63
THE RAIN had picked up again by the time we got to the Lazy L. We hung our coats and hats in the front hall and went into the living room to sit by the big stone fireplace and let the fire dry us out.
The houseboy poured whiskey.
“Fine-looking decanter,” Virgil said.
He loved learning a new word and tried to use it as often as possible. The results weren’t always pretty, but he got this one right.
“I’m going after Callico,” the general said.
“So I understand,” Virgil said.
“I employ cattle hands. Not gunmen. They were ready to fight the Indian raid, self-defense. They are not ready to fight Callico and his police force.”
“No volunteers,” Virgil said.
The general drank some whiskey.
“None,” he said.
“Bad odds,” Virgil said.
The general nodded.
“They’re cowboys,” he said. “That’s what they signed on for.”
“And what did you sign on for?” I said.
“You remember what they taught us at West Point about honor and duty and country.”
I smiled.
“Vaguely,” I said.
“I fought on the wrong side in the wrong war because I felt to do otherwise would have been dishonorable. I still think so.”
“That war’s over,” I said.
“I cannot let this bandit take over the town like some Mongolian warlord,” the general said.
“Not sure Appaloosa’s worth dying for,” I said.
“We’ll help you,” Virgil said.
“I will pay you well,” the general said. “And any men you can enlist.”
“This one’s free,” Virgil said.
“Our history will be put aside for the duration,” the general said.
I was looking at Virgil. He generally had the moral scruples of a tarantula. And he declined to work for free.
“You work for free, you’re just a gunman,” he always said. “You do it ’cause you like it.”
Which was maybe some kind of moral scruple.
“Chauncey,” Virgil said. “You’re in.”
“Surely am,” Chauncey said.
“Pony?”
“Sí.”
“Everett and me, that’s four.”
“I am five,” the general said.
Virgil almost spoke but held it back.
“You think Cato and Rose might come down from Resolution for this?”
“I’d say they owe us,” I said.
“That’d make seven,” Virgil said. “Anybody got anybody else?”
No one spoke.
“Okay, twenty-five to seven,” Virgil said. “And since the seven is us, odds ain’t bad.”
He held his glass out.
“Reach me that there decanter, Pony,” he said.
Pony looked at him blankly.
“That there fancy bottle,” Virgil said. “Called a decanter.”
Pony nodded and poured Virgil a drink. Everyone else had a second.
“You have, I assume, engaged in this kind of operation before,” the general said.
“Yes, sir,” Virgil said.
“Do you wish my help in the planning?”
“No, sir,” Virgil said.
“I rather thought you wouldn’t,” the general said. “What’s the first step?”
“Pony’ll ride up and get Cato and Rose,” Virgil said.
“Do you have a plan?” the general said.
“Need to get an idea of Callico’s plan, and adjust to it,” Virgil said.
“A strategy, then?”
“Kill Callico and not get killed doin’ it,” Virgil said. “But first we gotta let him know we’re coming and see what preparations he makes.”
“How you going to do that?” the general said.
Virgil looked at me. I grinned.
“We’ll tell Allie,” I said.