Ironhorse

34

I pocketed my flask, and we rode the rail in silence for a long while as I worked the brake regulating our speed downhill.

“I suppose it could be worse,” I said.

Virgil looked at me.

“The telegram,” I said. “Not sure how exactly, but it could.”

“No matter,” Virgil said. “Don’t change the fact Chauncey Teagarden can go about town doing as he pleases while we’re out marshaling.”

“No, it don’t,” I said, “especially since you left him in charge of peacekeeping duties.”

“Especially,” Virgil said. “Not much peaceful about the whole of it, though.”

“Not,” I said.

“But it’s just the way it is, it’s the way things go. Some things are certain and some uncertain,” Virgil said. “Most being uncertain. You know that, Everett, and it’s an uncertain thing we do.”

“Is,” I said.

“So,” Virgil said. “We keep one eye open on the certain things and the other open on the uncertain.”

I thought to myself about the certainness of what to expect from Allie French as we coasted in the dark. There wasn’t much uncertain about Allie. Fact being, Allie French was as predictable as sundown.

“But,” Virgil said, “‘what lies before us and what lies behind us are small matters compared to what lies within us.’”

“Emerson?”

“Yep,” Virgil said. “Ralph Waldo.”

After that, Virgil stopped talking. We rode in silence for the next few miles.

I understood the nature of Virgil’s dismay. When Virgil’s mind was set, it was granite. He believed in Allie. His mind was set on that simple fact, and he cared for her deeply, whether she was whoring or not. It was never actions that shackled Virgil’s interest, but more to it, the nature behind the actions.

Virgil was more capable than anyone I ever saw in a struggle, but Virgil always valued strategy over struggle. I always thought if Virgil had fought with the Army he would have made a hell of a general. There would be no other place for him besides the top. In a way, Virgil maneuvered as a general in everything he did. Not all generals, but the ones who were fearless and thoughtful. Virgil was selfless, matter-of-fact, always knowing there was nothing more to the future than the present, and that fact made him stand taller than most.

“Dead hand,” Virgil said, almost quiet-like.

Virgil was signifying the fact we were rolling past a dead gunman tossed off the train.

“Not much of a burial,” I said.

“No, it’s not,” Virgil said.

“Not much of a life, either.”

“Not,” Virgil said. “There’s another.”

“Seen a lot of dead men, especially in the Army,” I said. “Never comfortable with the fact, really.”

“Killing a man is one thing,” Virgil said. “Getting comfortable with it is another thing. Living among the dead is altogether something else.”

“Never was much for religion. Or really considered such a thing as living forever, but seeing crumpled dead men always makes me think there’s got to be something more to it. Especially if the poor bastard was just that, a poor bastard, which most of the time are the dead people we come in contact with.”

“You live,” Virgil said. “You die.”

“Indians seem a bit different, for some reason.”

“Indians got a foot in and one foot out of life from the get-go,” Virgil said.

I thought about that. That seemed right. We rode for a bit and Virgil was quiet.

“What do you figure happened with the men that were traveling with the governor,” I said.

“Lassiter,” Virgil said, “and Hobbs?”

“What do you think?” I said. “Slow as the train was going, unless they landed in a deep gully, I don’t think the jump would have hurt them.”

“Hard to know,” Virgil said.

“Maybe they took a road, made it to a farm or ranch or one of the other places the yard hand Whip was talking about.”

“Might have,” Virgil said.