Роберт Паркер - The Bridge

“Haven’t seen hide nor hair of you fellas,” Carveth said.

“Things have sure enough been good and peaceful here in Appaloosa,” Carveth said. “Think Sheriff Driskill puts the fear of God in most folks.”

I handed Carveth the report and he looked it over.

“Both the men Bolger Orsley shot at want to make sure he gets his due,” I said. “Gets locked up, stays locked up. They’re scared of him.”

“He shot at you, too,” Carveth said.

“Yes,” I said. “He did, but I’m not scared of him if he’s out or not.”

“No, I wouldn’t think there’s much that would scare you, Everett, and you, Virgil, but make no mistake about Bolger,” Carveth said. “Him and that brother of his are both bad apples.”

“So it seems,” I said.

“I’m surprised these two men, Grant and Elliott, hired them in the first place,” Carveth said.

“They don’t know much about the likes of Bolger and his kind,” I said.

Carveth nodded.

“I heard about those two, Grant and Elliott,” Carveth said. “They’re different.”

“In some ways,” Virgil said, “I suspect they are, but it don’t give Bolger the right to pull on ’em.”

“No, of course not,” Carveth said. “Bolger and Ballard both have been arrested on numerous occasions all over the territories. His brother, Ballard, is the one to worry about.”

“We’ve heard,” Virgil said.

“Any idea where he is?” Carveth said.

“Don’t,” I said.

“He’s a hard case,” Carveth said. “I know he spent some time locked up down in Huntsville.”

“What for?” Virgil said.

“Don’t know,” Carveth said. “As far as whether Bolger stays locked up, that’ll be of course for Judge Callison to decide. Bolger will be held till his arraignment, and that’ll be a while.”

“Why a while?” Virgil said.

“Judge won’t be through here till the end of the month,” Carveth said. “Most likely, considering the nature of Bolger’s charges and firing on an officer of the law, well, he’ll likely stay locked up without bail till his trial.”

Virgil nodded.

Carveth looked at the report for a moment, then set it on his desk and leaned back in his chair.

“I heard there are some Union men in town,” Carveth said. “Know anything about that?”

“I saw ’em,” I said. “Yesterday.”

“Word is they’re on the hunt for a raiding party,” Carveth said.

“What raiding party?” Virgil said.

“I don’t know,” Carveth said.

“Indians?” I said.

Carveth shrugged.

“Don’t know,” Carveth said.

“How do you know what you know?” Virgil said.

“More card talk,” Carveth said.

“What, exactly?” Virgil said.

“Not much gets by the esquires. A few of them were having some whiskey at Clancy’s Saloon, said one of the soldiers came in, bought some whiskey. They said he talked some, that’s all I know.”

I looked to Virgil.

“After the shooting with Bolger, I didn’t think too much about ’em,” I said. “I figured they were just passing through, maybe up from Fort Union.”

“Know where they are now, Carveth?” Virgil said.

“No,” Carveth said. “But I can tell you, the esquires told me all they know, that much I am sure of. They said the soldier told them they were on the hunt and would continue to hunt until they found the raiders.”

When we left Carveth’s office the rain had started up again. The wind had picked up some, too, and the day was dark.

We buttoned up our slickers under the porch overhang as we watched some traffic moving slowly in both directions on the muddy street.

“What do you think about the unit?” I said.

“Don’t make good sense,” Virgil said.

“Us not knowing about no raiding party?”

Virgil nodded.

“No,” I said. “It don’t.”

“We got no wire.”

“We didn’t.”

“If something has happened in these whereabouts,” Virgil said, “it’s our jurisdiction.”

“We should know,” I said.

“Should,” Virgil said.

“Whether the military is on the hunt or not,” I said.

“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 skinner hawed the team around the corner in front of us and moved on up Third Street.

“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 skinny dun, when we entered.

“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.

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.