Resolution - Паркер Роберт Б. - Страница 17

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We could head for Texas,” I said to Virgil.

“We could,” Virgil said.

“I don’t owe Wolfson anything,” I said.

“Nope.”

“You haven’t even taken his money.”

“True,” Virgil said.

“Cato and Rose will probably stay,” I said.

“Probably,” Virgil said.

We were working the horses again. We’d already let them stroll. Then we’d breezed them pretty hard for a while. Now, with the reins looped over the saddle horn, we were letting them browse along, nibbling grass.

“We could head for Texas,” I said.

“Could,” Virgil said.

“Ain’t we just had this talk?” I said.

“Yep.”

“So why don’t we head for Texas,” I said.

“Ain’t time yet,” Virgil said.

“Because?”

Virgil leaned back in his saddle and looked up at an eagle circling slow and easy on the air currents in the sky.

“Don’t want Wolfson running the town,” Virgil said.

“Why not?”

“Same reason we didn’t want that mob lynching Cato and Rose,” Virgil said.

“’Cause it would be against the law?”

Virgil shook his head. The horses moseyed along, reins loose, head down, nosing at the grass.

“I ain’t a lawman,” he said.

“Good thing,” I said. “Ain’t nothing happened here since I got here had anything to do with law.”

“Had to do with us shooting better than them,” Virgil said.

“It did,” I said.

“Better than shootin’ worse,” Virgil said.

There was a stream to the right. In the late summer it would probably be dry. But for now, it came up near the bottom of the hills behind us and found its way down a shallow wash to the bigger stream that ran among the homestead ranches. The horses smelled it and veered over to it and drank from it. Virgil patted his horse’s neck quietly while he drank.

“Don’t feel bad about anything I done here,” I said.

Virgil patted his horse some more. He nodded.

“I know,” he said.

You got any money left?” I said.

“Not much,” Virgil said.

“Me either.”

“Don’t need much,” Virgil said.

“Got to have some,” I said.

“Maybe we should work for Wolfson,” Virgil said. “While we see how things develop.”

“And if they develop wrong?”

“Don’t know about wrong,” Virgil said. “But Wolfson shouldn’t run the whole town.”

“With Cato and Rose to back him.”

“So if it goes that way, we quit?”

“Probably,” Virgil said.

“And do what?” I said.

“Can’t say.”

“Might have to go against Cato and Rose,” I said.

“Might.”

“And you’re willing?”

“Yep.”

“Yesterday you was saving their lives,” I said.

“We was,” Virgil said.

“What’s the difference?”

“Don’t know,” Virgil said. “Maybe we’ll find out.” We picked up our reins and lifted the horses’ heads and pointed them back toward town.

“Virgil,” I said as the horses walked toward home, “I get killed while you figure out what you are, I’m gonna resent it.”

Virgil nodded.

“Don’t blame you,” he said.

So we were all working for Wolfson. Me and Virgil doing lookout duty at the Blackfoot. Cato and Rose doing the same at the Excelsior. It was a lot more firepower than either saloon needed. And we all knew it. But we also all knew that keeping order in a couple of saloons was not why Wolfson paid us. It was just something useful to do while we waited.

On a wet Tuesday morning Virgil and I, with our hats pulled down and our collars turned up, rode through the hard rain, up to the copper mine with Wolfson.

“We couldn’t do this tomorrow?” I said to Wolfson.

“Decided to do it today,” Wolfson said. “Gonna do it today. When I do business, I do business.”

Wolfson looked sort of funny on horseback, out in the daylight. He had on a black slicker and a big hat, and seemed out of place.

“Fine,” I said.

Virgil said nothing. I knew he could barely tolerate Wolfson.

At the mine we put the horses under a tarpaulin shelter beside the mine shack and went on and had some coffee with the mine foreman, a tall, stoop-shouldered guy with a lot of gray beard. His name, he said, was Faison.

“Sorry about the trouble up here last week,” Wolfson said. “I hope no miners were hurt.”

“Nope, we stayed low,” Faison said.

“Smart,” Wolfson said.

“You taking over the mine?” Faison said.

“I’d like to do that,” Wolfson said. “Keep everybody on, promote you to mine manager.”

“More money?” Faison said.

“Of course,” Wolfson said.

Faison nodded.

“Nobody misses O’Malley,” Faison said. “Or the gun hands he brought in, neither.”

He looked at Virgil and me.

“No offense,” he said.

I shook my head. Virgil said nothing.

“Only thing anybody misses is payday,” Faison said. “You keep the paydays in order, we’ll be happy to work for you.”

“Excellent,” Wolfson said. “You bring the books into town soon as you can, go over them with Hensdale, my chief clerk, at the emporium.”

“I know Hensdale,” Faison said.

“Good.” Wolfson raised his coffee cup. “Here’s to bigger and better paydays.”

Faison nodded and raised his cup. Virgil and I did nothing. Wolfson might have glanced at us. It was always hard to tell because of the random eye.

“One favor,” Wolfson said after he’d put his cup back down. “I’d like a new sign that says Wolfson Mining.”

“Sure,” Faison said.

He and Wolfson shook hands, and we left. It was still raining steady, and the horses were not happy to leave the shelter of the tarpaulin.

“We going to talk with Stark?” I said.

“Wolfson said we were.”

“I wouldn’t expect much from Stark,” I said.

“Fritzie is smart,” Wolfson said. “He’s a businessman. He sees how the landscape has changed.”

I glanced at Virgil. He shrugged. The rain slanted in on us riding east. Virgil rode the same way as he did when it was sunny or cold or windy or not. Things didn’t make much impression on Virgil Cole. He just went on being Virgil Cole… except about Allie. We rode across the face of the hill for an hour to Stark’s lumber operation. The rain didn’t encourage talking. We left the horses under cover in a lumber shed and went to the office. Stark let us in.

“What the hell do you want, Wolfson?” Stark said.

“Just stopping by, say hello, talk about how things have changed.”

“I got no interest in talking with you,” Stark said. “And I don’t care what’s changed and what hasn’t.”

“I thought maybe we should talk about partnering up.”

“Partnering up?” Stark said. “With you?”

“Fritzie, look around,” Wolfson said. “I got this whole town, hell, the whole west slope, tied up pretty tight. It’s to your fucking benefit, you know? To partner with me.”

“Wolfson,” Stark said, “you are a greedy, slimy, pig-fucking sonovabitch. I wouldn’t partner with you in Paradise. You’re a thief. You’re a back shooter. You’re a fucking coward hiding behind vermin like these two.”

“You better think about what you’re saying,” Wolfson said.

“I’ve thought all I want to about it, you walleyed cock-sucker, ” Stark said. “I ain’t afraid of you or your two gunners, neither.”

“Maybe you’ll learn to be,” Wolfson said.

“And maybe I won’t,” Stark said.

He picked up an ax handle that lay on his desk.

“So unless you’re ready to fucking shoot me now,” he said, “get out of my office and off my land.”

Wolfson stared at him. Stark took a step toward him with the ax handle raised. Wolfson took a quick back step.

“No,” he said. “We won’t shoot you today.”

“Then get your ass out of here,” Stark said.

“But there’s no guarantees about another day,” Wolfson said. “Think on it.”

“Fuck you,” Stark said.

An argument like that doesn’t leave you with much to say. Wolfson turned and strode out of the lumber office. Virgil grinned at Stark for a moment, then we went after Wolfson. When we were on our mounts and heading back toward town, nobody said anything.

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