Ironhorse

55

We woke up Constable Berkeley. He came to the jailhouse with one of his deputies, J. B. Larson, a young fellow with a big wad of tobacco in his mouth, and they got the place opened up for us. The jailhouse was a two-room structure with an office on one side and two cells on the other. Thick double doors that remained wide open divided the office and cells. We got Vince and the smaller bandit locked up, each in his own cell.

I walked back in the front door from taking care of the horses, and Virgil was still sitting in a cane-back chair in front of Vince’s cell with the Henry rifle resting in his lap. He was doing the same thing he was doing when I had stepped out, questioning Vince. Deputy Larson was asleep in a corner chair, and Berkeley was yawning wide as he stirred a pot of boiling coffee.

I walked over behind the main desk and took a seat in what looked like a comfortable chair, but when I sat on the cushion I felt Bob’s parfleche pouch under my butt. I freed the long strap from my shoulder, put the pouch on the desk, and let my butt settle into the cushioned seat. I put my leg over the edge of the desk and seriously thought about sleep. Vince and Virgil were both visible from where I was sitting.

Vince was sitting on the bunk with his elbows resting on his knees, looking at the floor. I could tell he was tired of Virgil’s questioning. Before I had stepped out, Vince had told Virgil everything he knew about the Yankee, and what he said pretty much matched what Dean had told us.

“So why did the Yankee target you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were in Wichita Falls, playing Seven-Up at the Bluebell Pool Palace and the Yankee asked you to be a part of this robbery?”

“It came up I was a train hand. I told him I worked as a brakeman. I worked for a couple of different railways, Union Pacific being the main line, but got laid off after the air brakes took over.”

Virgil looked at me and back to Vince.

“George Westinghouse.”

“That’s right,” Vince said disgustingly with his Irish brogue. “The Yankee said he had a job and he needed somebody that was familiar with trains.”

“Why was it you set the Pullman on fire?”

“I didn’t.”

“Who did?”

“The other fellow.”

“Who?”

“I never met him before.”

“But you met him tonight?”

Vince nodded.

“He was?”

“Bob Brandice. He got on, boarded with the Yankee. Bob’s a mean son of a bitch.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Vince said. “He’s a mean son of a bitch. That is why.”

“Why’d he set the Pullman on fire?”

“He threw a damn lantern. The fire kicked off quick.”

“Why?”

Vince shook his head.

“He was mad I would not stop the coaches from rolling backward.”

“Why was he mad?”

“When I knew we had you and Everett to deal with, I was not about to go back looking for the Yankee who double-crossed us. But when it came out, when I said your name, when I said Virgil Cole, Bob got angry. He insisted we stop.”

“And you wouldn’t.”

“Hell, no, I wouldn’t.”

“Why?”

“So I would not have to see you or Everett Hitch. Hell, it would be all right with me if I never saw the two of you ever again, including right now.”

Virgil looked at me and smiled.