Robert Parker - Blue-Eyed Devil

He stopped, drank some of his whiskey, and shook his head slowly.

“You boys know the county sheriff’s chief deputy,” Callico said.

“Stringer,” Virgil said.

Callico nodded.

“He was in town picking up a prisoner. Got a lot of regard for you boys.”

“Stringer’s a good man,” Virgil said.

“And I got a high regard for you both. I know your reputation,” Callico said. “But you can’t run a town with two different sets of law.”

“Welcome to borrow ours,” Virgil said.

Callico slammed his hand loudly on the table. Virgil didn’t appear to notice.

“Goddamn it,” he said. “I don’t want either one of you working here. That put it plain enough?”

“I’d say it was,” he answered. “You say so, Everett?”

“I do,” I said.

“Then you’ll quit,” Callico said.

“No,” Virgil said.

“No?” Callico said. “I won’t take no.”

“Everett,” Virgil said, “I think Chief Callico is trying to intimate us…”

Virgil paused and frowned and shook his head.

“No,” he said. “That ain’t right. What am I trying to say, Everett?”

“Intimidate?” I said.

“That’s it,” Virgil said. “I think the chief is trying to intimidate us.”

As quietly as I could, I cocked both hammers on the eight-gauge.

“Goddamn it, I’m telling you plain what I want,” Callico said.

“Amos,” Virgil said. “Me ’n Everett don’t much care what you want.”

“You defying me?” Callico said.

“By God,” Virgil said. “I believe we are.”

“There’s five armed men here,” Callico said.

Virgil said nothing.

“You’re willing to die rather than let me run you off?” Callico said.

Virgil shook his head.

“Don’t expect to die,” he said.

“Against five men?” Callico said.

“Expect me and Everett can kill you all,” Virgil said.

Everyone was still, except Callico. I could hear him breathing in and out, his chest heaving slowly. Then he, too, quieted. Very slowly he put both hands flat on the tabletop.

“Don’t get ahead shooting people up in a saloon,” he said, and looked at us.

Then he stood and jerked his head at the officers along the wall.

“We’ll talk again,” he said to Virgil.

And they filed out.

“Be my guess it ain’t over,” I said.

“When he finds an excuse,” Virgil said.

IF WE STAYED around the house in the morning until Allie got up, she set right in cooking us breakfast. So we tried to get out, before she woke up, and went to eat at Café Paris. Since I wasn’t a lawman these days, and I didn’t expect to shoot anybody, I left the eight-gauge in the house.

“We got to eat supper with her sometimes, so’s not to hurt her feelin’s,” Virgil said. “But I can’t face her cooking in the morning.”

“How’s the rest of it going,” I said.

“She don’t seem so crazy,” Virgil said.

“Maybe ’cause she got Laurel to take care of,” I said.

“Maybe,” Virgil said.

“Makes her feel important,” I said.

“She’s important to me,” Virgil said.

“I know,” I said.

“Sex life be better, though,” Virgil said, “Allie wasn’t sleepin’ with Laurel.”

“Maybe I could arrange for Laurel and me to take long walks in the evening,” I said.

“Might help,” Virgil said.

“And,” I said, “soon as we settle in, I’ll get a place of my own.”

“I know,” Virgil said. “But I ain’t sure Laurel can sleep by herself.”

“No,” I said. “Probably can’t.”

Virgil paid for breakfast.

“So we’re back to the long walks,” I said.

We stood.

“Thing is,” Virgil said as we left Café Paris, “Allie says she feels funny doing it now that there’s a child in the house.”

“Even if the child is out for walk?” I said. “With me?”

Virgil shrugged. We strolled along Main Street to the Boston House and sat on the front porch and looked at the town.

“Be worth a try,” Virgil said.

We sat without talking. There was nothing uncomfortable in the silence. We could sit quiet for a long time. And we’d shared a lot of silences in the years we’d been together.

The land north of Appaloosa rose gradually through the mesquite. A wagon road ran up the rise to the edge of town, where it became Main Street. From town, unless you were at the very northern edge, you couldn’t see the road. It was as if Appaloosa stood long at the edge of a cliff, and when anything entered town from that direction it seemed simply to appear. There wasn’t a lot of traffic yet on Main Street. Two freight wagons appeared, each hauled by four big draft horses, their wide hooves kicking up little scatters of dust as they came. The early stage to Blue Rock went past us, heading north with two passengers and the driver up top next to the shotgun messenger.

“Town don’t bustle much,” Virgil said, “this early.”

“Later,” I said. “It’ll bustle later.”

Virgil nodded toward the north end of Main Street.

“Couple riders,” he said.

I looked.

“So?” I said.

“Recognize anybody?” Virgil said.

“Not yet,” I said.

“One on the left’ll be Pony Flores,” Virgil said.

I studied the riders.

Then I said, “I believe it will.”

THE RIDERS pulled up and sat their horses in front of the Boston House.

“Pony,” Virgil said.

Pony nodded at him. His Stetson was tipped forward, shading his face.

“Thought you was going to live Chiricahua for a spell,” I said.

Pony shrugged and tipped his head toward the rider beside him.

“My brother,” he said, “Kha-to-nay.”

We said, “Hello.”

Kha-to-nay had no reaction.

“He speak English?” Virgil said.

“Can,” Pony said. “Won’t.”

“Don’t like English?” Virgil said.

“He raised Chiricahua,” Pony said. “Don’t like white men.”

“He understand what we say?” I asked.

“Sure,” Pony said. “But only listen Chiricahua. Only talk Chiricahua.”

“Should introduce him to Laurel,” I said. “She only talks Virgil.”

“Chiquita,” Pony said. “She is well?”

“Doin’ fine,” Virgil said. “Kinda quiet, is all.” Kha-to-nay was motionless on his horse. As far as I could tell, watching him sit a horse, he was a little shorter than Pony, and a little wider. Pony had on buckskin leggings and high moccasins. The handle of a knife showed at the top of the right moccasin. He had on a dark blue shirt that might have once belonged to a soldier, and a big horn-handled Colt on a concho-studded belt. There was a Winchester in his saddle scabbard. Kha-to-nay wore a dark suit and a black-and-white striped shirt buttoned up tight to his neck. His black hair came to his shoulders. He, too, had a Winchester, and he wore a bowie knife on his belt.

“You lawmen again?” Pony said.

“Not at present,” Virgil said.

Pony nodded.

“Need help,” he said.

“Okay,” Virgil said.

“How the law in this town?” Pony said.

“Got a police chief,” I said. “Name of Amos Callico. Seems pretty set in his ways.”

Pony looked at Virgil.

“Don’t like him,” Virgil said.

“You live someplace?” Pony said.

“Got a house,” Virgil said.

“We go there and talk,” Pony said.

“Sure,” Virgil said. “Allie be glad to see you.”

We stood, and with Pony and Kha-to-nay walking their horses beside us, we went down Main Street toward Virgil’s house.

“What’s Kha-to-nay mean, in English?” I said to Pony. Pony thought a minute.