Текст книги "Robert B. Parker's The Bridge"

Автор книги: Robert Knott

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

— 34 —

Virgil and I came upon the way station just as it was getting dark. It was a large low log cabin with a corral, a horse shed, and a number of small outbuildings behind it. Smoke drifted up lazily from the cabin’s chimney and hung heavy around the old log structure like a dense, dark, ominous cloud.

A chubby man was relieving himself just outside the front door. He looked over, seeing us as we neared. He finished his business and stepped out, watching us as we got closer. He walked out to greet us and we moved our horses toward a covered lean-to hitch on the opposite side of the road.

“How do,” he said.

“Evening,” I said.

“You the operator?” I said.

“One of them,” he said.

“I’m Deputy Marshal Hitch, this is Marshal Virgil Cole.”

“Oh, I’m Pedrick,” he said. “I take it you’re here because of the bridge? Thank goodness.”

“Need to send a wire,” Virgil said.

“By all means,” Pedrick said. “Please, come in. That we can most certainly do.”

Virgil and I dismounted. We tied our horses to the hitch and followed Pedrick back across the road to the cabin.

Pedrick looked like a drunk. Probably was a drunk. He had a large red nose situated on a pink puffy face framed with thinning light-reddish-colored hair.

The way station was a small store, telegraph office, and saloon, all combined. We could smell the aroma of flavorful cooking happening somewhere.

Pedrick’s wife walked out of the back room when we entered. She was wearing an apron and wiping fixings from her hands with a rag. She looked enough like Pedrick they could be brother and sister.

“These men are marshals from the bridge camp,” Pedrick said. “This is my wife, Patty. She’s the main operator. Patty, this is Marshal Cole and . . .”

“Deputy Marshal Hitch,” I said.

“Yes,” Pedrick said. “Hitch . . .”

Virgil removed his hat.

“Ma’am.”

“Nice to meet you both and so glad you are here,” she said. “This has been just so awful. Do you know who did this?”

“Not as of yet,” I said.

“Well,” Patty said, “I hope to God you find whoever is responsible.”

“We do, too,” I said.

“It is the saddest thing,” Patty said angrily. “Just downright sad.”

I nodded.

“They need to send a wire,” Pedrick said.

“Absolutely,” Patty said.

Patty continued to wipe her hands with the rag as she walked over to the telegraph desk situated in front of a west window.

“Honey,” she said to Pedrick, “keep an eye on my stew, don’t let it burn.”

Pedrick nodded obediently.

“Will do,” he said, as he scurried out of the room.

Patty sat in the chair in front of the telegraph desk and looked back to us.

Virgil looked to me some, then walked over to Patty.

“Were you here last night?” Virgil said.

“I was,” she said.

“You received a number of wires from Appaloosa law,” Virgil said.

She nodded.

“That was us,” Virgil said.

“You got here quick,” she said, wide-eyed.

Virgil nodded.

“Want to send a wire back to Appaloosa now,” Virgil said. “Want to know if Sheriff Driskill and his deputies have returned or if they have been heard from.”

“Want this sent from you, Marshal Cole?” Patty said.

Virgil nodded.

“Sure.”

Patty nodded and tapped out the note on the key.

A quick response came back from the Western Union operator. Charlie Hill in Appaloosa said he’d check and for us to stand by.

Patty looked to Virgil and me.

“You fellas want a drink?”

“Sure,” Virgil said.

Patty got up from the desk. She walked to the opposite side of the large room to a makeshift bar in the corner.

“Well, come on,” she said, as she walked behind the counter.

Virgil and I moved over and sat on two stools opposite Patty.

She got a bottle and poured the three of us a drink.

Patty offered us a cigar from a box with Florida’s Finest written across the top.

“Good ones,” she said.

I shook my head.

Virgil nodded.

“Sure.”

Patty clipped the cigar for Virgil and handed it to him. She struck a match and cupped it for him.

When Virgil got the cigar going good the sounder on the telegraph desk clicked. Patty tilted her head a little as she listened, then shook her head.

“Nope,” Patty said. “No sign of Sheriff Driskill.”

— 35 —

Virgil and I rode back to the bridge camp, and when we arrived we found Cox sitting at the end of a long table in the office and Gains sitting just next to him. Gip jumped up, excited to have more company, and started with his nonstop barking.

“Gip, stop,” Gains said. “Stop it, boy.”

Gip swayed his head a few times low to the ground. He wagged his tail rapidly like he didn’t hear the command.

“Gip.”

Gip looked to Gains.

“No.”

Gip wasn’t happy, but he complied. He circled a few times and laid down where Gains was pointing.

“Any new news?” Cox said.

“No,” Virgil said.

“I have a feeling if there were any news, you wouldn’t let me know, so I’m not sure why I even ask.”

“That’s okay,” Virgil said.

Cox just shook his head slightly.

“Keep in mind that this was my bridge and I’m accountable for all that transpires here, Marshal Cole.”

“I will,” Virgil said.

Cox just looked at Virgil for an extended moment.

“What now?” Cox said wearily.

“Everett and me are riding outta here before daylight,” Virgil said. “You are most welcome to ride with us back to Appaloosa if you’d like.”

“Well, I appreciate that, but I think it best I stay here for a while,” Cox said, pouring on his long southern drawl, “for the morale of the men. This has been quite a trauma for them, Marshal Cole. Many of the men have been working here for two years. This place has served as home away from home for them. It’s simply where I need to be.”

“You won’t stray away from here?” Virgil said.

“Stray?” Cox said with a frown.

“In case we need you,” Virgil said.

“I’ll be here, Marshal,” Cox said. “And will return shortly, rest assured.”

Virgil looked at Cox for an extended moment, then looked around the room. He walked over and looked at the bridge diagrams on the wall.

“One hell of a bridge,” Virgil said.

“Yes,” Cox said. “It was.”

I poured myself some coffee and took a seat in a rocking chair next to a center lodge pole, which for some reason gave Gip the inclination to play.

Gip picked up a knotted cluster of old socks and dropped them in front of me.

“You feeling neglected?”

Gip whined a little and I threw the knotted socks. Gip fetched them and caught them almost before they hit the ground.

I kept throwing the socks as Virgil perused the plans on the wall. After a bit Virgil moved away from the wall and pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the long table from Cox.

“The Rio Blanco is a tough goddamn river through these parts,” Virgil said.

“It damn sure is,” Gains said.

“Deep gorge that the water runs through,” Virgil said. “Rugged as hell for over fifty miles through here.”

“Indeed it is, Marshal,” Cox said.

Virgil looked back at the wall with the drawings on it for a moment, then looked to Cox.

“Let me ask you a question, Mr. Cox,” Virgil said.

“What is it, Marshal?”

Virgil removed his hat and tossed it to the center of the long table.

“Let’s say my hat there is the bridge and you are the land on one side of the bridge and I’m the land on the other.”

“Yes?” Cox said.

“Let’s say I’m the far side and you are this side.”

“Your point?”

“I’m just trying to determine who benefits the most,” Virgil said, “and who don’t. So if I’m the far side, the side cattleman Swickey has land on, or your side, the Appaloosa and vicinity’s side—”

“I certainly see where you are going with this,” Cox said, interrupting Virgil. “I’m not unaware of the most obvious here. It is why the bridge was to be constructed in the first place, Marshal. The bridge would allow goods and services, including the transportation of cattle. There is no argument for one side benefitting more from having the bridge than the other.”

“I’m not talking about benefitting from having the bridge,” Virgil said. “I’m talking about who’d benefit the most from not having the bridge.”

— 36 —

Virgil and I mounted up in the silvery cold morning and left the bridge camp slightly before daylight. The snow had let up, but there was a good foot packed on the ground and it was slow going as we rode.

There was not the slightest breeze. We traveled for eight solid hours in the silence of the snow-covered country. The woods were soundless and everything was still as we moved. We came to a wide-open section without trees and Virgil stopped.

“This must be the meadow Gains was talking about,” Virgil said.

I looked around.

“And that there must be the incline he was talking about,” I said.

Virgil nodded and we moved off the main road and started up the incline. It wasn’t a steep rise, and when we topped the ridge it was clear we were on another road. We continued on riding for about two hours when Virgil stopped again. He turned in his saddle and waited until I was close before he spoke.

“Smell that?” he said quietly.

I looked around.

“Do,” I said.

From somewhere in the woods in front of us we smelled smoke. We rode on for a bit more, then we caught a glimpse of smoke drifting through the trees off to our left. Virgil stopped and I sidled up next to him.

He pointed to the opposite side of the road to the right and we moved off the road and distanced ourselves from the origin of the fire. We stopped under some tall oaks, dismounted, and snugged our horses and the mule to a twisted old oak tree.

Virgil pulled his Winchester from his scabbard and I got my eight-gauge. We circled off the road so as to come upon the fire at a distance from the path.

We made it a step at a time, moving through the deep snow. It took us some time of slow moving before we were close enough to see the source of the smoke.

There was a small fire burning behind an outcropping of rocks next to a steamy creek.

We moved up ever so slowly, and when we were close Virgil signaled me to come in from one direction while he moved off to the other side so he’d come in from the opposite angle.

We kept each other in sight as we approached the camp.

I saw Virgil squat down and I did the same. After a moment Virgil brought the Winchester to his shoulder and pointed it in the direction of the fire.

“Don’t move,” Virgil called out. “I got you in my sights.”

“I ain’t armed,” a voice called back.

“How many are you?” Virgil said.

“Just me,” the voice said.

“Step out,” Virgil said.

Just then I saw the backside of a figure rise up from the rocks. He held his left arm up facing Virgil’s direction.

“I don’t got no gun,” the man said. “I’m friendly, by myself, and hungry. I don’t want no harm to me or no one else.”

“Who are you?” Virgil called.

“Name’s Lonnie,” the man said. “Lonnie Carman.”

Virgil lowered his Winchester some and looked over to me.

“I’m just a worker from the bridge camp,” Lonnie said, “and I need help.”

“Lonnie,” Virgil said. “If you are lying to me, you will die.”

“Oh, hell,” Lonnie said. “I ain’t lying. I’ve been shot. I’m alone, cold, and real near dead like it is.”

“Step out more,” Virgil said. “Keep your hands away from yourself.”

“Okay,” he said. “I can barely move.”

Lonnie stepped out slowly from the outcropping with one of his hands in the air.

“I can only lift my one arm,” he said. “Barely.”

Virgil nodded over to me and we moved slowly toward Lonnie.

When we got closer, I could see Lonnie clearly. He had his one hand on top of his head and he appeared to be in bad shape, facing Virgil as he approached.

“Lonnie,” I said.

Lonnie turned, looking back to me. He squinted in my direction. He kept looking at me, as I got closer to him.

“Oh, sweet Jesus. Deputy Hitch?” Lonnie said with a tremble in his voice. “That you, Deputy Marshal Hitch?”

“It is.”

Lonnie looked back to Virgil, as he got closer.

“And Marshal Cole?” Lonnie said.

“It is,” Virgil said.

“Oh my Lord. My prayers have been answered. Oh, my. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you.”

Lonnie looked back to me.

“Thank you, Jesus.”

Lonnie started crying.

“It’s okay, Lonnie,” I said.

“Deputy Marshal Hitch,” he said, then looked to Virgil. “And Marshal Cole. Oh, Jesus. Thank you, sweet Jesus. You fellas have no idea how goddamn glad I am to see the likes of you two. No idea.”

— 37 —

When Virgil and I got close we could see Lonnie was not lying. He had been shot. He was alone, hungry, dirty, cold, and in bad shape. He had been under a cavelike outcropping where he’d been able to keep a small fire going.

Lonnie dropped when we got close. He’d obviously been living on sheer will, and the sight of us as reinforcement allowed him to give way to exhaustion.

“Hang on, Lonnie,” I said. “Just hang on.”

Virgil fetched our horses and I tended the best I could to Lonnie. I eased him under the dryness in the outcropping. I pulled back his coat and blood-soaked shirt and looked at his wound. He’d been shot in the back, just below his collarbone, and the bullet exited out the lower part of his chest. He had managed to somehow wrap the wound with part of his shirt he’d ripped up. He’d made a bandage with his belt. He’d wrapped it under one arm and over his neck and on the opposite side, holding the pieces of ripped shirt tight to his body.

When Virgil arrived with the animals I retrieved the medicine kit from the panniers the deputies packed. We got the fire going good, and I cleaned Lonnie’s bullet wounds with hot water, doused them with carbolic acid, then wrapped his shoulder with bandages.

We cooked some venison strap we’d got from the cook at the bridge camp and heated up some beans.

Lonnie was hurt and weak, but he was hungry and had no trouble getting food down.

“Wanna tell us what happened here, Lonnie?” Virgil said.

Lonnie looked at us and shook his head a little.

“I run into some shit,” Lonnie said.

“You seen Sheriff Driskill and his deputies, Karl and Chip?” Virgil said.

“No, I haven’t,” Lonnie said. “I sure wish I had, that’ve been a blessing.”

“What kind of shit did you run into?” Virgil said.

“I was riding from the camp, on my way back to Appaloosa, and Ruth, my mare of twenty years, spooked. There was a goddamn rumble from the earth or some such, blackbirds shot out of a thicket and Ruth jerked up and sidestepped. Next thing I know she was walking funny. I got off her and there was bone sticking out of her leg. Poor Ruth. I hated it, but I had to put her down.”

Lonnie paused. He looked down, thinking of his horse. He blinked a few times and looked back to us.

“I was on foot,” he said. “Weather was getting bad. Started raining. I’d been walking for, hell, a good three hours when some soldiers come riding up behind me.”

“How many?” I said.

“There was seven of them,” Lonnie said. “And they had a buckboard.”

Virgil looked at me.

“What happened?” Virgil said.

“Well, hell, I thought, Thank God. Soldiers. The soldier driving the buckboard looked kind of familiar to me. I asked them if I could get a lift back to Appaloosa. He said nothing but nodded to one of the other soldiers. That soldier got off his horse, friendly like, and asked me if I was heeled. I told him I was. He asked me to show him my gun. I did, I didn’t think nothing of it. I didn’t think nothing of it until he told me to take off running. He said he was gonna give me a ten count. I asked him what he was talking about and he started counting and, well, I took off running and he shot me in the back with my own gun.”

“Then what?” Virgil said.

“They started laughing,” Lonnie said. “I heard one of them say, ‘Finish him off,’ but I did not move. I laid facedown like I was dead.”

“Then what happened?” Virgil said.

“I waited. I was just imagining he was gonna walk over and put a bullet in my head. I heard them talking, couldn’t really make out what they had to say, and then, thank God in Heaven, the fuckers rode off.”

“Then what’d you do?” I said.

“I laid there, afraid to move for ’bout an hour. But then I figured I better get up before I did die. It started raining harder and I found this place and took shelter. Thank God I had some jerky and matches or I’d be dead for sure. I started gathering wood and stashing it under here. I got a good bunch of it. I was able to find some fairly dry bark here and there and I finally got me a fire going. I gathered more and more wood and stayed hunkered down here outta the rain and tended to my wounds the best I could. I been here a long time, can’t say how long, exactly, but a long time. I drank as much water as I could from this creek behind me here. I kept thinking the weather was gonna clear, but then it just got worse and worse and all I could think about was I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die in this goddamn pile of rocks. Then y’all came and thank God. Thank God.”

— 38 —

Lonnie was too weak to be moved, so we kept him warm and let him rest up for the night. Through the evening the sky cleared a little and some stars came out.

Virgil and I drank coffee by the fire. The night was bright with the opening skylight reflecting off the snow. With the exception of the golden glow of the campfire, our snow-covered surroundings were a glistening steel blue.

“What the hell, Virgil?” It was a combination of a question, a query, and downright dismay.

Virgil stared at the fire for a moment before he answered.

“Them two men,” Virgil said, “the Cotter boys. They didn’t do this for shits and grins.”

“No,” I said.

“Somebody hired them,” Virgil said.

I nodded.

“Paid them pretty good, too, I figure,” I said.

“Yep,” Virgil said. “They didn’t spend two weeks working on the bridge because they were honest bridge builders.”

“Who are they, I wonder?”

“Whoever they are,” Virgil said, “they got hired by someone that wants the bridge gone.”

“They hire on, get the lay of the land around the bridge,” I said. “Plan the attack.”

Virgil nodded.

“Those soldiers you saw riding into town,” Virgil said. “They have mules?”

“No.”

“Somehow they managed to get a shitload of dynamite,” Virgil said. “We ain’t talking about a little dynamite in saddlebags.”

“No,” I said. “That was a massive structure. Took a bunch.”

“More than what a few horseman carried,” Virgil said.

We thought about that for a moment.

“Then,” Virgil said. “They cut the telegraph line at the way station so they give themselves as much distance as possible.”

“It was damn sure thought out,” I said.

“Was,” Virgil said.

“Then they get picked up by the five other riders and hightail it,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“Get into Union uniforms,” he said.

“They did.”

“Like I said, gives them validation,” Virgil said.

“Just like what happened here with Lonnie,” I said. “He thought Good when he saw blue. Bad never crossed his mind.”

“Yep,” Virgil said, looking over to Lonnie, who was sleeping.

“Till they goddamn told him to run, and shot him in the back,” I said.

“Yep,” Virgil said. “And then they ride into Appaloosa for one night.”

We thought about that for a bit.

“Why ride to Appaloosa?” I said.

Virgil looked at the fire for a long moment, then looked to me.

“Get paid,” Virgil said.

“Paid by who is the question.”

“Why is the question,” Virgil said.

“We find out why, we find out who,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“You think this Swickey fella did this?” I said.

“Maybe,” Virgil said.

“Cox?” I said.

“Don’t think so,” Virgil said.

“Something about him, though,” I said.

“There is,” Virgil said.

“Why would he blow up his own bridge?” I said.

Virgil shook his head.

“Like you said,” Virgil said. “We look at the why and will find the who.”

“’Spect we need to pay this Swickey a visit?” I said.

“We do.”

“Just need to figure out where his place is,” I said.

“Him running a big cattle outfit,” Virgil said. “He shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

We watched the fire for a moment, then Virgil looked around as if he was looking for something. After a moment he looked back to the fire, staring.

“Should have come across something by now?” Virgil said.

He didn’t say it, but I knew he was talking about Sheriff Sledge Driskill and his deputies Chip and Karl.

“Damn should have,” I said.

“You think maybe they run into them Cotter brothers and company,” I said.

“Don’t know,” Virgil said.

“Something,” I said.

“Yep,” Virgil said. “Goddamn something.”

“One thing for sure,” I said. “Somebody in the Cotter and company knew about this shortcut.”

“They did,” Virgil said.

“Maybe we’ll run into something on down the road here,” I said.

“Maybe,” Virgil said, “maybe.”

After a while Virgil and I got some blankets and prepared us a place to sleep. I let Virgil share the warm overhang where Lonnie was bedded, and I cleared a section of snow and lined it with wool.

When I laid down the night sky was brilliant, bright and clear.

I saw Orion’s Belt and thought about Séraphine. I wondered what she was doing tonight. I wondered if maybe she was looking at the same stars I was looking at. I thought about her, remembering her . . . her smell, her skin, her hair . . .