Robert B. Parker's The Bridge

“Yep,” Virgil said. “We goddamn sure should have been notified.”

We watched a team of mules pulling a buckboard. They passed us carrying a heavy load covered with a tarp. The ski

“Might be a good idea we find the soldiers,” I said. “Figure out what’s what.”

“If they’re still here,” Virgil said.

We crossed the street and stopped back by the sheriff’s office. Book was standing in the open doorway. He was leaning on the doorjamb with his twenty-gauge tucked under his arm and a cup of coffee in his hand when we walked up.

“Book,” Virgil said. “Know anything about some soldiers coming into town?”

“Soldiers?”

“Yep,” I said. “Soldiers. Seven of them came into town yesterday, claiming to be looking for raiders that attacked some settlers. They rode in midday, right before Bolger started up.”

“No,” Book said. “I don’t. Should I?”

“Not necessarily,” Virgil said. “Not necessarily.”

Virgil turned and looked down the street. He thought for a minute and looked the other way. He started walking and I followed.

“Keep sharp, Book,” Virgil said, without looking back to him. “Keep sharp.”

“Yes, sir,” Book called back, as we walked away up the boardwalk.

Appaloosa had enough hotels and boardinghouses now that it provided us the need to do some looking.

The first place we checked was the Appaloosa Livery. There were other liveries in town and many lodging stables, but we started with Salt at the main livery.

Salt was coming through the rear door, leading a ski

“Salt,” I said.

Salt said nothing. He just lifted his chin, which was his way of saying, What can I do for you, what do you want, and why are you here? as he continued walking with the dun toward a stall.

“Looking for some soldiers that came into town,” I said.

Salt opened a stall and led the dun inside. He circled the horse inside the stall, leaving the dun facing the gate.

“Figured we’d see if you got their horses,” I said. “Might know where they’re staying?”

Salt removed the dun’s lead and closed the gate.

He shook his head.

“No soldiers,” Salt said, as he grabbed a pitchfork.

Virgil was looking out the rear door, watching the rain. He nodded a little, then looked to Salt.

“Good enough,” Virgil said. “’Preciate it, Salt.”

Salt nodded a little as he forked some hay over the gate into the dun’s stall.

“Like you said, Salt,” I said. “Weather’s damn sure got worse.”

Salt didn’t say anything as he forked more hay over the gate and into the stall.

Virgil and I turned and started back toward the front door.

“It will turn,” Salt said.

We looked back to Salt as he forked more hay.

“It has only just begun,” Salt said, without looking at us.

— 19 —

We stopped under the large barn’s overhang before we stepped back out into the weather.

“Save some walking around in the rain,” I said. “Best place to figure out who’s doing what would be the Boston House.”

“Wallis?” Virgil said.

“Not much gets by him,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

We left the barn and crossed over some long boards lying in the mud to the opposite side of Main Street and we walked up to the boardwalk to the Boston House Hotel.

The Boston House had experienced many changes through the years, but it was still the finest hotel in town. With business flourishing in Appaloosa, the hotel was more often than not sold out.

When we arrived at the hotel the streetside saloon doors were closed, so we entered through the main entrance.

Tilda, the long-standing waitress of the establishment, was busy serving breakfast to a dining room full of hotel guests.

“Look who’s here,” I said.

I didn’t need to say it. Virgil saw everything, always.

“Yep,” Virgil said, without looking directly at Beauregard, sitting at a corner table with young Nell.

“Your old friend,” I said.

Virgil smiled a little.

“And his tender kindle,” I said.

Virgil nodded without looking at them.

Beauregard followed Nell’s look in our direction just as Tilda greeted us.

I tipped my hat toward them, but Virgil’s attention was elsewhere.

Nell smiled. Beauregard looked to her.

“Hello, Marshal Cole,” Tilda said. “Deputy Marshal Hitch.”

“How do, Tilda,” Virgil said.

“Tilda,” I said, as I removed my hat.

“Breakfast?” she said.

“Not at the moment,” Virgil said.

He looked toward the saloon doors.

“Wallis in?” Virgil said.

“I believe he just got here.”

Tilda set her tray down and pulled open the tall sliding pocket doors that separated the dining area from the saloon.

“Wallis?” she called.

“What?” Wallis said from the back room.

“Marshal Cole and Deputy Marshal Hitch are here.”

“Thank you, Tilda,” Virgil said.

“You want some coffee?” Tilda said, as Virgil and I entered into the saloon.

“No,” Virgil said. “Thank you, Tilda.”

Wallis walked out of the back room.

“Well, hellfire,” Wallis said. “If it’s not the both of you.”

“Morning, Wallis,” Virgil said.

“Seen Hitch here the other night, but you’ve neglected to so much as stop by here and say hello.”

“Gone sensitive, Wallis?” Virgil said.

“I have indeed,” Wallis said. “Nightly I’ve been crying myself to sleep like a baby.”

Wallis smiled big.

“Early for the two of you,” he said, as he glided his big body around the copper-topped mahogany counter. “What can I get ya?”

Virgil shook his head.

“Just want to ask you,” Virgil said. “Know anything about a soldiering outfit in town?”

“Some,” Wallis said. “Just heard some about that last night.”

“What some?” Virgil said.

“My understanding,” Wallis said. “Some settlers were killed on the rut and they’re looking for who did it.”

“Know where the soldiers are?” Virgil said.

“Dag’s Hotel, I think. Were, anyway.”

Virgil nodded. He looked around the barroom a little before he looked to me.

I nodded.

“Thank you, Wallis,” I said.

“You came back in,” Wallis said. “Let’s do some reminiscing.”

“’Bout what?” Virgil said.

“’Bout the price of rice in China, Virgil,” Wallis said. “What else?”

Virgil smiled.

We turned and walked back to the exit. When we got to the doors separating the bar from the dining area, Beauregard and Nell were on their way out. Beauregard halted, looking at us, and smiled.

— 20 —

Hello, gentlemen,” Beauregard said. “I would attempt to shake your hand again, Marshal Cole, but I understand your reasons for not putting yourself at risk of something sudden and unwarranted.”

“No reason,” Virgil said.

“Not that I’m a risk,” he said with a big grin.

“Good to know,” Virgil said.

Beauregard looked to Nell.

“I’m a lamb, aren’t I, dear?”

She smiled. It was a nervous smile.

Beauregard placed his fists on both sides of his hips, pulling back his frock coat, then nodded to Nell.

“Nell, here, noticed the two of you right away when you walked in. Fact, you got her attention real good at the town hall, too. She told me after we met you that you both seemed to be men of substance. Instantly, didn’t you, dear?”

Virgil didn’t say anything.

I nodded to her and smiled.

She smiled, then glanced to Beauregard with ill-disguised irritation.

“Isn’t that right, dear?” he said.

She smiled weakly.

“Isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes,” she said, as she lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back.

“My wife has an eye for men of substance,” he said. “Don’t you, dear?”