WE TOOK A ROOM in the Grande Palace Hotel, which was not accurately named, and agreed to live on Virgil’s dollar a day and save mine for when we moved on. During Virgil’s shift on lookout, I sat around Los Lobos and observed. During the day we strolled around the ugly little bare-board town and asked about Allie.

“When’s the last time you did a lookout job?” I said to Virgil after the first night.

“Sorta helped you out a year ago up in Resolution,” he said.

“But when did you actually earn money at it?” I said.

“ ’Fore I met you,” Virgil said.

“Close to twenty years,” I said.

“Yep.”

“How’s it feel?” I said.

“People come here to look at me, Virgil Cole, the famous shooter. I feel like I’m in a circus.”

“But…” I said.

“Need the money,” he said.

“And we can’t steal it,” I said.

“Can’t do that,” Virgil said.

We were having breakfast in a cook tent that had no name, only a sign outside that said EAT. Virgil put down his coffee cup and looked at me.

“Ain’t gonna talk about this ’cept once,” Virgil said. “I got something I got to do. So I will do whatever I have to do to do it.”

“Lotta do’s in there, Virgil.”

“You know what I’m saying.”

I grinned at him.

“I do,” I said.

“And you’re with me.”

“I am,” I said.

“Because that’s how we are,” Virgil said.