Robert B. Parker's The Bridge

“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 Lo

“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 Ski

“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.

— 26 —

Virgil 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, Lo

“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.

“Ski

“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 Ski

“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.