“Maybe will,” Pony said.

“What do we do ’bout that?” I said.

“Be Pony’s call,” Virgil said.

“How bad is the raiding?” I said.

“Burn, torture,” Pony said. “Scare white men.”

“Don’t abide no torture,” Virgil said.

The sun had set. But the western sky was still light, and it was still darker in the shadow of the rock than it was on the prairie. We sat silently in our saddles. The horses were cropping the meager grass near the rock.

“You with them for any raids?” Virgil said.

“With them, not raid,” Pony said.

“Army after them?” Virgil said.

“Yes, but not close,” Pony said.

The horses moved slowly, looking for grass. We let them move. The sky to the west continued to darken very slowly.

After a time Virgil said, “How soon you figure they’ll get here?”

“I left them two days ago,” Pony said.

Again we were quiet. The only sound was the movement of the horses as they grazed.

“We can’t let them do it,” Virgil said.

“What about Kah-to-nay?” I said.

“We do what we can for him,” Virgil said. “But we need to stop him.”

Neither Pony nor I said anything.

“You okay with that, Pony?” Virgil said.

“Sí.”

“You gonna be involved?” Virgil said.

“Spring in hollow near rock,” Pony said. “I stay here. See them come, I ride in, tell you.”

“You gonna be with us when the balloon goes up?” Virgil said.

“Be with you,” Pony said. “Not kill Chiricahua.”

“So, what will you do?” I said.

“Maybe keep Chiricahua from kill you,” Pony said.

37

YOU HELP these two renegades escape,” Callico said. “And now you come asking me to round them up for you?”

“Giving you information,” Virgil said.

“Which I take to be bullshit,” Callico said. “Who are we fighting here? Alexander the Great?”

“They’ll lure the fighters out of town,” I said. “And come in behind you, and tear the place up.”

“Sure thing,” Callico said. “So we stay in here and let them loose on the farms and ranches. Won’t that look good.”

“Bring the small outfits in,” Virgil said. “Big ones, like Laird, can take care of themselves.”

“Well, isn’t that dandy,” Callico said. “I hide here in town with the homesteaders, and let the important land-owners fight their own battles.”

“For crissake, Callico,” I said. “This ain’t about the next election.”

“You hadn’t gone up to Resolution and warned ’em,” Callico said, “wouldn’t be having this problem.”

Virgil stood.

“Nice talking with you, Amos,” he said.

He turned and left, and I went with him.

As we walked up Main Street, Virgil said, “Horse’s ass.”

“Thinks it’s his chance to be a hero of the Indian wars,” I said.

“Like Custer,” Virgil said.

“Just like that,” I said.

“Couple ways this could go,” Virgil said.

I nodded.

“They can lure Callico out of town and come in and chew up what he’s left behind.”

“Or,” Virgil said, “they can lure him out and cut him to ribbons like they did to Custer up in Montana.”

“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.

38

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.