“Fella owes him money and don’t pay,” I said. “What’s Wolfson supposed to do.”
“That ain’t how it is,” Redmond said.
“How is it,” I said.
Redmond finished his second drink and poured himself another one.
“Most of us grow a few crops for the kitchen, but if we make any money it’s from cows. None of us got enough head to matter a hell of a lot, but we sort of pool them, let ’em graze over all our ranges, and then sell them, mostly to Fort Rucker and the reservation. But we don’t deal with the Army, or the Indian agent, there’s too many of us, and none of us got enough cattle by ourselves, and the government won’t deal with us except through a cattle broker.”
“Wolfson?” I said.
Redmond nodded.
“I’m sure he’s bribing the Indian agent, maybe the quartermaster at the Fort, too, I don’t know. But by the time the deal is done we ain’t getting much for our beef. And he’s the only broker around. And we got no choice.”
“And because you don’t have much money, and you got to buy things like flour and coal oil…” I said.
“And bridle bits, and horseshoes, and cloth, and nails, and needles, and everything else we can’t grow,” Redmond said.
“You have to charge it at the Blackfoot Emporium,” I finished.
“For way too much, and when we can’t pay he takes the land, and we’re tenants.”
“And there’s no other store around,” I said.
“Nope.”
I smiled.
“The company store,” I said.
Redmond nodded. But he didn’t smile.
“So what are you trying to do?” I said.
“Just like we can pool our cows, we want to pool ourselves. We ain’t big ranchers, but we could be like a big ranch, if we all associated. Then we could broker our own cattle, and maybe establish our own store, and maybe make a living.”
“Wolfson probably don’t want that to happen,” I said.
“’Course he don’t,” Redmond said. “He’s told us that. He says we try organizing like that and we’re headed for big trouble.”
“Where’s O’Malley stand in all this,” I said.
“He might help us, he’d do pretty much anything to fuck Wolfson up.”
“Why?”
“He wants to replace Wolfson.”
“Ah,” I said. “That explains Cato and Rose.”
“It explains Wickman, too, and it explains you.”
“I guess it does,” I said. “O’Malley hired Wickman to intimidate Wolfson. So Wolfson hired me to intimidate Wickman. So Eamon doubled down and hired Cato and Rose to intimidate me. Now it’s Wolfson’s turn.”
“If you won’t help us,” Redmond said, “I guess we got to turn to O’Malley.”
“And if O’Malley wins?” I said.
“Maybe it’ll be better.”
I shook my head.
“Still the same,” Redmond said. “Except Eamon be squeezing us ’stead of Wolfson.”
I nodded.
“Probably right,” Redmond said.
He looked into his nearly empty glass for a time, then finished the drink.
“So will you think about this?” he said.
“I wish you well,” I said. “But you need to understand. Fella like me got nothing much that’s worth anything, ’cept his gun and his word. When I hired on with Wolfson it’s like I sort of gave him my word I wouldn’t hire on against him first chance I got.”
“I just want the gun,” Redmond said.
“Sort of goes with the word,” I said.
Redmond nodded.
“I’ll talk with O’Malley,” he said.
“He’ll be no better than Wolfson,” I said.
“Can’t be worse,” Redmond said. “Step at a time.”
I nodded.
“You know,” Redmond said, “the only safe place in town right now is here?”
I shrugged.
“You seem like you’re a decent man, Hitch,” Redmond said. “I hope we don’t have to go against you.”
“We’ll see,” I said.
18.
Virgil and I took the horses out for a ride south of town on a bright morning.
"Ain’t good for ’em,” Virgil said. “Standing around in the livery all the time, eatin’.”
It was low rolling land where the small ranches were, and we let the horses amble.
“Lotta grass,” Virgil said.
“Government land mostly,” I said. “Ranchers are home-steading. ”
“They free-range the cattle?” Virgil said.
“They say that they graze them on all the homesteads,” I said.
“You believe that?”
“No.”
“Never saw government land people didn’t free-range,” Virgil said.
“Government’s a long way away,” I said.
“Enough land to support a lot of cattle,” Virgil said.
“Homesteaders are trying, I guess, but nobody got the money,” I said. “They’re talking about organizing.”
“Who got the money?” Virgil said.
“Wolfson,” I said. “Fella named Eamon O’Malley, runs a copper mine. Probably fella runs the lumber business, Fritz Stark.”
“Any of them interested?”
“In a cattle operation?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t know,” I said. “Ranchers say that Wolfson’s trying to run them off their land.”
“Tell me ’bout that,” Virgil said.
I did.
When I was done Virgil said, “Sounds effectual.”
I nodded. We let the horses stop for a time and eat some grass.
“This O’Malley fella,” Virgil said. “Think he’ll let that happen?”
I shrugged.
“He hired Cato and Rose for something,” I said.
“He did,” Virgil said.
We pulled the horses back up from the grass and moved on.
“We gonna look for Allie?” I said after a while.
“I guess,” Virgil said.
“When?”
“When you get through here,” Virgil said.
“I can get through when I want to.”
Virgil shook his head.
“Gonna be trouble,” he said. “You know it. I know it.”
“Might be,” I said.
“You ain’t going anyplace until that’s settled.”
“Why not?” I said.
“’Cause you ain’t,” Virgil said. “Neither would I. It ain’t how we are.”
“You gonna hang around and wait?” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
“’Cause you get lonesome without me?” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
“And I listen when you talk,” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
“And you don’t want me to have to go up against Cato and Rose alone.”
Virgil grinned at me.
“Uh-huh,” he said.
The sun was warm. There was a little breeze. We let the horses drink at a stream that wound down out of the high ground to the north. Then we moved on.
“We go looking for Allie,” I said, “where we gonna look?”
“Texas,” Virgil said. “She was always talking ’bout Texas.”
“Texas is big,” I said.
“It is,” Virgil said.
“What happens when we find her?”
“We’ll see,” Virgil said.
“You ain’t gonna kill her?”
“No,” Virgil said. “Can’t kill her. Why I killed him.”
I nodded.
“You take up with her again, Virgil,” I said, “she’ll probably do this again.”
“Maybe,” Virgil said. “Won’t know what’s gonna happen next, ’less we find her.”
“That would be true,” I said.
19.
I’m having a drink with Eamon O’Malley this afternoon, ” Wolfson said to me. “Two o’clock. I’d just as soon you were there.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Bring the eight-gauge,” Wolfson said.
“Sure,” I said.
The eight-gauge and I were in the lookout chair by quarter to two. The saloon was nearly empty. Couple of teamsters who had already unloaded and had time to kill until they were reloaded. A rancher whose wife was probably running up a bill at the Blackfoot Emporium. Three lumberjacks who weren’t working for whatever reason they had. Wolfson came in through the hotel entrance and went to a table in the front of the saloon two tables from me. He saw me and nodded slightly. There was no one else near us. Patrick brought him a bottle and two glasses.