Me and Virgil were sitting on the front porch of the Blackfoot Hotel. Across the street at Zorn Tully’s old saloon, there was a new sign in place that read O’Malley’s New Excelsior. There was a lot of traffic on the street. Horsemen coming in, mostly. Some of them Eamon’s. Some of them ours.
“You ever heard about the Battle of Waterloo?” I said to Virgil.
“In Europe?” Virgil said.
“Uh-huh. The Duke of Wellington defeated Napoléon there.”
“Napoléon was the Empire of France, wasn’t he?”
“Something like that,” I said.
I knew he meant emperor.
“When I was at the Academy,” I said, “we had to read about it. The Duke’s army was full of riffraff, a lot of them had been grabbed off the street by press gangs, a lot of them been let out of prison to fight.”
Virgil nodded, watching the horsemen.
“So,” I said. “Somebody asks the Duke before the battle how he feels about his army. And he says, ‘I don’t know if they will scare the French, but they scare the hell out of me.’”
Virgil smiled and nodded as he watched the horsemen. Three riders pulled up in front of where we were sitting. The one closest to us was a kid with his hat brim turned up in front, and a feeble-looking little beard starting on his face. He had a Winchester in the saddle boot, and a big showy Colt with a white handle on his hip.
“You Virgil Cole?” he said.
“I am,” Virgil said.
“I heard you was the best,” the kid said.
Virgil shrugged.
“So far,” he said.
“My name’s Henry Boyle,” the kid said.
Virgil nodded.
“Lotta people claim I’m as good as anybody,” the kid said.
“Nice to know,” Virgil said.
“You working for Wolfson?” the kid said.
“I’m with Hitch,” Virgil said.
“Hitch working for Wolfson?”
“I am,” I said.
“Well, we’re on the same side, I guess,” the kid said.
Virgil said nothing.
The kid looked at Virgil. Virgil looked back. The kid glanced at the other two riders. They didn’t have anything to say. The kid looked back at Virgil, then at me. Nobody had anything to say.
“Well, nice talking to you,” the kid said.
Virgil nodded. The three riders moved on toward the livery.
“What the fuck is Willy Beck sending us?” I said.
“Not much,” Virgil said.
“I’ll bet Wolfson haggled on price,” I said.
Virgil looked after the departing Henry Boyle.
“And lost,” Virgil said.