ROBERT PARKER - Appaloosa

“Put that brush cutter right up against him, if you would, Everett,” Cole said. “Being sure that it’s cocked.”

It was too hard to ride tight and keep the gun under Bragg’s chin. I settled for pressing it into his side. We reached the river and moved toward the ford. At the ford, there were maybe twelve riders with guns.

“Tell them to let us pass,” Cole said.

Bragg was silent. We kept walking toward the ford. Holding the reins in his left hand, Cole drew his Colt, cocked it, and placed it carefully against Bragg’s cheekbone. If it began, Bragg didn’t have a prayer. We were bunched together, so we were barely more than a single target. Cole had a gun against Bragg’s face. The two barrels of my shotgun were digging into his side.

“What you want us to do, Mr. Bragg?” one of the riders said.

“Hold off, Vince,” Bragg said.

His voice was hoarse and strained. Vince was hatless, and there was a pale line on his forehead. He was smallish, with big hands and a big blond moustache stained with something. Tobacco juice, maybe. Maybe coffee. He sat on a blue roan gelding that looked like a runner, and he held a Winchester in one hand, the butt resting on his thigh. We kept walking our horses toward the ford. The sun was up now, still low, and the western edge of the sky still dark purple, but everyone could see clearly.

As we reached them, Bragg’s riders parted, half to one side, half to the other, and the three of us rode slowly between them. No one spoke. I could feel the pressure of the silence all through me. The only sound was the horses’ hooves and their breathing, and the creak of saddle leather. The horses hesitated at the water, but Cole and I kicked ours forward and the three of us went in. The line of riders that had parted to let us through closed ranks behind us and turned toward the river. It was as if I could feel them looking at us. It made the muscles across my back tighten. The water was higher than the stirrups; my boots and the lower half of my pants were wet. The river smelled very fresh in the early morning air. The horses climbed the far bank, and we stood for a moment on the other side. Without lowering his gun, Cole turned in the saddle and looked back across the river.

“Tell them not to follow,” he said to Bragg.

Again, Bragg was silent. I could see the flush of redness on his cheekbones.

“I’d like you dead, Bragg,” Cole said quietly. “I’m taking you in legal, like a law officer, but if you attempt to escape or impede me in my duty, I got every right to shoot you dead, and no one will say no.”

“If you kill me,” Bragg said, “then there ain’t no reason for my men not to chase you down and kill you.”

“If they can,” Cole said. “Either way, won’t make no difference to you.”

Bragg was silent. Cole was silent. The horses stood quietly, tossing their heads every once in a while for reasons of their own.

“Tell ’em not follow us,” Cole said to Bragg, “or I’ll shoot you dead right here. Right now.”

Again, there was silence. Cole’s face showed nothing. I could hear Bragg’s breathing. He looked at me.

“You?” he said.

“Both barrels,” I said.

He turned his head slowly away from Cole’s gun and looked back at the line of riders back across the river.

“Vince,” he hollered.

“Yessir, Mr. Bragg.”

“Don’t follow us. You understand.”

“They making you say that, Mr. Bragg?”

“They are. But I mean it. Stay put.”

“You say so, Mr. Bragg.”

We moved the horses forward again. A half mile from the ranch, Cole holstered his Colt, and I slid the shotgun back in the saddle scabbard.

“Do hope you’ll make a run for it,” Cole said to Bragg. “Save us all a lot of time and trouble.”

“I’m riding in with you,” Bragg said.

Which he did.

There were two jail cells along the right wall of the marshal’s office as you entered. Both cell doors stood open.

“You prefer one to another?” Cole said when we brought Bragg in.

“Don’t matter,” Bragg said. “I won’t be here long.”

“Circuit judge don’t come through for two and a half weeks, if he’s on time,” Cole said.

“I won’t be here long,” Bragg said again.

He went into the first cell and pulled the door shut behind him. I locked it and took the key. The rest of the office was very plain: a stove for winter, a big old table that Cole used for a desk, two straight chairs against the wall opposite the cells, a spittoon in the corner, and a wooden water bucket and dipper sitting on one of the chairs. Bragg sat on the cot in the cell and looked at us.

“Need to be on him all the time,” Cole said to me. “Round the clock.”

I nodded.

“I’ll stay here,” Cole said. “You go down, get something to eat, and come back. Bring him some.”

“I’ll be at the Chinaman’s,” I said. “Won’t take long.”

Cole sat down at the big table and laid his Winchester on it. I leaned my shotgun against the wall next to Cole and handed him the key to Bragg’s cell. He tossed it on the table, put his feet up, and tilted his chair back. I went to lunch.

When I came back with boiled beef and navy beans on a tin plate for Bragg, Cole was in the same position. As far as I could tell, he hadn’t moved. Except that his eyes were open, I’d have thought he was asleep. There was a small pass-through in the cell door. I passed the food in. Bragg took it silently and sat back down and set it on the cot beside him.

“I’m goin’ to have lunch with Allie,” Cole said. “Be back before suppertime. Any trouble, you fire off a couple of rounds and I’ll hear you.”

“ ’Less you’re riding at a hard gallop,” I said.

Cole stopped at the doorway and turned.

“We known each other a long time, Everett,” Cole said. “But I don’t care for them kinds of remarks, ’bout Allie French.”

“No, and you shouldn’t,” I said. “I apologize.”

Cole nodded.

“Apology accepted,” Cole said. “You meant no harm.”

He paused for a moment on his way out. Then he gestured for me to join him and stepped out onto the boardwalk. I went out with him and left the door open.

“I figure,” he said to me quietly, “that we’re going to need to keep an eye on Whitfield.”

“We’ll need him,” I said, “when the judge gets here.”

“And we have to watch Bragg,” Cole said.

“Maybe we can keep him a secret,” I said.

Cole shook his head.

“Town’s too small,” he said. “Half the people in town already know he’s back.”

“We could put him in the other cell,” I said. “Then one of us could watch them both.”

Cole was quiet for a minute.

“Yes, we’ll do that,” he said. “I’ll bring him down soon as I’ve seen Allie.”

He turned without saying anything else and started toward the hotel. I went back into the office and sat in the chair he’d vacated and turned and looked at Bragg. He looked back. Neither of us said anything. He hadn’t touched the food. After a while I put my feet up on the desk and tilted the chair back the same as Cole had and tilted my hat down and closed my eyes and had a nap.

We kept Whitfield in one cell and Bragg in the other, the only difference being that Bragg’s cell was locked. Bragg spent much of his time looking at Whitfield like a hangman looking at a felon. It made Whitfield nervous, but there was nothing to be done. He spent a lot of time sitting outside the office with me, watching whatever was happening on Main Street. When I sat out there, I left the office door open and held the eight-gauge across my lap.