The Bridge

30

Virgil and I collected G. W. Cox. We started for the Rio Blanco Bridge just past three in the morning. The snow was falling steady as we rode and it was beginning to stick.

Cox was dressed for the weather. He had on a fur-lined cap that covered his ears, thick mittens, and a buffalo-hide coat that draped down to the fenders of his saddle. He rode a big black sturdy-looking horse that had an oilcloth drape covering his neck and ass end.

We rode by the depot, crossed over the tracks, past the last few homesteads on the road, past the icehouse, the old stockyards, and the abandoned slaughterhouse, past the trash heap. Soon we were out of Appaloosa proper.

We kept our heads down and our collars up and didn’t talk much on the journey. The ride was slow going, and by the time daybreak came upon us, the snow was near a half-foot deep.

“Could we stop for a moment’s time,” Cox said. “I’m not used to being in the saddle this long.”

We stopped under a large cluster of oak trees to give our horses some rest. I got some kindling from the mule’s panniers, gathered what dry branches I could, and got a fire going next to a large felled tree. Once the fire was burning steady I put on some coffee to boil.

Virgil removed the snow from the big tree and sat over the fire, warming his hands. Cox removed a rolled slicker from his cantle. He placed it on the ground on the opposite side of the fire and sat on it with his boots close to the flame.

When the coffee was brewed I poured Virgil and Cox a cup and handed it to them with a piece of hardtack.

I pulled my watch from my vest pocket and checked the time.

“Should be to the bridge camp by a little after noon, I figure.”

Virgil nodded, holding his hands around the warm tin cup as he sipped his coffee. Cox just stared at the fire.

“Unless it’s a damn sight clearer when we get there,” I said, “it’ll be hard to see much with this weather.”

Virgil looked up.

“It will,” Virgil said. “Weather’s made itself more than comfortable.”

“Damn sure has,” I said. “Imagine it’s just as bad at the bridge.”

“There is no bridge,” Cox said solemnly.

I looked to Cox. He was still staring at the fire.

“No,” I said.

Virgil nodded and sipped his coffee. Cox remained staring at the fire.

“River’s deep and wide,” Virgil said.

“That it is,” Cox said.

“Deep gorge,” Virgil said.

“That, too,” Cox said. “This was to be a major accomplishment. The bridge was over two hundred feet long.”

Virgil nodded a little and sipped on his coffee.

“This Swickey fella,” Virgil said. “You know anything about his spread? His operation on the other side of the river?”

Cox met Virgil’s eye.

“I don’t,” Cox said.

“It was shared with us,” Virgil said, “he owns damn near everything on the other side of the bridge.”

“I heard he was a cattleman,” Cox said. “At least I heard that is how he attained his wealth, but as I said, I know nothing of his life and how he leads it or where he leads it.”

Virgil just looked at Cox and didn’t say anything else.

It was real quiet out with the snow falling gently.

Our horses and the mule stood stock still with their heads down. Nothing was moving, no birds, no breeze.

The only sound was the quiet crackle of the fire burning under the grate the coffee pot was sitting on.

“How was it, Mr. Cox, you won the contract to build the bridge?” Virgil said.

“It’s what I do,” Cox said. “This is my business. I have the experience, the expertise.”

“And Swickey?” I said. “He didn’t?”

“That’s right,” Cox said. “Since I started in the contracting business I’ve built many projects, mostly bridges. I had the résumé and Swickey did not.”

“How did you hear about this one?” Virgil said. “On the Rio Blanco?”

“I have connections in Washington, with Congress, I know where the appropriations are,” Cox said. “I know when there are projects. I know where to go, and most importantly, I know how to bid. Most I don’t have to bid because there are no other contractors bidding against me.”

“Not a bad business,” Virgil said.

“It’s not,” Cox said. “It is also a rewarding business. Build something and there it is. There it will be to help shape the future of this great country.”

“And that’s what got you to Appaloosa?” Virgil said. “The Rio Blanco Bridge?”

“It is,” Cox said.

“You moved to Appaloosa?” Virgil said.

Cox nodded.

“Yes,” Cox said. “I live where the projects are and then move on. The jobs I contract take a lot of time, so I’ve done my share of relocating, I can tell you.”

“How long have you been in Appaloosa?” Virgil said.

“On and off for nearly two years,” Cox said. “The bridge was in its final stages.”

“How much?” Virgil said.

“How much what?” Cox said.

“How much was this contract for?”

“Roughly two hundred thousand dollars,” Cox said.

“Lot of money,” Virgil said.

“It is,” Cox said.

We sat quiet for a bit, thinking about that.

“It was a big bridge,” Cox said.