“Maybe sleep in the livery stable,” Virgil said. “I’ve slept in worse than a hayloft.”

“We been sleeping in worse for most of the last year,” I said.

Virgil nodded. He was looking at the bartender coming toward our table carrying a bottle and three glasses. With him was a short, wiry man. Not thin, exactly, but lean, sort of hard-looking, with a scraggly blond beard.

“You’re Virgil Cole,” the wiry man said as he reached the table.

Virgil nodded.

“Like to buy you a drink, if I can,” the wiry man said.

“Sure can,” I said, real quick, before Virgil could be unfriendly. You never knew with Virgil.

I gestured at an empty chair, and the wiry man sat down. The bartender put three glasses on the table and poured a useful amount of whiskey in each one.

“Name’s Cates,” the wiry man said. “Everybody calls me Cates.”

Virgil nodded and sipped his whiskey.

“Whiskey clears the throat,” Virgil said. “Considerable better than beer.”

“It does,” Cates said. “You boys been traveling?”

Virgil nodded.

“This here’s Everett Hitch,” he said.

“By God,” Cates said. “I heard a you, too.”

“See that,” I said to Virgil.

“You been with Mr. Cole for some time,” Cates said.

“I have,” I said.

Virgil grinned.

“Well,” Cates said. “I’m proud to meet both you boys. Especially you, Mr. Cole.”

“ ’ Specially,” Virgil murmured to me.

“The great Virgil Cole,” Cates said happily, “right here, in my saloon.”

Virgil looked at me without expression.

“With his friend,” Virgil said.

“Of course,” Cates said. “With his friend, Mr. Hitch.”

“Everett,” I said. “And he won’t mind you call him Virgil.”

Virgil nodded. Cates nodded. And we all drank. Cates picked up the bottle and poured us all some more. Cates looked around the room.