Virgil and I got our horses saddled in case something went afoul and we needed to give chase. We quickly got them ready to ride in the dry of my barn. I did not have a house yet in Appaloosa, but I managed to have a place to keep our animals. It was a nice big barn I rented from the widow of a farrier who passed away a few years back, and currently she had no use for it other than to rent it to me.
I figured since Virgil had Allie to take care of and I really didn’t have anybody I needed to look after, I’d take care of our horses. We had a good lot to choose from, too. Virgil still had his stud Cortez and I had big Ajax, but I had found some good horses of late, and with the exception of doctoring a few problem areas here and there, they were all in good shape to ride. We had twelve in all, and depending on the various tasks at hand, distance, weather, terrain, and surefootedness, it was normally an easy decision which horses we saddled up.
I had two fleet bay horses I’d bought from a rancher I knew who was a good horseman. We had ridden them a lot and they both had a solid step and were easy to maintain, but mainly we felt comfortable with them in rainy weather and the dark.
“How we going to go about this?” I said.
Virgil tightened his cinch and looked over the top of his saddle to me and shook his head.
“Well,” he said. “Don’t make sense two toughs here in Appaloosa set out to collect from a local business.”
I nodded.
“Don’t really,” I said.
“They’re just the collectors,” Virgil said.
I thought about that for a moment.
“For who?” I said.
“Hard to figure.”
I nodded.
“So many shits in this town these days,” I said. “Could be any of ’em.”
“Figure the main thing is we get to the root.”
“Most likely they’re not gun hands,” I said. “More than likely they are just hired hands, acting big.”
“Leave your eight-gauge,” Virgil said. “See if we can take a friendly approach.”
It was raining even harder than it was when we departed Hal’s. We left the barn and rode winding through the streets of Appaloosa to Meserole’s, the place Hal told us the two grifters were located. Hal gave us a good account of what each man was wearing and their physical description.
We found a place across from Meserole’s to tie our horses, where they were somewhat sheltered from the rain. We covered the saddles with oilcloths and walked across the street to the gambling establishment.
There were a good number of horses hitched out front as well as a few buggies parked on the side. Most of the horses had a poncho or oilcloth covering the saddle.
Meserole’s was a gambling saloon that catered to silver miners but was also known for having plenty of ladies working there. It was popular with the younger crowd and, like it appeared to be tonight, it was usually busy.
When we entered, the parlor was noisy and crowded. I did not notice the men we were looking for, not right away, anyway, mainly because it was dark. Virgil and I shook the water from our mackintoshes and hung them by the door and waited for our eyes to adjust some. Like most places that sported hustling women, Meserole’s was dimly lit.
Once our eyes adjusted, we walked to the bar. It was an L-shaped bar with the long side facing the main barroom, where a crowd of men and women sat drinking, smoking, and playing cards and grab-ass. We found two empty stools on the short side of the L so we could have a good look at the gathering and ordered some whiskey. As I was watching the bartender pour the whiskey, Virgil nudged me in the ribs.
I looked to see a fella playing cards with two women in the corner under the landing that led to the second floor.
“That look like one of them Hal described?” he said.
“Might be.”
Virgil nodded a little, then turned away from the man so as not to draw attention. But I could look at him as clearly as if I were looking at Virgil.
“He’s big,” Virgil said. “Wearing a bowler. You see a feather in his hat?”
I watched him for a moment or two, and when he turned his head I saw the feather.
I nodded.
“Do,” I said. “He’s the older of the two Hal described, I’d say. Looks to be mid-fifties or so.”
“Don’t see any other big-chested fifty-year-old fellas wearing a bowler hat with a feather, do you?”
“Don’t,” I said.