We rented Mrs. Redmond a buggy at the livery stable and rode out with her to her husband’s ranch. A hundred yards or so upslope from the ranch we stopped.
“You go on down,” Virgil said.
She didn’t say anything, but her face was tight and there was no color in it.
“Go ahead,” Virgil said. “We’ll be right here.”
She chucked to the horse and slapped the reins and the buggy went on down the easy slope to the ranch. As she got there the kids came out of the house and stood on the front porch. When the buggy stopped, the kids stared at their mother without moving. She said something to them, and after a moment they climbed into the buggy. The four of us sat our horses in a row on the hillside and watched. Rose on the left, Cato next to him, me, and Virgil on the right. Redmond never showed himself.
Mrs. Redmond sat in the buggy with her children for maybe an hour. The four of us sat our horses on the slope and watched. Then the kids climbed down and went to stand on the porch. The buggy turned slowly and started back up the slope. The kids watched as it went. When it reached us, she was crying.
“They want to know when I’m coming home,” she said. “They want to know when I’m going to stop being bad. They want to know if I’m mad at them. They want to know if Daddy is mad at me.”
Nobody said anything. We wheeled our horses in behind the buggy and rode in silence back to town.
“How’s that mare doing,” Virgil said to the stableman while he helped Mrs. Redmond down from the carriage.
“Good, Mr. Cole. Swelling’s way down.”
“Keep an eye on her,” Virgil said.
“You bet, Mr. Cole.”
We delivered Mrs. Redmond to her hotel room and then went into the saloon. Wolfson was waiting for us.
“Well, here it is,” Wolfson said. “The fucking pistolero benevolent society. I hire you to take care of beat-up women and old nags, for crissake?”
“You hire us to keep the peace for you,” Rose said.
He spread his hands to encompass the saloon and the street in front of it.
“Look how peaceful,” he said.
Wolfson nodded.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I know. But sometimes I’m not so sure whether you work for me or I work for you.”
“We’re in this together, Amos,” Virgil said. “We all got collaborative goals.”
“’Less I don’t pay you,” Wolfson said.
“That might change things,” Rose said. “Right, Cato?”
“Sure,” Cato said.
“Well if you ain’t too busy with your fucking charity work,” Wolfson said, “maybe you’ll be good enough to ride out with me in the morning and foreclose on a bean wrangler.”
“Can’t pay his bill?” Virgil said.
“That’s right, so I’m taking his ranch in lieu.”
“Anybody we know?” I said.
“It ain’t Redmond, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“That’s what I was asking,” I said.