Роберт Паркер - Robert B. Parker's Revelation

“There,” I said. “Toward that meadow with those spring flowers.”

Virgil nodded.

“Looks inviting,” he said.

“Pretty fertile over here,” I said. “Much more so than the other side.”

“Is,” Virgil said.

“Awful nice country to have a monster like this no-good fucker moving around in.”

“That, too,” Virgil said.

“He’ll stay with the green as long as there is green,” I said.

We rode for an hour down through the pines, fremonts, spruce, and hackberry. There was a decent-sized brook that came from the mountains behind us that we crossed back and forth a few times. Virgil rode up a hill to a clearing just above the water, and when he got to the top he held up his hand and stopped. I stayed in the stream, where my horse was drinking.

“What?” I said.

“Smoke,” he said, pointing.

I moved up out of the creek and rode up next to him. I could see a narrow line of smoke rising up in the distance.

“Half-mile, maybe,” Virgil said.

I pulled out my scope and took a look.

“Can’t see anything, really,” I said. “The source is behind a rise in the foreground.”

We were at a slight elevation above the smoke’s source and it was clear that it was rising up in the cradle of the belt of green that followed the water.

“Reckon we best have a look,” Virgil said.

Virgil rode on and I followed right behind him. We traveled within the creek’s green belt, and when we got close to the source of the smoke we dismounted. We tied our horses, readied our Winchesters, and continued on by foot.

When we got close we slipped down to the creek’s edge and eased our way through the low-growing grasses and thickets until we could see the smoke’s source.

“Good goddamn,” Virgil said.

Even from the distance away we could tell we were looking at the leftovers of a group of wagon settlers who had been slaughtered. We saw no one moving about, but we could see bodies on the ground as we neared.

Once we had the whole scene in clear view, it was obvious to us that we were most certainly witnessing the bloody and brutal craftsmanship of the notorious Ed Degraw.

We walked slowly and cautiously into the camp to find two men, a woman, and a boy all dead on the ground.

We heard something flutter in the bushes. Virgil and I both turned quickly with our rifles to see that it was one of their chickens. We watched the chicken walk among the dead for a moment.

“A no-good sight,” Virgil said.

“It is,” I said.

Each person had been shot more than once. From the way the woman was lying with her legs spread and her nakedness showing from her waist down, it was obvious the miserable no-good took the time to rape her.

“The Kiowa was right,” I said. ”Diablo.”

“He damn sure is,” Virgil said.

“Look,” I said.

Across the creek there were two mules grazing.

“They had at least four animals pulling the wagon,” I said. “Could have had more.”

“’Spect Degraw took one, maybe two,” Virgil said.

“That he did,” I said.

Virgil looked at the dead boy and shook his head.

“Damn sure no longer on foot,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“No, he’s not,” he said.

Driggs was generally an early riser, but he woke up much later than usual, perhaps because he was awake most of the night taking care of business, but also because it was so dark outside. Driggs lay in bed, looking out the window. He heard a low roll of thunder. He looked over to the princess, who was still sound asleep. He watched her for a long moment, then he looked to his pocket watch on the nightstand.

“One-thirty in the afternoon,” Driggs whispered. Then he said even quieter, as if he were humoring himself, “One-thirty in the fucking afternoon...”

Driggs anticipated that the rest of the day would be good and he would accomplish much of what he was looking forward to achieving. This was the day he’d been waiting for. He was not yet going to complete what he came here to do, not today, but this was the beginning of the end. He was in fact A-okay with the time of day. Though he had no comparison, he considered time was always on the side of the living.

He started the day like most of the recent free daytime beginnings he’d spent, with a refreshing tip or two of fine whiskey and a cigarette. He would not get to see the morning regulars he normally watched, but that was okay. He would get to see a whole other group. He thought perhaps he would get to witness the non-workers who went this way and that carrying out their self-important duties and responsibilities and obligations.

When he moved to the window he was pleased with just how incredibly dark the day was. He marveled at the stark contrast of colors between the beiges and browns and whites of the buildings lining the street and the foreboding dark gray blanket that covered Appaloosa. It was not raining, but that seemed inevitable. The dark had a weight to it, as if it could produce a tornado that might just tear all of Appaloosa off the earth. The darkness, the encroaching doom, did not prevent the civilized from going about their business, but it did prevent them from moving slowly. Most everyone moved at a brisk pace.

One of the first people he saw was Margie. She was rushing down the street, hurrying — most likely — to Allie’s place. Driggs thought it interesting that she was one of the last people he’d seen the night before and now she was one of the first he’d laid eyes on. It must mean something.

She was elegant in a form-fitting cream-colored dress with the high bustle that was the newest fashion. She was almost an aberration, a bright and shiny nymph with wings fluttering through the dark void. He thought about knocking on the window to get her attention but since it was so dark out and she was in a hurry, and he was naked and sporting his usual morning tumescence, he refrained.

A rumbling thunder shook the glass of the window and reverberated through the floor of the hotel.

He took one of his rolled cigarettes from the dresser, struck a match, and inhaled the first intoxicating cloud that instantly stimulated his sleepy head. He took a second shot of whiskey, and when he had the bottle tipped back something caught his eye out the window. He nonchalantly turned away from the window and moved back into the shadows of the room. Then he moved to the second window toward the foot of the bed. This window was covered with curtains. There was an opening between the curtains. When he peeked out, he was slightly surprised by what he saw.

Down Main Street there was a two-story structure under construction. It was not one of the new brick buildings. It was a well-built wooden structure that had yet to be painted. Driggs thought it might be a small hotel or a boardinghouse. There were three windows on the second floor, and in the center window stood a man. He appeared to be looking out toward the Boston House. Driggs watched him for a moment. “I’ll be goddamned,” Driggs said.

He knew he was not visible to the man, but he didn’t want to take a chance. Driggs was not completely certain the man he saw was actually even looking at him, not directly. But Driggs thought it odd a man sitting in the window, looking out like that, and above all, Driggs was cautious. He took a pull off his cigarette, then leaned in and looked out through the curtains again.

“Good morning,” the princess said.

Driggs turned from the window and looked to her.

“What’s out there?” she said.

“What’s not?”

She giggled.

“That’s what I adore about you.”