Роберт Паркер - Robert B. Parker's Revelation

Driggs wrote the name on the front of the envelope and handed it to the night manager. The night manager looked at the name on the envelope and nodded.

“Indeed,” he said, then called into the room behind the counter, “William.”

A freckle-faced young man poked his head out.

“Take this note to the depot,” the night manager said. “Make certain you get it there. He’ll be coming off the first-class car. Can’t miss him.”

William took the note and read it out loud as he put on his slicker.

“Mr. Vandervoort,” he said with a chuckle. “No, he’d be hard to miss.”

Virgil and I hunted all of Red Rock for Degraw and the girl but came up empty handed. We rested in a dry barn behind the bunkhouse on the north end of town and in the morning just prior to sunup we checked on Gracie. He was asleep, but Claude was up drinking coffee when we stopped in.

“Morning,” Claude said.

“Morning,” we said.

“You find who you was looking for?” Claude said.

“Did not,” I said.

“Sorry to hear,” he said.

Virgil nodded to Gracie.

“How is he?”

Claude looked at Gracie.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Claude said.

“He has nobody left,” I said. “Least where we found him he don’t.”

“Y’all moving on?”

“We are,” I said.

“Know where to go to look for who you’re looking for?”

“Don’t,” I said.

“I don’t know how you do the work you do, but I’m glad you are doing it.”

Claude shook his head a little.

“Once he’s healed up good,” Claude said, “I’ll figure out what makes the best sense for him. If he doesn’t have anybody else, I’ll take care of him myself.”

Virgil looked to me and nodded a little.

“Good,” he said.

“My wife died this year,” he said. “We never had any children of our own, and seeing how it’s just me at the house now, there is no reason he can’t stay there with me. Long as he don’t mind the fact I can be a crabby ol’ man now and again.”

With that, Virgil and I said our thanks and good-byes and rode north toward the railway depot. The weather had cleared, leaving only mountains of white billowy clouds above and across the horizon.

As we approached the small depot we could see that the door was wide open. A few young section hands wearing greasy overalls were sitting on the porch. There were two long flatbeds parked around the depot hitched to mule teams that were loaded with railroad ties, rail sections, and tools. One of the fellas leaned his head in the door and said something to someone inside the depot and within a few seconds a heavyset man filled the doorframe. He stood watching us as we rode up and when we were close he moved out onto the porch to greet us. The hands were lounging for lunch, eating jerky and hardtack and drinking coffee.

“Howdy,” the heavyset man said.

Virgil raised his hand friendly-like.

“Morning,” I said.

“Y’all here to catch the train,” he said.

“Well,” I said, “that depends.”

He stepped out a bit more as we stopped shy of the porch.

“Next train is northbound,” he said. “It will be here in about three and a half hours.”

Virgil pulled back his jacket, showed his badge, and introduced us.

“We been hunting a man,” Virgil said. “Escaped convict out of Cibola.”

The workers on the porch all kind of looked at each other, then to us.

“He may and may not have a young girl with him,” Virgil said. “White child, fifteen or so.”

“He’s a big, broad-shouldered man,” I said. “He’s ’bout forty. Frizzy head of hair; wide, flat nose; pockmarked face.”

“Nobody has caught a train outta here,” the heavyset man said. “About two weeks back a man and woman come from Red Rock. But the man looked nothing like the man you described and the female was no girl.”

“This man would have been through here like yesterday,” I said.

The heavyset man shook his head, then looked to the young hands on the porch.

“Boys?” he said.

They all looked to us and said they’d not seen anybody matching the description of Degraw or a girl.

“There was a northbound that come through last night but I was not awake to see them, normally don’t see the late-night and early-morning ones unless there is some maintenance scheduled or a passenger bought a ticket and is waiting. ’Pose there could have been a jump-on then. It does happen now and again. A southbound came through at seven this morning, but nobody for sure boarded, ticket or no ticket.”

“Boss,” a small young hand with a mop of blond hair that covered his eyes said. “I did find this this morning.”

He pulled a pink ribbon from his overalls and held it up for us to see.

The night previous Driggs followed the freckle-faced William to the depot to make certain the note was delivered. He stood in the shadows across the way where he had a good view of William waiting on the platform. When the train arrived, at almost eight thirty on the minute, Driggs watched as the passengers disembarked. He waited for what seemed an eternity but no one stepped off the Pullman. Then, as if he were a ghost, Vandervoort stepped off the train and out through the thick steam where he was met by William. William did as he was instructed; he delivered the sealed envelope with the note to Vernon Vandervoort. Then William hurried off.

Driggs watched expectantly but Vandervoort just put the letter in his pocket. Driggs was not necessarily pleased he did that but knew Vandervoort would get to it soon enough. Driggs watched Vandervoort as he spoke to the porter who was collecting his luggage and as he waited, he retrieved the envelope from his pocket, opened it, and stared at it. After a moment Vandervoort looked about with a curious expression on his face, then he stared back at the note.

Driggs knew that it would be just a matter of time before he would be seeing Mr. Vandervoort up close and personal.

Now Driggs was content this beautiful afternoon reading the Appaloosa Star Statesman in the Boston House Saloon as he waited on the princess to come down for an early dinner. The feature article was about Thane Rutledge’s celebration that was taking place the following night at the Vandervoort Town Hall. The event promised all of Appaloosa an evening of excitement and festivities that included lively entertainment, hors d’oeuvres, champagne, dancing, and a speech from Vandervoort himself.

He was sitting in his favorite spot, next to the wall that separated the saloon from its gambling room. He was sipping fine whiskey, a new brand that Wallis had recommended. He was captivated by the lavish details of the party. He learned about the orchestra and the prominent speakers that would be in attendance including the guest of honor, Vandervoort himself. He was miffed to read about the ticket price for the event, more money than the average person of Appaloosa made in a day, but he knew better than most that that was the point of the event. Then, just to his right, he heard the saloon doors open.

“Hey, Wallis.”

“Hey, Book,” Wallis said.

“You seen Sheriff Chastain?”

“No, Book,” Wallis said. “Have not.”

Driggs did not turn immediately. He remained reading the article in the Statesman , then after a moment he turned the page and casually looked over to Wallis and Book. The first thing he noticed was the shiny deputy badge pinned on Book’s vest.

“Been looking all over for him,” Book said.