Роберт Паркер - The Bridge

“Oh, hell,” I said slowly. “...Oh, hell, Virgil.”

Virgil shook his head slowly.

Lying dead on the floor of the slaughterhouse were two mules and the lawman’s three horses. The buckboard sat behind the hanging men and the dead animals at the opposite end of the structure.

The horses and mules had been killed, their throats slashed.

The whole scene was as gruesome as any aftermath of attacks I had witnessed in my days fighting in the Indian Wars.

I went to the opposite end of the building and tried to open the barn doors so to clear the air from the stench, but they wouldn’t budge because of the snow.

I kicked out enough slats on the side so I could crawl through the opening. When I got out I used one of the slats as a shovel and went about clearing the snow from in front of the door. I worked at it awhile and eventually Virgil came out through the opening. He picked up a slat and we both worked at clearing the snow.

“Sonsabitches,” I said.

Virgil didn’t say anything for a moment as he moved snow with the board, then he said under his breath and almost to himself, “Bad hombres, Everett.”

“One thing to blow up a goddamn bridge and get paid for it,” I said. “But this is, this is, I don’t know, it’s...”

Virgil didn’t say anything, he just dug and scraped snow.

We kept at it until we got the snow cleared and the doors could open freely.

When we opened the barn doors we could see clothing lying inside the bed of the buckboard.

“Their discarded stuff,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“Left when they donned the goddamn blues,” Virgil said.

Virgil picked up one of the pieces of clothing. A vest. He shook his head a little and dropped it.

We wasted no time getting the men down from the meat hooks and into the bed of the buckboard.

I thought about the face of the man with the beard I saw riding through town. I remembered his eyes. I thought about the fact he looked at me sitting by the window of Hal’s Café and gave me a slight wave as the men behind followed him, riding through the street.

I remembered talking with Hal about the look they had, and now, after seeing this brutal and evil dirty work, I knew why they looked the way they did. They had just done this deed. I added up the timing in my mind. When Driskill and his men left, and the timing when I witnessed the men ride by in front of Hal’s.

“When I saw the bastards riding through, it was about noon,” I said.

Virgil thought about that as we laid the body of young Chip in the bed of the buckboard.

“They stayed here through the night,” Virgil said, “looking about the slaughterhouse.”

“And took their damn time.”

“They did,” Virgil said.

Virgil and I covered the men with our slickers. We got our horses and hitched them to the buckboard. Then we drove the buckboard slowly back on the foggy road to Appaloosa.

When we arrived back in Appaloosa, we drove around the outside of town so not to draw attention. We cut through the alleys and stopped in behind the office of the undertaker.

I went through the back door and got the old undertaker, Joshua Ramos, and brought him out to the alley.

Ramos was a large, jovial man, always dressed in a tattered black suit and never without an unlit cigar wedged into the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, Virgil,” Joshua said.

“Joshua,” Virgil said.

When Joshua and I were close to the buckboard, Virgil pulled the slickers covering the dead men.

Joshua opened his mouth and his cigar dropped in the snow.

“Holy hell,” Joshua said. “That’s Sheriff Driskill?”

“It is,” Virgil said.

“And his deputies,” I said.

“Holy hell,” Joshua said.

“Don’t let no one know about this,” Virgil said.

“I won’t,” Joshua said, shaking his head. “I most certainly won’t.”

“Want to notify the next of kin,” Virgil said. “Post a town hall notice and let the mayor of Appaloosa make the proper announcement to the community.”

Virgil and I got the clothes from the back of the buckboard and stuffed them into a gunnysack.

“Since it’s freezing cold like it is,” Joshua said, “it’d be best we put the bodies in here.”

Joshua opened a shed connected to the back of his office.

Virgil and I put the bodies of the lawmen side by side on the floor.

“You want me to get them ready to be buried right away, I reckon?” Joshua said.

“I do,” Virgil said.

“I got one box built for Old Bill Gibbons, but he ain’t dead just yet, so I can use that one,” Joshua said. “Just have to build two more.”

“Get ’er done,” Virgil said.

“Will do,” Joshua said.

“With the weather like it is,” Joshua said. “Be hard as hell to dig a hole in this ground.”

“Hard ground or not,” Virgil said. “Need to get it started. Get some men to the cemetery with some pickaxes. Pay ’em, I’ll cover it.”

“You want me to put them side by side?” Joshua said.

Virgil looked at me.

I nodded.

We left Joshua and drove the buckboard to the open yard behind the Appaloosa Livery and unhitched our animals.

Salt came out to meet us. He took our horses and walked them into the barn.

Salt watched Virgil and me as we removed our saddles from the buckboard and walked to the barn. He could tell something was up, something different. but he didn’t say anything and neither did we.

I took the gunnysack full of the clothes discarded by the killers with me as Virgil and I left the livery barn and started walking toward the sheriff’s office.

We walked the three blocks without saying anything. The fact of the matter was we’d hardly talked at all, all the way back to Appaloosa from the slaughterhouse.

We crossed the street to the opposite boardwalk and as we neared the office we saw Book coming up the boardwalk from the opposite direction.

He saw us, waved to us, and hurried his pace toward us.

“Not real interested in this,” I said. “Talking to them.”

“No,” Virgil said. “I know.”

“These boys are gonna take this hard.”

“They will.”

“Driskill was like a father to them,” I said.

“He was,” Virgil said.

Book kept moving toward us.

“Boys to men, today,” Virgil said.

“It is,” I said.

“Hey,” Book said, as he got closer to us. “Got some good news.”

“What’s that, Book?” I said.

We met directly in front of the sheriff’s office door.

“Found the whereabouts of the cattleman you’re searching for,” Book said. “Chastain told me to find you. I have been looking all over for you. Wanted to let you know right away.”

Chastain opened the door. Skinny Jack was right behind him.

Chastain had heard us.

“That’s right,” Chastain said. “You were right, Swickey runs a big spread across the Rio Blanco.”

Virgil kicked his boots against the jamb a bit and walked into the office. I did the same and followed Virgil inside. Book followed me and I shut the door behind him.

The door between the office and cells was closed.

“Got a direction on him?” Virgil said.

Chastain nodded.

“Know where to find him,” Chastain said.

Virgil nodded.

“Good,” Virgil said.

“Got a wire back from the Territorial Cattlemen’s Association,” Chastain said.

“Where is he?” Virgil said.

“Like you said, he’s on the Blanco near Loblolly Mills,” Chastain said.

“Loblolly,” Virgil said. “That’s just due east of here.”

“It is, fifty, sixty miles. I didn’t want to start inquiring any more than we done,” Chastain said. “I didn’t contact no one in Loblolly. I don’t want to let him know we’re looking for him.”