The Bridge

19

We stopped under the large barn’s overhang before we stepped back out into the weather.

“Save some walking around in the rain,” I said. “Best place to figure out who’s doing what would be the Boston House.”

“Wallis?” Virgil said.

“Not much gets by him,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

We left the barn and crossed over some long boards lying in the mud to the opposite side of Main Street and we walked up to the boardwalk to the Boston House Hotel.

The Boston House had experienced many changes through the years, but it was still the finest hotel in town. With business flourishing in Appaloosa, the hotel was more often than not sold out.

When we arrived at the hotel the streetside saloon doors were closed, so we entered through the main entrance.

Tilda, the long-standing waitress of the establishment, was busy serving breakfast to a dining room full of hotel guests.

“Look who’s here,” I said.

I didn’t need to say it. Virgil saw everything, always.

“Yep,” Virgil said, without looking directly at Beauregard, sitting at a corner table with young Nell.

“Your old friend,” I said.

Virgil smiled a little.

“And his tender kindle,” I said.

Virgil nodded without looking at them.

Beauregard followed Nell’s look in our direction just as Tilda greeted us.

I tipped my hat toward them, but Virgil’s attention was elsewhere.

Nell smiled. Beauregard looked to her.

“Hello, Marshal Cole,” Tilda said. “Deputy Marshal Hitch.”

“How do, Tilda,” Virgil said.

“Tilda,” I said, as I removed my hat.

“Breakfast?” she said.

“Not at the moment,” Virgil said.

He looked toward the saloon doors.

“Wallis in?” Virgil said.

“I believe he just got here.”

Tilda set her tray down and pulled open the tall sliding pocket doors that separated the dining area from the saloon.

“Wallis?” she called.

“What?” Wallis said from the back room.

“Marshal Cole and Deputy Marshal Hitch are here.”

“Thank you, Tilda,” Virgil said.

“You want some coffee?” Tilda said, as Virgil and I entered into the saloon.

“No,” Virgil said. “Thank you, Tilda.”

Wallis walked out of the back room.

“Well, hellfire,” Wallis said. “If it’s not the both of you.”

“Morning, Wallis,” Virgil said.

“Seen Hitch here the other night, but you’ve neglected to so much as stop by here and say hello.”

“Gone sensitive, Wallis?” Virgil said.

“I have indeed,” Wallis said. “Nightly I’ve been crying myself to sleep like a baby.”

Wallis smiled big.

“Early for the two of you,” he said, as he glided his big body around the copper-topped mahogany counter. “What can I get ya?”

Virgil shook his head.

“Just want to ask you,” Virgil said. “Know anything about a soldiering outfit in town?”

“Some,” Wallis said. “Just heard some about that last night.”

“What some?” Virgil said.

“My understanding,” Wallis said. “Some settlers were killed on the rut and they’re looking for who did it.”

“Know where the soldiers are?” Virgil said.

“Dag’s Hotel, I think. Were, anyway.”

Virgil nodded. He looked around the barroom a little before he looked to me.

I nodded.

“Thank you, Wallis,” I said.

“You came back in,” Wallis said. “Let’s do some reminiscing.”

“’Bout what?” Virgil said.

“’Bout the price of rice in China, Virgil,” Wallis said. “What else?”

Virgil smiled.

We turned and walked back to the exit. When we got to the doors separating the bar from the dining area, Beauregard and Nell were on their way out. Beauregard halted, looking at us, and smiled.