ROBERT PARKER - Appaloosa

“ ’Course he’s willin’ to die,” Cole said. “You think we do this kinda work ’cause we scared to die?”

Even though I couldn’t see him, I knew how he was. I’d seen him at other times. He was motionless. His six-gun was still holstered. His arms were relaxed at his side. He was looking at Vince with no expression, and his eyes were perfectly dead, like two stones.

“Any man’s scared a dying,” Vince said.

“He’s got ’em turned,” I said softly to Bragg. “They’re arguing with him.”

Bragg was silent, struggling, I assumed, with hope, fear, and rage.

“You?” Cole said.

Vince said, “Me?”

“You afraid to die,” Cole said.

“I ain’t afraid,” he said.

“Good,” Cole said. “ ’Cause you go first.”

Vince rocked very slightly back in his saddle. He probably didn’t know that he’d done it.

“Ball goes up,” Cole said. “Two things certain. Bragg’s dead. You’re dead.”

Then I could see Cole. He had stepped forward to the edge of the boardwalk so he was closer to Vince. He appeared to be looking straight at him, but he pointed, apparently without looking, off to his right.

“And the boy with the Winchester,” Cole said, “with the red scarf. He goes next.”

The way Cole could see all around him was always sort of magical. And I knew he meant it. I’d been with him in so many gunfights that I knew what he’d do. If it started, he’d shoot Vince long before Vince got a hand on his weapon; then, if there was someone with a rifle, he’d wheel in a comfortable crouch and shoot him. Then, when he’d emptied the sidearm, if he was still alive, he’d dive through the open office door and continue matters with the Winchester he kept just inside. As soon as I’d killed Bragg, of course, I would be shooting past him through the window. No one said anything for a long, quiet moment. Then Cole stepped off the boardwalk and into the street.

“Go on home, Vince,” Cole said. “Too many people die if you don’t.”

He took his hat off with his left hand and swatted Vince’s horse across the face. The horse reared and wheeled half around. Cole slapped it on the hindquarters, and the horse reared against the bit and tried to run, with Vince wrestling hard to hold him.

“Go on,” Cole said, pushing among the horses, his right hand hanging loose near his gun, his left hand slapping with the hat. “Go on home.”

It’s always one person at a time, Cole would tell me. No matter how many there are, you back them down one at a time so it’s always you against him. And he knows you’re quicker.

Vince brought his surging horse under control and held him.

“There’ll be another time, Cole,” he said.

Then he gave the horse his head, and one after the other, Bragg’s riders headed out of town.

As soon as the riders were gone, I came out of the office, still carrying the eight-gauge. I took each barrel off cock as I came.

“Whitfield run off,” I said.

“Too bad,” Cole said.

He had his hat back on and set right, and as far as you could tell, he had just gotten up from a nap.

Up the street, Allie French came out of the Boston House and ran along the boardwalk toward Cole.

“Oh, Virgil,” she said. “Virgil.”

Cole stood and waited.

“Oh, Virgil,” she said again. “Are you all right?”

“I am,” Cole said.

She ran right into him and pressed her face against his chest and put her arms around him.

“That was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen. Just you and all those men. That was wonderful.”

Cole seemed a little uneasy about what to do. Being Virgil Cole, he didn’t show much. But he stood still with his arms at his sides and didn’t look at anything.

“Everett was with me,” he said.

People had come out of the shops and saloons and housing, where they had earlier taken refuge.

“Oh, pooh on Everett,” Allie said. “He was inside, hiding. It was you out there all alone, Virgil. That was heroic.”

“Everett wasn’t exactly hiding, Allie.”

The people began to gather round, looking at Cole and Allie. I saw Katie Goode in the crowd and nodded at her. Allie lifted her face from Cole’s chest and turned toward the crowd, her arms still holding on to Cole in proud ownership.

“Isn’t that the most heroic thing you folks have ever seen?” she said.

Somebody began to clap, and then pretty soon everyone was clapping. Allie stood, holding on to Cole, smiling at the crowd as if they were clapping for her. I was watching Cole. For maybe the first time since I’d met him, he didn’t quite know what was going on. And he didn’t quite know what to do about it.

“That’ll be fine,” he said to the crowd. “That’ll be fine.”

Then he turned away and steered Allie away, and they walked into the marshal’s office.

As they went by, Cole said softly to me, “Send them home, Everett.”

After I got the crowd moving, I walked with Katie Goode back toward the Boston House.

“You need a drink?” she said.

“Be nice,” I said.

“Yesterday was payday at the mine,” Katie said. “I’ll buy.”

“Be nice,” I said.

We had a table near the bar. I drank some beer. Katie had a whiskey.

“Mr. Raines don’t normally want us to drink in here,” Katie said. “But if I’m with you, he won’t say nothing.”

“So you had more reason than just how good-lookin’ I am,” I said. “To buy me a beer.”

“Good-lookin’s enough,” she said.

Some miners who still had money left were lining the bar. The rainstorm had broken the heat, and it was cool again today, with some air moving in through the street door.

“He really is something,” Katie said. “Isn’t he?”

She had on a flowered dress with puffy shoulders and a bonnet. She could have been a ranch woman, or a miner’s wife, except she looked too good, and she smelled sort of soapy. She told me once that she washed herself all over, every day.

“Virgil?” I said. “I ain’t seen a man like Virgil Cole, ever.”

“Is he really not afraid to die?”

“Never seen no sign of it,” I said.

“Does he feel anything?”

“I don’t know. I believe he’s feeling something for Allie French.”

“Her,” Katie said.

“Don’t know how many women Virgil’s ever actually spent time with. I mean, he has women whenever he wants them, but it’s mostly in and out real quick, without much conversation.”

“Lotta men are like that,” Katie said.

“Yes,” I said. “I imagine. But I ain’t sure Virgil ever had a woman call him heroic, ’cept she was drunk and had her drawers off.”

“Did you like her little performance?” Katie said.

“Not so much,” I said.

“You think Mr. Cole liked it?”

“Hard to say what Virgil likes,” I said. “He wasn’t Virgil Cole, I’d say he might have been embarrassed.”

“Or flattered.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “Virgil don’t normally think about things like that.”

“That’s an evil woman, Everett.”

I didn’t say anything.

“She is,” Katie said. “I know about evil women, Everett, and I know about sex. And I know how silly men are about it.”

“Not all of us,” I said.

“No, you seem pretty level, Everett. I got to say that. But I’ll bet you when Mr. Cole’s not around, she flirts with you.”

“How do you know that?” I said.

“She does,” Katie said. “Don’t she?”

“Yes,” I said. “Fact is, she got kind of hot with me when we were looking at the new house Virgil’s building for her.”

Katie smiled, as if she was wise. Which she wasn’t really. But she had Allie’s number.