“And we’re not,” Cole said.

“That’s for certain sure,” Olson said. “I heard after you and Hitch came in and sat on Gin Springs one summer, babies could play in the streets.”

“That’s why we sent for you,” Raines said. “We’re ready to pay your price.”

Cole looked at me.

“You game?” he said.

I shrugged.

“It’s what we do,” I said.

A smile like the flash of a spark spread across Cole’s face.

“It is,” he said, “ain’t it.”

The smile went as fast as it had come, and Cole turned his somber, shadowy face to the three aldermen.

“Money’s all right,” Cole said.

“Then you’ll do it?”

“Sure.”

The dining room smelled of cooking and tobacco and the lamp oil that kept it bright. The room was nearly full of men. The sound of cutlery and men’s voices sounded civilized and normal.

“What do we have to do?” May asked.

“Tell him, Hitch.”

“Who makes the laws in this town?” I said.

“The laws?” Raines said. “I guess we do: me and Earl and, ah, Phil. There’s a town meeting twice a year. But between times, we do it.”

“Cole and me’ll do the gun work,” I said. “But we’re going to button the town up like a nun’s corset. And we need you to make laws, so we can enforce them.”

“We got laws,” Raines said.

“You’re gonna have more. We need a lot of laws to make it all legal.”

“Well, sure, I mean, you tell us what you need,” Raines said, “and if it seems reasonable, we’ll put them right in the bylaws.”

Cole said, “No.”

“No what?” Raines said.

“No,” Cole said. “You do what we say or we move on. You solve your problem some other way.”

“Christ,” May said. “That would mean you was running the town.”

“It would,” Cole said.

“We can’t have that,” May said.

Cole didn’t say anything.

“I mean, you’re asking us, so to speak,” Raines said, “to turn the town over to you.”