Ironhorse

46

We watched as she walked back through the curtains and to the corner table where the men were playing poker. She leaned down and spoke to one of the men at the table. He turned and looked back at us. He looked to the others at the table, excused himself, and started walking toward Virgil and me. The piano player and the chanteuse started up another tune as Berkeley walked in our direction. Berkeley was a big man with big features, wearing an expensive suit. He had a thick head of curly hair slicked back with shiny oil. He came through the curtains and held out his hand.

“Burton Berkeley,” he said.

Virgil did not take his hand. I interceded and shook hands with Berkeley. I showed him my badge.

“I’m Deputy Everett Hitch; this is Marshal Virgil Cole.”

Virgil was looking through the curtains to the men at the poker table. They were looking at us.

“Well, this has been quite an evening here in Half Moon Junction,” Berkeley said. “Were you the lawmen on board?”

“We were,” I said.

He shook his head. “How, how in the hell did you get back to here?”

Virgil did not answer; he asked instead, “Where’s the governor?”

Berkeley looked back and forth between Virgil and me.

“Well, he’s safe, Marshal.”

“He’s not one of the fellows back there at the table looking at us, is he?” Virgil said.

Berkeley turned, looking at the men in the back room who were looking at us, and then turned back to us, shaking his head.

“No,” Berkeley said.

“Did he leave on the Denison?” Virgil said.

“No,” Berkeley said. “He is here.”

“At this hotel?”

“Yes.”

“His wife with him?” Virgil asked.

Berkeley put his hands to his hips holding back his suit coat.

“Yes, they retired. This is terrible. They were obviously in shock and, well, with their daughters in peril. Do you know anything about them, their whereabouts?”

The piano player kicked into a loud section of his already noisy tune, which annoyed the hell out of Virgil but provided him the opportunity to ignore Berkeley’s question. Virgil was not accustomed to, nor interested in sharing, details about anything to anyone, especially someone he just met with a white flower in his lapel.

“What about the other passengers on the train?” Virgil asked.

“Some, most, we were able to get on the Denison train back to Texas. There are a few I believe at the other hotels, wishing to depart tomorrow.”

“What about the robbers,” I said. “They had the horses from the stock car. Any sign of them?”

“No,” Berkeley said. “I’m afraid not. It’s my understanding when the coaches came to a halt, they told the passengers to wait until they were gone, out of sight, before anyone stepped off the train. That’s my understanding, anyway. I have no idea where they are. They most likely moved quickly away from the fray, but I honestly have no idea. What with dealing with the governor and the rest, I’m sorry, I just do not know. We did look for them. I had a few of my deputies look around. We had their descriptions, but we came up with nothing. There are a lot of men in this town.”

“The two back there, staring at us,” Virgil said. “That Lassiter and Hobbs?”

Berkeley turned, looking at the men. He turned back to Virgil and nodded slowly.

“Why, yes,” Berkeley said. “As a matter of fact, they are. That’s James Lassiter and Chester Hobbs.”