The Bridge (11 page)

“This is heinous, is it not, Deputy Marshal Hitch?” Book said.

“What’s that mean?” Skinny Jack said.

“Um . . . wicked,” Book said.

“It most certainly is, Book,” I said, then folded the telegram and put it in the dryness of my shirt pocket. “It most certainly is.”

I retrieved my eight-gauge from the gun rack. I’d been keeping the double barrel in the office for safekeeping since our return to Appaloosa.

“Where’s Chastain?”

“Walking the town,” Book said.

“He know about this?” I said.

Skinny Jack shook his head.

“Not yet,” Skinny Jack said. “I came looking for you right away, didn’t see him ’fore I found you.”

Book moved his big body to the window with his hands shoved in the front pockets of his baggy trousers.

“Who could have done this?” Book said.

“Hard to say,” I said.

“You think the attackers might come here to Appaloosa,” Book said.

Book remained looking out the window.

“Come here and try and do something heinous?” Book said.

“Naw,” Skinny Jack said. “That ain’t gonna happen, be foolish to try that. We got too many people.”

“They could actually be here,” Book said, wide-eyed. “A lot of
people come and go in and out of Appaloosa, Skinny Jack. They could be here now, right amongst us, and we’d never know it.”

Skinny Jack looked at Book for a moment and his Adam’s apple moved up then down in his throat as he considered Book’s assessment.

“Maybe Sheriff Driskill, Karl, and Chip caught whoever did this?” Skinny Jack said hopefully.

I grabbed my shell belt and strapped it on.

“Maybe,” I said.

Book and Skinny Jack followed me as I moved to the door.

“What will you do?” Book said.

“Get Virgil. Figure, sort things out,” I said, as I opened the door, meeting the cold air.

“What should we do?” Book said.

“Find Chastain, let him know,” I said. “Get my horse and Virgil’s horse saddled and ready. Get panniers on one of the mules, too. Pack some feed, kindling, coffee, grub, medicines, hand tools, and get us some blankets, cold-weather coats and gloves from the locker.”

Book nodded and looked out the door past me.

“Snowing,” Book said.

“Is,” I said.

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I
walked the wet streets in the falling snow to Virgil and Allie’s place. I could see embers rising from the chimney and could smell the wood burning in their fireplace as I neared. I walked up the steps and knocked on the door. After a moment Allie looked out the window. I waved to her and she opened the door, holding a glass of whiskey.

“Everett, how about this? Snow.”

“Yes, it is.”

“What a pleasant surprise,” she said with a little slur. “Come on in.”

She leaned close and kissed me on the cheek next to my lips. I could smell the whiskey on her breath.

“Where’s Virgil?”

“He’s out back getting some wood for the fire.”

She held up her glass.

“Having a nightcap, would you care for one?”

I shut the door and leaned my eight-gauge on the wall next to the jamb.

“Sure.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Allie said.

I took off my slicker and hat and hung them on the coat rack. Allie retrieved a glass from the breakfront in the dining room and poured me some whiskey.

“What brings you to see us?” she said.

Thankfully, Virgil entered from the back door carrying a bundle of scrap lumber in his arms and diverted the necessity of me needing to answer Allie’s question.

“Everett,” Virgil said.

“Virgil. Got it going, I see?”

“Did.”

“Drawing okay?”

“It is,” Virgil said.

“Guess those German boys knew what they were doing,” I said.

Virgil crossed the room and set the wood down near the hearth.

“Gotcha a nudge?” he said.

“Do,” I said, holding up the glass.

Virgil looked over, noticing my eight-gauge near the door. He stood up straight with his shoulders back, looking at me.

“Something up?” he said.

“Bad doings, Virgil,” I said.

I removed the telegram from my shirt pocket and handed it to Virgil.

“From the way station near the bridge,” I said.

“Driskill find that Lonnie fella?”

“Read,” I said.

Virgil unfolded the telegram and leaned close to the fireplace for better light.

“What is it, Everett?” Allie said.

Virgil read the telegram, then looked to me, shaking his head.

“Goddamn,” Virgil said.

“What is it, Virgil?” Allie said.

“Two days ago,” Virgil said.

I nodded.

“What is it, Virgil?” Allie said again.

“It appears there’s been some people killed, Allie,” Virgil said.

“Oh,” Allie said. “My goodness.”

Allie looked back and forth between Virgil and me.

“Who? What people?”

“At the bridge,” Virgil said. “On the Rio Blanco.”

“Who, at the bridge?”

“Don’t say,” Virgil said. “Says the bridge has been destroyed.”

“What?”

“What is says,” Virgil said.

“May I,” Allie said, holding out her hand for the telegram. “No reason to keep me in the dark.”

Virgil looked at me, then handed the telegram to Allie.

Allie read the note.

“Lord,” Allie said. “The bridge has been blown up, payroll robbed, and some folks have been killed. Oh my God, Virgil.”

She walked quickly to the front door and looked outside, craning her neck. Then she turned back, looking at us. She reread the telegram and shook her head.

“This is awful.”

Virgil got the telegram from Allie. He walked back near the fireplace and read it again.

“Had to be Indians,” Allie said. “Savages. My God. Those poor, poor people.”

“Not, Allie,” Virgil said.

“Well,” Allie said. “Surely you don’t think white men did this, do you?”

“I do,” Virgil said.

“Indians are not too inclined to go about blowing things up, Allie,” I said.

Virgil looked at the telegram, then looked up to me. He walked back and forth in front of the fireplace for a moment.

“When was this?” Virgil said, holding up the telegram.

“Tonight.”

Virgil looked at the telegram and shook his head a little.

“Any other correspondence with the operator?”

“No.”

Virgil nodded a little.

“Let’s get geared up, Everett,” Virgil said, “get over there.”

“I got Skinny Jack and Book outfitting us now,” I said.

“Tonight?” Allie said with alarm.

Virgil was already walking off down the hall, heading for the back room, when he answered.

“Yes, Allie,” he said. “Tonight.”

“What about me?” Allie called out to Virgil down the hall. “You can’t just leave me here with dynamiting murderers on the loose.”

“This happened a long ways away, Allie,” I said. “Bridge is a day’s ride from here.”

“No matter,” Allie said.

“Can’t take you with us, Allie,” Virgil called from the back room.

“There’s always something taking you away from me. Sometimes I wonder if you want bad things to happen so you and Everett can go off and be heroes.”

“Oh, hell, Allie,” I said. “You know better than that.”

“Well,” Allie said, “it’s just that I’ve gotten used to you being here. Having y’all here makes this lonely place a home.”

“It’s what we do, Allie,” Virgil replied, walking back up the hall and into the room with his gun belt.

“Oh, for God sake, Virgil. You always say that.”

Virgil didn’t say anything as he strapped on his holster.

“Well, Allie, this is an obvious inextricable circumstance,” I said.

“Whatever that means, Everett,” Allie said with a huff. “Don’t mean you need to speak for Virgil.”

“He’s not speaking for me, Allie,” Virgil said.

“Is too,” Allie said.

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V
irgil and I left Allie standing behind the front door.

“Don’t want to step into some kind of trap,” Virgil said, as we descended the steps and started walking to the sheriff’s office.

I glanced back. I could see Allie through the falling snow. She was looking out the door, watching us walking away.

“Who’d want to trap us?”

“Don’t know,” Virgil said, “but you can’t always believe what you read.”

“You don’t think this has happened?”

“Not saying that,” Virgil said. “Most likely it has. Just don’t want to go riding in there because someone has asked for us to come. Not without knowing a few things we don’t.”

“Like what?”

“Driskill and his deputies should have been there by noon yesterday,” Virgil said.

“Unless they ran into some trouble.”

“Yep,” Virgil said.

“The telegraph line being cut,” I said, “makes sense why the
butter-churning woman, Winifred, wasn’t getting any response from the way station regarding the whereabouts of her husband, Lonnie.”

“Does,” Virgil said.

The snow was coming down pretty solid as we crossed the street and stepped onto the boardwalk.

“What do you want to do?” I said.

“Start with,” Virgil said. “We send a wire back to the bridge way station.”

“Rattle the cage?”

“Yep.”

“See what is what?” I said. “Find out what we can.”

“Yep.”

Virgil and I walked to the sheriff’s office and Book met us at the door.

“Skinny Jack’s getting you ready,” Book said.

“Seen Chastain yet?” I said.

“No, sir.”

“Where can we find the Western Union operator that received this telegram this time of night?” I said.

“Right there at the office, that’s Charlie Hill,” Book said. “Should be there. He has a room there, just behind the office. Charlie and his little brother are both operators. They both live there.”

Virgil and I walked up the street two blocks to the Western Union office and I knocked on the door. The office was dark, but we could see light through the crack of a door at the rear of the office. I knocked again and then the door at the back of the office opened and a young man came out wearing his nightclothes and carrying a finger lantern. He set the lantern down and put on a pair of spectacles.

He looked out the door window and I showed him my badge.

“Oh,” he said, opening the door. “Marshal Cole, Deputy Marshal Hitch. I figured I might be seeing you. Come in.”

“You’re Charlie?” I said.

He nodded.

“I am,” he said. “Awful news.”

“Anybody else know about this besides you?” Virgil said.

“No,” Charlie said. “Well, my brother, and Deputies Book and Skinny Jack.”

“Nobody else?” I said.

“No,” Charlie said. “My brother and I are professional operators, not town gossips.”

Virgil nodded.

“So the way station had been unresponsive, not communicative for a while?” I said.

“Yes, sir, it was, until the wire came in this evening about the bridge.”

“The operator in now,” Virgil said. “This time of night?”

“Should be,” Charlie said. “They stay there.”

“There more than one operator?” I said.

“Yes,” Charlie said. “Like here and like most places. I know both the operators there. Well, I know them from all the correspondence. Husband and wife, Pedrick and Patty.”

“I want to send a wire,” Virgil said.

“Oh, well, sure,” Charlie said.

Charlie was a small fella with thin hair and delicate features. He sat behind his desk and looked up to Virgil.

Virgil said, “Just write, Appaloosa law enforcement, wanting to know the . . .”

Virgil looked to me.

“Status of workers and damage?” I said.

Virgil nodded to Charlie.

Charlie rubbed his hands together, pounded out the note on the key, then got to his feet.

“Be right back,” Charlie said. “Kind of on the cold side. Get my robe.”

Charlie ducked into the back room and came out a second later, tying the belt of the robe around his waist and carrying a pair of slippers. He dropped the slippers on the floor, slid his feet into them, then sat back at the telegraph desk and faced the key and sounder.

We all focused on the sounder and within a minute it went off and Charlie wrote the note.

“Cleanup has been under way . . . Bridge completely gone.”

Virgil looked at me.

“Respond, Has Sheriff Driskill been seen at the bridge camp?” Virgil said.

I nodded.

Charlie keyed the note. Waited and then replied, when the sounder replied.

Charlie relayed the code.

“No report of Sheriff Driskill of recent,” Charlie said. “Can check with camp and let you know right away.”

Charlie looked up to Virgil and me.

“The way station is about thirty minutes from the bridge, so some of what will be in response may not be immediate.”

Virgil nodded.

“How many dead, injured?” Virgil said.

Charlie keyed out the note and the sounder immediately sounded back.

“Three dead,” Charlie said. “No injuries.”

“Who were the raiders?” Virgil said.

Charlie tapped out Virgil’s request and then spoke out the words as he wrote the sounder’s reply.

“It is uncertain who they were or how many . . . Dynamite placed on the bridge in the night . . . Bombers blew up bridge in the a.m. . . . Three men, early workers, were on the bridge . . . They were casualties of the explosion.”

“Is G. W. Cox on location?”

Virgil looked at me.

“Curtis Whittlesey said Cox is the contractor,” I said. “Was an attorney, been here for a while in Appaloosa and won the bid to build the bridge.”

Virgil nodded.

Charlie keyed the note.

The sounder sounded back and Charlie shook his head.

“As of an hour ago, last report, Mr. Cox was not at the bridge,” Charlie said.

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