Роберт Паркер - The Bridge

“Any other correspondence with the operator?”

“No.”

Virgil nodded a little.

“Let’s get geared up, Everett,” Virgil said, “get over there.”

“I got Skinny Jack and Book outfitting us now,” I said.

“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.

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, Lonnie.”

“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.

“Skinny Jack’s getting you ready,” Book said.

“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 Skinny Jack.”

“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.

“Status of workers and damage?” I said.

Virgil nodded to Charlie.

Charlie rubbed his hands together, pounded out the note on the key, then got to his feet.

“Be right back,” Charlie said. “Kind of on the cold side. Get my robe.”

Charlie ducked into the back room and came out a second later, tying the belt of the robe around his waist and carrying a pair of slippers. He dropped the slippers on the floor, slid his feet into them, then sat back at the telegraph desk and faced the key and sounder.

We all focused on the sounder and within a minute it went off and Charlie wrote the note.

“Cleanup has been under way... Bridge completely gone.”

Virgil looked at me.

“Respond, Has Sheriff Driskill been seen at the bridge camp?” Virgil said.

I nodded.

Charlie keyed the note. Waited and then replied, when the sounder replied.

Charlie relayed the code.

“No report of Sheriff Driskill of recent,” Charlie said. “Can check with camp and let you know right away.”

Charlie looked up to Virgil and me.

“The way station is about thirty minutes from the bridge, so some of what will be in response may not be immediate.”

Virgil nodded.

“How many dead, injured?” Virgil said.

Charlie keyed out the note and the sounder immediately sounded back.

“Three dead,” Charlie said. “No injuries.”

“Who were the raiders?” Virgil said.

Charlie tapped out Virgil’s request and then spoke out the words as he wrote the sounder’s reply.

“It is uncertain who they were or how many... Dynamite placed on the bridge in the night... Bombers blew up bridge in the a.m.... Three men, early workers, were on the bridge... They were casualties of the explosion.”

“Is G. W. Cox on location?”

Virgil looked at me.

“Curtis Whittlesey said Cox is the contractor,” I said. “Was an attorney, been here for a while in Appaloosa and won the bid to build the bridge.”

Virgil nodded.

Charlie keyed the note.

The sounder sounded back and Charlie shook his head.

“As of an hour ago, last report, Mr. Cox was not at the bridge,” Charlie said.

It was close to midnight by the time Virgil and I left the Western Union office.

“Why would somebody do this?” I said.