that smart,” I said.

“Don’t know ’bout Kah-to-nay,” Virgil said. “But Callico’s that stupid.”

“He is,” I said. “So, what do we do?

“We stay in town,” Virgil said. “Can’t be leaving Allie and Laurel alone.”

“Might take more’n you and me,” I said.

Virgil grinned.

“Most things don’t,” he said.

“Two dozen Apache warriors?” I said.

“Might be time to have a talk with General Laird,” Virgil said.

“Providing he don’t shoot us on sight,” I said.

“He’s got Chauncey Teagarden for that,” Virgil said.

“And Chauncey ain’t ready yet.”

“How do you know he ain’t ready?” I said.

“Know boys like Teagarden all my life,” Virgil said. “He likes to play with it first.”

“And he might want us around to help with the two dozen Apaches,” I said.

THE LAZY L still had the layout it had when it was Randall Bragg’s place. But a lot of sprucing had been done since Bragg’s rat pack had moved on. We sat in the big front room of the main ranch building while we waited for General Laird, and drank scotch whiskey that a Chinese houseboy poured for us from cut-glass decanters.

“They sell the stuff in them bottles?” Virgil said.

“Nope, sell it in regular bottles,” I said. “Those are decanters.”

“Don’t look like they’d travel good,” Virgil said.

“No,” I said. “They don’t.”

General Laird came in through a side door. Teagarden was with him. Chauncey wasn’t wearing a hat indoors. He had on a ruffled white shirt and a black silk vest. The ivory handle of his Colt gleamed on his hip. Virgil and I both got to our feet.

“Enjoy my whiskey?” the general said.

“Surprised you offered it,” Virgil said.

“No man comes to my home without the offer of a drink,” the general said. “Even you.”

A little off to the general’s right, and a step behind him, Chauncey smiled at us.

“Virgil,” he said. “Everett.”

We both nodded.

On the wall over the big fireplace at one end of the room was a painting of General Laird in full CSA uniform. There were photographs of the general alone and with his troops. On the buffet at the other end of the room was a painting of a good-looking young woman, probably the general’s wife when they were young. And beside it, ornately framed, was a recent photograph of Nicky Laird.

“No reason to pretend we’re friends,” Virgil said. “Got some renegade Apaches jumped the reservation. Coming this way.”

“Riders?” the general said.

“Yep.”

“How many?”

“Maybe fifteen, twenty,” Virgil said. “Maybe a few more.”

“Hell,” the general said. “We got ’em outgunned on this ranch.”

“Ain’t gonna fight ’em on this ranch,” Virgil said.

“They gonna chop up some of the small spreads outside Appaloosa.”

The general nodded.

“Till they form a posse and go chasin’ them,” the general said. “And the Apaches swing in behind ’em and hit the town.”

“Yep.”

“Callico ought to bring in all the folks can’t defend themselves,” the general said. “And stay in the town.”

“Yep.”

“He won’t,” the general said.

“Nope,” Virgil said.

“Callico’s a horse’s ass,” the general said.

“I thought he was your man,” I said.

“Best I’ve got,” the general said. “How you know all this ’bout the Apaches?”

“Fella told me,” Virgil said.

“Ever fight Indians?” the general said.

“Some,” Virgil said. “Everett here’s fought a lot of them.”

“Army?” the general said.

I nodded.

“Everett’s been to West Point,” Virgil said.

“Went there once myself,” the general said, “when it was all the same country.”

“Still is,” I said.

The general shrugged slightly.

“Never owned a slave,” he said. “Don’t believe in it. You boys can’t explain things to Callico?”

“Wants to be a hero of the Indian wars,” Virgil said.

“Against fifteen reservation Apaches,” the general said.

“Yep.”

“Can’t give you none of my boys to protect the town,” the general said. “They gotta protect the ranch.”

“Know that,” Virgil said. “But I figured you could give me Chauncey.”

The general stared at Virgil for a considerable period. Then he looked at Chauncey.

“Sure,” Chauncey said. “I can give you a hand.”

VIRGIL AND I were sipping corn whiskey on Virgil’s veranda when we looked up and Pony was there, soundlessly sitting his horse in the shadows.

“They are here,” he said.

“Where?” Virgil said.

“Hills, south, near water falling,” Pony said.

Virgil glanced at me.

“Squaw Falls,” I said. “Couple hours’ ride.”

“Who’s out that way?” Virgil said.

“Compton McCaslin, works the place with his two sons,” I said.

“Any hands?” Virgil said.

“Nope.”

“Women?”

“Wife of one of the sons,” I said.

“They will kill men,” Pony said. “Burn ranch. Rape woman, and send her into town.”

Pony looked up at the moon in the black sky.

“Probably happen by now,” he said.

“Maybe Callico can send some people out to bring the other settlers in,” Virgil said.

“Kah-to-nay like that,” Pony said.

“Because it will split up the white-eye force,” Virgil said.

“Pick off some, make more come,” Pony said. “Good both ways.”

“You think he’s watching the town?” I said.

“Yes.”

“He know you’re here?” Virgil said.

“No.”

“You’re sure?” I said.

Pony looked at me.

“You’re sure,” I said.

I looked at Virgil.

“Can’t save everybody,” I said.

“You can’t,” he said. “Pony, you staying.”

“I stay,” Pony said.

“How you want to play it with your brother?” Virgil said.

“Get him away, before he killed,” Pony said.

“How you want us to play it?” Virgil said.

“Same, if you can. If you can’t, you have to do what you do.”

“Everett,” Virgil said. “Time for you to ride on up to General Laird’s and collect Chauncey Teagarden. Tell the general he might want to put some pickets out, too.”

THEY FOUND the woman lying naked in the south stage road. She had been badly beaten, but she was alive, the blood drying dark on her pale body. The shotgun messenger put his coat around her and held her half across his lap while the driver pushed the tired team hard into Appaloosa.

Virgil and I watched from in front of the Boston House as they took her up the outside stairs to Dr. Peloquin’s office above the Café Paris. A crowd gathered outside. Callico showed up promptly, pushed through the crowd, up the stairs, and into Peloquin’s office. The saloons began to empty out. The crowd got bigger.

With his hat tilted down over his forehead and his arms folded across his chest, Virgil leaned against one of the roof’s support posts.

“Here we go,” he said.

“Callico got down there quick,” I said.