Brimstone

20

ABE LESTER BROUGHT HIS HERD in from the south, right after sunrise. He trailed them along the river so he wouldn’t have to run them through town. At the pens they made a lot of noise and kicked up a lot of dust as the drovers herded them in. It took nearly all day to get them penned, and by midafternoon the dust was hanging over the town like smoke above a brush fire.

When Lester began to pay off the drovers, Virgil and I strolled down to observe.

“Every man taken care of his string, Spanish?” Lester said to a Mexican cowboy standing to the side.

“Sí,” the vaquero said. “All in the remuda pen, been rubbed down, got feed and water.”

We were in the tally shack at the pens. Lester was at a table with a big box in front of him. Virgil and I stood behind him. Both of us were wearing our badges. I was carrying the eight-gauge, which almost always got people’s attention.

Before the first man stepped up to be paid, Virgil spoke.

“My name’s Virgil Cole,” he said. “Fella with the eight-gauge is Everett Hitch. We want to welcome you to Brimstone. We want you to have a hell of a good time in Brimstone. And we want you to do it without hurting anybody or breaking anything.”

No one said anything.

Finally, Lester spoke.

“I pay you off,” he said, “and you don’t have no reason to do what I tell you anymore.”

From the back of the line somebody gave a soft rebel yell. A couple of the men laughed.

“On the other hand,” Lester said, “I got no obligation to help you out, you get in trouble. I assume some of you boys know who Virgil Cole is.”

Nobody spoke.

“Okay,” Lester said.

The drovers came up, one at a time, still sweating, with dust caked on their faces, and took their money. Several of them looked us over. None of them said anything. The Mexican wrangler was the last. With the money distributed and the box empty, Lester closed the lid and stood.

“Good luck with them,” he said.

Virgil nodded.

Lester put the box under his arm and walked out of the tally shed.

“Lotta cowboys,” I said to Virgil.

“Yep.”

“Don’t seem a bad lot,” I said.

“Yet,” Virgil said.

“Some of them were heeled,” I said. “Some weren’t.”

“Don’t matter if they’re heeled right now,” Virgil said.

“I know,” I said.

“Matter more tonight,” Virgil said.

“What’s your guess?” I said.

“ ’Bout tonight?” Virgil said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Think we’ll have to kill one?”

“Might,” Virgil said.