The Bridge

18

When we left Carveth’s office the rain had started up again. The wind had picked up some, too, and the day was dark.

We buttoned up our slickers under the porch overhang as we watched some traffic moving slowly in both directions on the muddy street.

“What do you think about the unit?” I said.

“Don’t make good sense,” Virgil said.

“Us not knowing about no raiding party?”

Virgil nodded.

“No,” I said. “It don’t.”

“We got no wire.”

“We didn’t.”

“If something has happened in these whereabouts,” Virgil said, “it’s our jurisdiction.”

“We should know,” I said.

“Should,” Virgil said.

“Whether the military is on the hunt or not,” I said.

“Yep,” Virgil said. “We goddamn sure should have been notified.”

We watched a team of mules pulling a buckboard. They passed us carrying a heavy load covered with a tarp. The skinner hawed the team around the corner in front of us and moved on up Third Street.

“Might be a good idea we find the soldiers,” I said. “Figure out what’s what.”

“If they’re still here,” Virgil said.

We crossed the street and stopped back by the sheriff’s office. Book was standing in the open doorway. He was leaning on the doorjamb with his twenty-gauge tucked under his arm and a cup of coffee in his hand when we walked up.

“Book,” Virgil said. “Know anything about some soldiers coming into town?”

“Soldiers?”

“Yep,” I said. “Soldiers. Seven of them came into town yesterday, claiming to be looking for raiders that attacked some settlers. They rode in midday, right before Bolger started up.”

“No,” Book said. “I don’t. Should I?”

“Not necessarily,” Virgil said. “Not necessarily.”

Virgil turned and looked down the street. He thought for a minute and looked the other way. He started walking and I followed.

“Keep sharp, Book,” Virgil said, without looking back to him. “Keep sharp.”

“Yes, sir,” Book called back, as we walked away up the boardwalk.

Appaloosa had enough hotels and boardinghouses now that it provided us the need to do some looking.

The first place we checked was the Appaloosa Livery. There were other liveries in town and many lodging stables, but we started with Salt at the main livery.

Salt was coming through the rear door, leading a skinny dun, when we entered.

“Salt,” I said.

Salt said nothing. He just lifted his chin, which was his way of saying, What can I do for you, what do you want, and why are you here? as he continued walking with the dun toward a stall.

“Looking for some soldiers that came into town,” I said.

Salt opened a stall and led the dun inside. He circled the horse inside the stall, leaving the dun facing the gate.

“Figured we’d see if you got their horses,” I said. “Might know where they’re staying?”

Salt removed the dun’s lead and closed the gate.

He shook his head.

“No soldiers,” Salt said, as he grabbed a pitchfork.

Virgil was looking out the rear door, watching the rain. He nodded a little, then looked to Salt.

“Good enough,” Virgil said. “’Preciate it, Salt.”

Salt nodded a little as he forked some hay over the gate into the dun’s stall.

“Like you said, Salt,” I said. “Weather’s damn sure got worse.”

Salt didn’t say anything as he forked more hay over the gate and into the stall.

Virgil and I turned and started back toward the front door.

“It will turn,” Salt said.

We looked back to Salt as he forked more hay.

“It has only just begun,” Salt said, without looking at us.