Brimstone

17

A SHORT, THICK MAN with a big hat and a two-day growth of beard came into the sheriff’s office.

“Which of you boys is the sheriff,” he said.

“Both deputies,” Virgil said. “Sheriff’s in Del Rio.”

“Name’s Lester,” he said. “Abe Lester. I’m trail boss for an outfit with quite some number of cows milling around at the moment about a day outside of town.”

Virgil nodded.

“Virgil Cole,” he said. “This here’s Everett Hitch.”

“Pleased,” Lester said. “We’ll bring ’em in tomorrow, and I just wanted to give you boys a little notice.”

“How many cows?” Virgil said.

“ ’Bout four thousand,” Lester said. “Won’t know exact till we tally.”

“How many drovers?”

“Forty-eight,” Lester said. “Plus one wrangler, the cook, and me.”

“Can you control ’em?” Virgil said.

Lester smiled.

“Cattle? Sure,” Lester said.

“How ’bout the cowboys?” Virgil said.

“They’ll drive the cattle into town tomorrow and herd ’em into the pens,” Lester said. “That’s what they signed on for. When they’re done I pay ’em off.”

“You control them until you pay ’em?”

“Always have,” Lester said.

“And after?”

“Ain’t mine anymore,” Lester said.

“Guess they get to be mine,” Virgil said. “And Everett’s.”

“I’d say so,” Lester said.

“Why they pay us,” Virgil said.

“You the same Virgil Cole was in Abilene a while back?” Lester said.

“I was in Abilene.”

“So I guess you know how,” Lester said.

“We do,” Virgil said.

Lester looked at me and nodded.

“One other thing, I guess you should know,” Lester said. “Two, two and a half days ago, we run into a few Indians.”

“Comanche?”

“Probably,” Lester said. “They slaughtered a couple of cows.”

“You see ’em?”

“Nope.”

“How you know it was Indians.”

“One of the drovers is a breed,” Lester said. “Can read sign. Says the horses weren’t shod. Actually, said it might be only one horse.”

Virgil nodded.

“So it might be only one Indian,” he said.

“Maybe. Either way. Somebody left an arrow stuck into one of the dead steers,” Lester said. “Like some kind of sign.”

“Your breed know what?” Virgil said.

“Garr don’t know. Says it looks like a Comanche arrow, but he don’t know why it’s there.”

“Didn’t kill the steer with it?” Virgil said.

“Nope. Shot the steer with a rifle.”

“Everett?” Virgil said.

“Sounds like somebody wanted you to know something,” I said.

“Sign?” Virgil said.

“I was here,” I said.

“Why would somebody want us to know?” Virgil said.

“Don’t know,” I said. “Fella who left it wouldn’ta known you had a tracker. Maybe he wanted you to know it was Comanche that slaughtered your cows.”

“You go after them?” Virgil said.

“Nope, let ’em have the beef. Figured it would keep them from bothering us anymore.”

“And it did?”

Lester nodded.

“Guess so,” Lester said. “There wasn’t many of ’em, Garr says.”

“And there’s fifty-one of you,” Virgil said.

“Yep, all with Winchesters.”

“That mighta kept them from bothering you,” Virgil said.

“Coulda been a factor,” Lester said.

“You staying around after you pen the herd?” Virgil said.

“Nope. I’ll stay for the tally. Then I’m on a train to Fort Worth. Take a bath, get drunk, find a woman, and do all of it by myself.”

“Thanks for stopping by,” Virgil said.