Brimstone

19

ALL ALONG ARROW STREET it was pretty much the same. They’d had trail drives before.

“But nothing this size,” I said to the manager at a saloon called The Cheyenne Gentleman’s Bar.

“No,” he said. “That’s true. But we got Roy here.”

He nodded at a hugely fat bouncer near the door.

“And I hear tell you boys know how to keep order.”

We moved on.

“They don’t get it,” I said to Virgil. “They ain’t never experienced forty-eight or so soused cattle drivers with cash in their pockets, blowing in all at once, with a big thirst and a fearsome hard-on.”

“May not turn out to be so proud of all them extra cattle pens,” Virgil said.

At a woman’s clothing store, the owner spoke to Virgil.

“I believe I’ll be closing,” she said, “while those cowboys are loose in town. I don’t sell things cowboys want anyway.”

“Might have wives or girlfriends at home,” Virgil said.

“They won’t be buying things for the wife on their first night off the trail,” the woman said. “Maybe the night they leave.”

“Guilt?” I said.

“Guilt,” she said.

Aside from the dress-shop lady, most of the places along Arrow Street were thinking less about damage and more about profit. Virgil’s reputation probably accounted for a lot of that. None of them could imagine somebody standing up to him… assuming the standee knew his reputation.

We paused in front of The Church of the Brotherhood.

“Suppose Brother Percival got the same right to know as anybody else,” Virgil said.

“ ’Less God already told him,” I said.

We walked up the steps and in through the pen doors. Inside, it was dim in its flint-blue way, and the organ was playing. We walked forward toward the altar and turned and looked up into the choir loft. It was Allie.

“Thought it sounded pretty bad,” Virgil said.

“Loud, though,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“Well, she ain’t singing,” I said.

“Hallelujah,” Virgil said.

Brother Percival strode gravely up the aisle.

“Isn’t she wonderful?” he said, nodding at Allie above.

“Wonderful,” Virgil said.

“She’s practicing now,” Percival said.

“Good,” Virgil said.

“Pretty little woman,” Percival said. “Been coming here every day for morning service. Last week she asked if she could try playing the organ. Now she plays every day.”

“Big trail herd being delivered here tomorrow,” Virgil said. “Town will be full of drunken cowboys.”

“Why is that my concern?”

“Might cause some trouble,” Virgil said.

“That should be your concern.”

“Is,” Virgil said. “Why I’m coming around… making a tactical assessment.”

“We can take care of ourselves,” Brother Percival said. “Ours is a muscular and militant Christianity.”

“Being as Choctaw is one of your deacons, made me kind of suspect that,” Virgil said.

“Deacon Brown is a fine church member,” Percival said.

“Sure,” Virgil said.

“And I can’t believe these cowboys would invade a church,” Percival said.

“Ain’t likely,” Virgil said.

“But if they should, we can and will defend ourselves.”

“Only thing is,” Virgil said, “if you got to defend yourself, I’d like to be sure that Choctaw don’t get too militant and muscular.”

“Deacon Brown, like all of us here in the congregation, will do what he must,” Percival said.

“Don’t we all,” Virgil said.

“It is God’s work,” Percival said.

Virgil nodded and looked up in the choir loft where Allie was still laboring over the organ. I didn’t recognize what she was playing.

“Hope so,” Virgil said.