We had a miner in jail for beating up a whore named Big Ass Sally Lowe, and I had sat and listened to him all day. Now it was Cole’s turn, and I went up to the Boston House Saloon for supper and a drink.
The saloon at the Boston House was looking good. There was a big, new, dark mahogany bar, and a big, new, gilt-trimmed mirror behind it, and a big chandelier with a lot of cut glass in the middle of the room. There were four card tables in the back and a man to deal faro. Bragg had made a deal with Phil Olson, the lone remaining alderman, for a special deputy with powers limited to the hotel, who sat lookout with a shotgun in a high chair near the faro layout.
Allie had a new piano to play, which was a waste of money, and she was playing hard when I sat down near the bar. Bragg was there, dark suit, white shirt, gold chain, good cigar. He came to my table.
“Buy you a drink, Everett?”
“Got one,” I said.
Bragg turned his palms up.
“Fine,” he said. “Perfectly fine. Cigar?”
I shook my head.
“Fine,” he said again. “I understand why you boys are feeling hard about me. But I want you to know I ain’t the man I was, and I’m hopin’ we can work together once you boys come to see the truth of my statement.”
“That statement being that you’re a reformed man.”
“I am.”
“Who now owns two saloons, a hotel, and an expensive black bull,” I said.
“And six heifers,” Bragg said and smiled. “I’m going to raise beef that most folks have never tasted, and, when they do, they won’t be able to get enough of it.”
“With a bull and six cows.”
“My cows are just the start. I’m arranging for some other folks to start ranching Angus heifers, and my bull will do the service.”
“I thought you was already rich,” I said.
“I had some good luck,” Bragg said. “Now I want to give this town good luck, make up for all the bad luck I brought it in the past.”
“You’re going to bring us luck?” I said.
“I’m going to make Appaloosa famous for its beef. I want to develop the copper mines properly. It’s going to be a place where people want to come, where people can have a good time, where people will want to invest money.”
I sipped some whiskey and leaned my chair onto its back legs and put one foot against the edge of the table and teetered a little.
“Bragg,” I said. “Let’s you and me understand each other. I don’t believe a single fucking word you say. You want to turn Appaloosa into your private town, and you’re working your ugly ass off to get on the good side of Virgil and me, so we won’t stop you.”
I took another sip.
“Which we will,” I said.
Something moved just for a second behind Bragg’s face, then it was gone. When he spoke, his voice was the same jolly voice he was using these days.
“Sorry to hear you say that, Everett. I was hoping I could work with you and Virgil.”
I didn’t answer him.
“Well,” he said with his big friendly smile. “Time will tell.”
I didn’t say anything, and Bragg walked over to the piano where Allie was playing “My Old Kentucky Home.” I think.
“You know ‘Old Folks at Home,’ Allie?” Bragg said.
“Of course I do, Mr. Bragg.”
“Please call me Randall,” Bragg said. “Always did love that song.”
Allie began to play the tune, and Bragg stood listening, as if the song had captured him. To me, it didn’t sound too much different than “My Old Kentucky Home.”
“You like Stephen Foster, Randall?”
“I do.”
“I love him, too,” Allie said.
Bragg went to the bar and got a drink and brought it back and put it on top of the piano.
“I haven’t really had much chance to talk with you since the Indians almost got us.”
Allie nodded.
“I just wanted to tell you I admired your courage.”
“Oh, bless my soul, Randall, I was terrified.”
“Well, I thought you were very brave.”
He drank some of his drink.
“Could I buy you a small glass of something? We have sherry now, you know.”
“A glass of sherry would be lovely,” Allie said.
There was a sound in her voice I’d heard before. It wasn’t a good sound. Bragg went and got her a glass of sherry and brought it back. She sipped a little and put it down on the piano and began to play “Camptown Races.” Bragg leaned against the piano, listening, as if it was good.
Without looking up, Allie said, “I’m always embarrassed when anyone talks about that. I mean, Randall, you saw me all undressed.”
“I don’t mean to be forward, Allie,” Bragg said. “But I remember that moment happily.”
Allie giggled.
“Randall, you are making me blush,” she said.
Bragg laughed.
“Nothin’ to be ashamed of, Allie. Fact is, as I recall, there’s a lot to be proud of.”
“Oh, my,” Allie said.
I got up and walked over and leaned my forearms on the piano and didn’t say anything. Allie kept playing.
“We were just talking about that terrible time with the Indians,” Allie said.
“I heard,” I said.
“Randall just bought me a lovely glass of sherry, Everett,” Allie said.
I nodded. Bragg didn’t say anything. Allie begin to play “Oh! Susanna.” Bragg and I stood and listened.
When Allie finished, Bragg said, “Thank you for the nice recital, Allie.”
“Thank you, Randall,” Allie said. “For the sherry.”
Bragg nodded and walked away. I stayed. I was trying to think of what I wanted to say.
“Have to be nice to him, Everett,” Allie said. “Since he bought the hotel, he’s my boss.”
I nodded, took another drink of whiskey, and walked away. I knew what it was I wanted to say, but I knew there wasn’t a way to say it, and even if there was, it wouldn’t do no good.
Bragg had a good summer. He and some investors in Denver bought up the two copper mines, which had created Appaloosa in the first place, and began to rework them. The hotel was always full now, and the saloons. The gambling operations were expanding, and each one had a special deputy in the lookout chair. In late August, Bragg bought out Olson and added the livery stable and a general store to his holdings. His heifers were pregnant.
It was late in the day in the middle of September and rainy when a slim man with a young, smooth face came into the marshal’s office where Cole and I were drinking coffee and watching the rain through the open door. He was wearing a slicker unbuttoned and I could see that he had a.44 Colt with a pearl handle under it.
Cole looked at him carefully for a moment.
“Hayes,” he said.
“Hello, Virgil,” the man said.
He took his hat off and slapped it against his leg to shake off some of the rain, and put the hat on the edge of Cole’s desk. His hair was gray. Taking his hat off aged him.
“My deputy,” Cole said, nodding at me, “Everett Hitch. Hayes Hatfield.”
We said hello.
“Heard about you boys and the Sheltons,” Hatfield said.
“ ’Gainst city regulations,” Cole said, “to be carrying a gun in town.”
“Always is in your towns, Virgil. I figured you’d give a little slack on that.”
Cole nodded.
“I will,” Cole said. “How long you in town.”
“Be gone tomorrow,” Hatfield said.
“Appreciate you didn’t stroll around with the gun showing,” Cole said. “Sorta undercuts the law.”
“I’ll keep my coat closed,” Hatfield said.
“But not buttoned,” Cole said.
“Gun don’t do you much good buttoned up under your coat,” Hatfield said.
“No,” Cole said. “It don’t.”
“Mostly I’m just going to get some supper and go to sleep,” Hatfield said.
“You got business in Appaloosa?” Cole said.
Hatfield smiled a wide smile. Except for the gray hair, he looked about twenty.
