Robert B. Parker's The Bridge

She didn’t say anything.

“Don’t you?”

She looked down, then to the door and back to Beauregard.

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes,” Beauregard said, as if he were a slave trader talking to his stock. “She has an eye.”

Nell just looked away.

“Marshal Cole,” Beauregard said. “I must say your lady friend, your significant other, is just lovely beyond lovely. Don’t you think, dear?”

“She is,” Nell said. “. . . Allison.”

Virgil nodded a little.

“Yes, Allison,” Beauregard said. “Just beautiful.”

Virgil nodded. He didn’t want to nod but he did and he also didn’t want to say anything but he did that, too.

“She is.”

“Lovely lady,” Beauregard said. “Right, dear?”

“Yes,” Nell said.

“She was so welcoming,” he said. “The whole ladies’ social, too. Allison told me if we needed anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Virgil didn’t say anything.

“Appaloosa’s a friendly place,” I said.

“Not completely,” Beauregard said, leaning in like he had a secret to tell. “I understand there was a skirmish on the street. An altercation that left a man shot.”

“We don’t tolerate no-goods,” Virgil said.

“Indeed, Marshal, indeed,” he said, then looked to Nell. “Men of substance and quick resolve, my dear. You do have a good eye.”

Beauregard was a first-class shit, and I could tell Virgil had had his fill.

“You folks have a good day,” I said.

“We will,” he said, “and rest assured just as soon as this darn weather clears we’ll be bringing your fine friendly city some delightful friendly entertainment.”

“No doubt,” I said.

Virgil tipped his hat.

“Ma’am.”

I followed him out the door. We turned to the west and walked up the boardwalk toward Dag’s Hotel.

“Early to be hitting the bottle,” I said.

“Not for the by-God glorious Beauregard Beauchamp,” Virgil said.

— 21 —

Dag’s Hotel was on the west side of Appaloosa, across the tracks. It was a dingy place where mining crews stayed. Two big miner boys walked out as Virgil and I entered.

The lobby smelled of tobacco and whiskey. The room was cluttered with café tables and twenty-gallon barrels for chairs. Spittoons were scattered about under the tables, and the walls were devoid of any kind of hanging decoration with the exception of a stuffed buffalo sporting a lady’s pink bo

A counter lined the back of the lobby, with a set of stairs behind it leading up to the rooms. A potbellied stove sat in the corner with pots of coffee sitting on top.

Sitting at a table by the window was a bearded old-timer, wearing overalls and a train engineer’s cap. He was sipping coffee from a tin cup and scribbling intently in a notebook.

Virgil and I made our way through the tables to the counter, where a tough-looking heavyset woman was perched on a stool. She looked a little more like a man than a woman, and when she spoke her voice was raspy.

“How do,” she said. “You fellas looking for a room?”

She was missing a few teeth, both top and bottom, and it gave her raspy voice a slight whistle when she spoke.

“No,” I said.

I pulled back my slicker and coat lapel and showed her my badge.

“We’re marshals,” I said.

She looked back and forth between Virgil and me.

“Oh,” she said. “I’ve heard about you two. Name’s Sandy. How can I help you?”

“We’re looking for some soldiers,” I said.

Sandy shook her head.

“Had some soldiers here, but they done left.”

“When did they leave?” I said.

“This morning.”

“Time?” Virgil said.

“Early, just after daylight.”

“Say where they were headed?” Virgil said.

“No,” she said.

“Say anything?” I said.

“They didn’t say much of anything. They got here, ’bout, oh, noon yesterday, were wet as rats. They dried out, came and went a little bit in the afternoon and evening for food and whiskey and such, but they’re gone now.”

“You saw them this morning?” Virgil said.

“I did,” she said. “They sat in here, had some coffee but stayed to themselves. Weren’t the friendliest soldiers I ever met.”

“Don’t think they’re soldiers,” the old man in the engineer’s cap said.

We turned, looking at the old-timer.

“What’s that?” I said.

“Before I took on with the Santa Fe,” he said. “I spent most my born days with the blue.”

“That’s Jasper,” Sandy said. “Don’t listen to him. He don’t got both oars in the water.”

“Said the barn hog to the wild piglet,” Jasper said.

“Don’t you go on with your storytelling and name-calling, you old fool, or I’ll throw you out on your ass,” Sandy said, and then leaned across the desk on her elbow. “He don’t work for the railroad no more, they cut him loose ’cause he’s nuttier than a pecan pie.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Jasper said. “I got my suspicions about those soldiers, or one of them, anyway. Which makes me think the lot of them was nothing but gray-back rebel blue dressers.”

“Jasper,” Sandy said. “Hush.”

Virgil moved toward the old man a step.

“What makes you say that?” Virgil said. “They were dressers.”

“’Cause I know soldiers.”

“Go on,” Virgil said, taking another step toward the old man.

“I was sitting right here. One of ’em walked in last night. I talked to him,” Jasper said.

“What’d he say?” Virgil said.

“He was full of shit,” Jasper said.

“He say anything about them being after a raiding party?” Virgil said.

“He did,” Jasper said.

“What’d he say?”

“They’d been dispatched to look for a party that robbed and murdered some settlers on the trail.”

I moved away from the counter and Virgil and I walked a little closer to Jasper.

“He offer up any details about that?” I said.

Jasper shook his head.

“No.”

“Why do you think he’s full of shit?” I said.

“I asked him a few questions about his outfit, where all he’d been stationed. He was plum full of shit.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Said he was from Colorado,” Jasper said. “From Fort Lewis. I told him, well, hell, I knew Big Bill of Fort Lewis.”

“Bill?” Virgil said.

“Lieutenant Colonel William Lewis was a friend of mine,” Jasper said. “Fort Lewis was named after him.”

Virgil looked to me.

“So what gave you suspicion?” I said.

“He told me he didn’t know Bill, but that he’d met him at the fort in the past. Ha.”

“And you didn’t believe him?” Virgil said.

“Nope.”

Virgil looked at me.

“Why?” I asked.

“Bill never set foot in Fort Lewis. He was dead. He got killed before the goddamn fort was even built,” Jasper said. “They just constructed the fort and put his damn name on top the gate.”

“This soldier fella,” Virgil said. “He the only one you talked to?”

“Yep,” Jasper said. “And like I tell ya. He was no soldier, he was a dumb shit. Dressers, I figure, the lot of ’em.”

— 22 —

Virgil and I left Dag’s Hotel and walked in the rain toward the tracks.

“By God,” Virgil said.

“What do you allow?” I said.

“Think the old man might not be nuttier than a pecan pie,” Virgil said.

“Me, too.”

“There was something about them boys,” I said. “Something about them didn’t seem right when I saw them riding into town.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t really think about it then. They were rough-looking. Didn’t give it much thought, but in hindsight and with Old Man Jasper’s summation I suspect they are no-goods that are up to no good.”

“’Spect you’re right,” Virgil said.

“What kind of no-good is the question,” I said.

“Is,” Virgil said.

“So these boys come into town, haggard like they were, and tell people they’re on a searching party?”