Appaloosa

51

It wasn’t until the middle of May that I rode up in the early morning to take a look-see at Bragg’s ranch. I could smell the smoke and bacon smell from the cookshack long before I topped the rise and looked down at the place. There were horses in the corral and, as best I could make out, more in the barn. The weeds were gone from the front porch. The place looked somehow clean and busy, although I only saw two hands loafing by the corral, where they had slung their saddles on the top rail. Between the ones in the barn and those in the corral, there were horses for a considerable number of hands. I saw no sign of cattle. The two boys leaning on the fence weren’t dressed for cattle work. I sat my horse for a time, looking down. Some other hands came and went: to and from the privy, in and out of the bunkhouse, back and forth to the cookshack. None of them seemed dressed for herding cows. I got bored looking at them, so I turned my horse and rode back to town.

Cole was drinking coffee in the Boston House Saloon and studying an illustrated book about King Arthur. I stopped for a minute and watched him. He read slowly, like he always did, sometimes forming words silently with his lips, sometimes running his forefinger along under an especially hard sentence.

Without looking up he said, “Come on and set, Everett.”

I did. Tilda came and gave me coffee.

“Bragg’s back into his ranch,” I said.

Cole put the book aside.

“I know.”

“Got quite a number of hands,” I said.

“And no cows,” Cole said.

“You been up there, too,” I said.

“ ’Course I have.”

“What do you think is happening?”

“I know he bought both of Earl May’s saloons.”

“Really?” I said. “What’s Earl going to do.”

“Says he’s going to retire, go live with his daughter in Denver.”

“Maybe we should do that,” I said.

“You got a daughter someplace?” Cole said.

“No.”

“Me, either.”

“Might as well stay here then,” I said. “Where you suppose Bragg’s getting this money?”

“Heard different things,” Cole said. “Fella told me Bragg had a big silver strike in Nevada. ’Nother fella told me that Bragg and some other boys robbed a train in Mexico that was carrying gold.”

“I heard he was down along the Rio Grande with some fellas, stealing cows and horses from Mexico,” I said. “Bringing them back here and selling them to the Army.”

“Hard to get rich doing that,” Cole said.

“But easy to get killed.”

Cole nodded.

“Doesn’t sound like Bragg,” he said.

“Hard work, too,” I said.

Cole grinned.

“Doesn’t sound like Bragg,” he said.

“I heard he won a pile of nuggets from some drunken miner in a poker game in Abilene,” I said. “And I heard he took a fortune off a Wells Fargo stage in Clovis.”

Tilda came by and filled our coffee cups. Cole drank some. Then he grinned.

“Maybe he worked hard and honest for it,” Cole said.

“That’s probably it,” I said.

“What we do know,” Cole said, “is he’s got a big payroll up at that ranch for a lot of riders that so far’s I can see, don’t do nothing.”

“And he bought two saloons,” I said. “Earl get a good price?”

“Seemed happy with it.”

“Any chance Bragg run him off?”

“Don’t think so,” Cole said. “You might ask him.”

“Sure,” I said. “Why do you think he came back here?”

“Got land here,” Cole said.

“Easy enough to sell.”

“He’s got us here, too,” Cole said.

“Think it’s got something to do with us?”

“Might. Bragg was the big dog ’round here till we showed up.”

“You think it’s got something to do with pride?”

“Pride’s a funny thing,” Cole said.

I drank some more coffee and looked at Cole for a time.

“How would you know that?” I said.