Роберт Паркер - The Bridge

“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.”

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?”

Virgil nodded.

“What do they gain by that?” I said.

“Validatin’ their existence,” Virgil said.

Virgil and I made our way to the sheriff’s office. When we arrived, Book was sitting behind the desk and Clay Chastain, Sheriff Driskill’s senior deputy that had been laid up with a stomach bug, was sitting across from him.

We could see Bolger through the door separating the office from the cells. He was lying on the bunk, facing the wall.

“Howdy, Virgil, Everett,” Chastain said with his extra-long drawl. “Sorry as all hell I been under the damn weather, but I’m back. Back in the damn weather now.”

Chastain was a tough, rawboned man from Dallas, Texas. He had a scar across his face that traveled from above his eyebrow to the top of his jawbone. Chastain had an edge of intimidation to his demeanor that worked in his favor as an officer.

“Is some weather,” Virgil said. “Ain’t it?”

Chastain nodded.

“Damn sure is,” Chastain said.

“Good you’re back,” Virgil said.

“Book said you were looking for some soldiers?” Chastain said.

“We were,” Virgil said.

“Find ’em?”

“Didn’t,” Virgil said.

“Think they pulled out,” I said.

Chastain looked to Book.

“Book said something about settlers being attacked and the soldiers were on the hunt.”

“That’s the word they shared with a few people around town,” Virgil said.

Chastain looked back and forth between Virgil and me.

“You mean you two weren’t notified?” Chastain said. “No telegraph?”

“Weren’t,” I said.

“That don’t make sense,” Chastain said.

“That’s how we see it, too,” I said.

Chastain nodded a little and sat back in his chair. He looked over to Bolger on the bunk in his cell.

“Know all about the scuffle,” Chastain said, tilting his head to Bolger. “Good you got him.”

I nodded.

“Glad to know this sonofabitch is locked up,” Chastain said.

“Fuck you,” Bolger said, turning from facing the wall to look at Chastain.

“I don’t care you been wounded,” Chastain said slowly and calmly. “I’ll come in there and bust your ass up so bad you’d wish you been shot dead by Hitch. Keep yer ass quiet and don’t test me.”

“Wait till my brother gets wind of this,” Bolger said.

Chastain rose out of his chair with ease and walked slowly to the door between the cell and office.

“Where is this brother of yours you keep going on about?” Chastain said kindly.

“Ha,” Bolger said. “Fixin’ to come down on all of you like a Gila monster on sun frogs.”

Chastain hooked his thumbs just on both sides of his belt buckle.

“Shut yer ass up,” Chastain said smoothly. “Not one more word.”

Bolger snarled a little and rolled back over on his side facing the wall and Chastain closed the thick wooden door between them. The wall separating the cells from the main office was thick stucco and the door was three inches of oak. When it was closed the prisoners couldn’t hear any office business and the officers didn’t have to listen to the prisoners snore or bellyache.