Patrick brought the bottle over and poured us all another drink. Mrs. Redmond took a drink and stared into her glass. She had stopped crying. And she was a little drunk.

“He isn’t as bad a man as he seems,” she said.

“Hard to be worse,” I said.

“He is just so strained,” she said, “trying to support me and the kids, and trying to organize the ranchers, and trying to fight Mr. Wolfson.”

None of us said anything.

“He gets crazy mad, sometimes,” she said.

“At you,” I said.

She nodded.

“But he never hurts the kids,” she said.

“He ain’t supposed to,” Virgil said.

She stared at him. I knew she didn’t understand him. Most people didn’t. There was about him a flat deadliness that frightened people. And yet he had protected her from her husband and helped her get settled in the Blackfoot.

“He wasn’t always like this,” she said. “It’s just that all we got is that piece of land, and he’s terrified we’re going to lose it. That Mr. Wolfson will take it away from us.”

“Make him feel like a failure,” I said.

“Yes.”

“This ain’t gonna help him,” Virgil said. “Us taking his wife away from him.”

“You didn’t do that,” she said.

“He’ll see it that way,” Virgil said.

Virgil probably knew something about that feeling. Mrs. Redmond drank more whiskey and began to cry again. She talked haltingly while she cried.

“My children.” She gasped. “My children. He won’t let me see my children.”

“He might,” Virgil said.

She shook her head.

“His mind is set,” she said. “When he sets it, ain’t nothing will change it.”

“Couple of us could take you out for a visit,” Virgil said.

She shook her head.

“No,” she said. “There might be trouble. I wouldn’t want the children to see it.”

“Well, then,” Virgil said. “Maybe Everett and me can ride out tomorrow and talk with him about this.”

“Oh, God,” she said. “Not in front of the children.”

“They home all the time?”

“They go a couple hours in the afternoon to Ruth Anne Markey, Charlie Markey’s wife. She teaches some of the kids in her home. Mostly Bob needs them to help with the place.”

“We can do it then,” Virgil said.

She stared at him again.

“Don’t hurt him,” she said. “Please don’t hurt him.”

“’Course not,” Virgil said.

Mrs. Redmond was silent for a time, staring into her glass. Then she pushed the glass away, folded her arms on the tabletop, and put her head down on her arms. In a few moments she was snoring softly.

“Care to give me a hand, Everett,” Virgil said.

I nodded, and we stood, and each with a hand under her arm, we got her to her feet and steered her to her hotel room.

The horses had been ridden together so often that, both geldings, they had become friends. They would occasionally nuzzle each other when we stopped.

“Isn’t this sort of the way you took up with Allie?” I said to Virgil.

“How so?” Virgil said.

“She comes into town alone. No money. No place to stay. You find her a place to stay. Get her a job.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How’d that work out for you?” I said.

“Don’t know yet,” Virgil said.

“Damn,” I said. “You are a stubborn bastard.”

“I am,” Virgil said.

The horses moved along pleasantly. The air was warm, not hot, and there was a nice little breeze. Virgil rode well. He did everything well. When he rode, the horse seemed an extension of him. When he shot, the gun seemed part of him.

“Hard on women out here,” Virgil said.

“Hard on everybody out here,” I said.

“Women need looking after.”

“Allie?” I said. “I figure Allie’s pretty good at taking care of herself.”

“Allie thinks with her twat,” Virgil said. “It gets her in trouble.”

“True,” I said. “So what are you going to do with Mrs. Redmond?”

“Don’t know,” Virgil said. “Can’t let her old man beat on her.”

“We could let Cato kill him,” I said.

“Can’t do that,” Virgil said.

“Why not?” I said.

“Can’t do that,” Virgil said, as if it was an answer.

The horses eased down the trail toward the homesteads on the flat land. The homesteads weren’t much. Weather-grayed cabin and shed. Sparse-looking kitchen garden. An occasional split-rail corral with one or two horses. Redmond’s was no different. We found him straddling the peak of his cabin, patching the roof. When he saw us ride in he climbed down and went inside. By the time we reached the house, he was back outside with a Winchester.

“What do you want?” he said.

“Need to talk,” Virgil said.

“Got nothing to talk about,” Redmond said.

“You do,” Virgil said.

Redmond gestured with the Winchester.

“I know how to use this,” he said.

“’Course you do,” Virgil said. “You might get off a shot. You might even hit one of us. But ’fore you jacked the second shell up into the chamber you’d be dead.”

“And maybe one of you’d be dead.”

“Maybe,” Virgil said.

There was some silence. Virgil’s horse put his head over and snuffled at mine. Redmond lowered the Winchester slightly.

“What you want to talk about?” he said.

“Your wife and children,” Virgil said.

“Goddamn it,” Redmond said. “Wolfson don’t run my family.”

“This ain’t Wolfson,” Virgil said. “This is me.”

He was relaxed and comfortable in his saddle as he talked. Like he always was. Sometimes people would make a bad mistake and think he wasn’t ready. He was. Virgil was always ready. He just never looked it.

“You fucking her yet?” Redmond said.

“Nope.”

“Probably all of you, fucking her,” Redmond said.

“Nope.”

“Well, I’ll give her that,” Redmond said. “She’s hot enough. Or she used to be.”

“That be before you starting smacking her around?” Virgil said.

“That’s none of your business,” Redmond said.

“True enough,” Virgil said. “But she needs to see the kids.”

“She can’t,” Redmond said.

“Me and Everett,” Virgil said, “think she should visit the children, couple times a week. Cato and Rose agree with us.”

“You threatenin’ me?” Redmond said.

“I am,” Virgil said.

Again, silence. Redmond and Virgil looked at each other. Nobody could hold a stare very long with Virgil Cole. Redmond looked away.

“What if I say no?”

“Four of us will bring her out anyway,” Virgil said.

“Four fucking pistoleros against one farmer?” Redmond said.

“Yup.”

“Don’t seem fair,” Redmond said.

“One of us comes out,” Virgil said. “And you might try to shoot it out, and whoever would have to kill you. Four of us come out, and you won’t be that stupid.”

Redmond looked at Virgil. Then at me. I smiled at him. He looked back at Virgil.

“I already told them she’s a whore,” Redmond said.

“Tell ’em she ain’t,” Virgil said.

My horse tossed his head, and the sound of the bridle hardware was the only sound.

“Kids should probably see their mother,” Redmond said.

“Should,” Virgil said.

“When you want to bring her out?” Redmond said finally.

“Monday and Friday,” Virgil said.

Redmond nodded.

“Lunchtime,” Redmond said.

“Okay.”

“Don’t need all four of you to come.”

“Maybe at first,” Virgil said. “See how it goes.”

Redmond thought about it awhile.

“Why do you people give a fuck about me and Beth?” he said.

“Good to keep busy,” Virgil said.

Redmond nodded slowly. More to himself, I think, than to us.

“Four killers,” he said. “Four fucking gun-shooting killers.”

Virgil nodded.

“And all of a sudden,” Redmond said, “you’re like fucking law and order, for crissake.”

“Peculiar, ain’t it,” Virgil said.