The Bridge

35

Virgil and I rode back to the bridge camp, and when we arrived we found Cox sitting at the end of a long table in the office and Gains sitting just next to him. Gip jumped up, excited to have more company, and started with his nonstop barking.

“Gip, stop,” Gains said. “Stop it, boy.”

Gip swayed his head a few times low to the ground. He wagged his tail rapidly like he didn’t hear the command.

“Gip.”

Gip looked to Gains.

“No.”

Gip wasn’t happy, but he complied. He circled a few times and laid down where Gains was pointing.

“Any new news?” Cox said.

“No,” Virgil said.

“I have a feeling if there were any news, you wouldn’t let me know, so I’m not sure why I even ask.”

“That’s okay,” Virgil said.

Cox just shook his head slightly.

“Keep in mind that this was my bridge and I’m accountable for all that transpires here, Marshal Cole.”

“I will,” Virgil said.

Cox just looked at Virgil for an extended moment.

“What now?” Cox said wearily.

“Everett and me are riding outta here before daylight,” Virgil said. “You are most welcome to ride with us back to Appaloosa if you’d like.”

“Well, I appreciate that, but I think it best I stay here for a while,” Cox said, pouring on his long southern drawl, “for the morale of the men. This has been quite a trauma for them, Marshal Cole. Many of the men have been working here for two years. This place has served as home away from home for them. It’s simply where I need to be.”

“You won’t stray away from here?” Virgil said.

“Stray?” Cox said with a frown.

“In case we need you,” Virgil said.

“I’ll be here, Marshal,” Cox said. “And will return shortly, rest assured.”

Virgil looked at Cox for an extended moment, then looked around the room. He walked over and looked at the bridge diagrams on the wall.

“One hell of a bridge,” Virgil said.

“Yes,” Cox said. “It was.”

I poured myself some coffee and took a seat in a rocking chair next to a center lodge pole, which for some reason gave Gip the inclination to play.

Gip picked up a knotted cluster of old socks and dropped them in front of me.

“You feeling neglected?”

Gip whined a little and I threw the knotted socks. Gip fetched them and caught them almost before they hit the ground.

I kept throwing the socks as Virgil perused the plans on the wall. After a bit Virgil moved away from the wall and pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the long table from Cox.

“The Rio Blanco is a tough goddamn river through these parts,” Virgil said.

“It damn sure is,” Gains said.

“Deep gorge that the water runs through,” Virgil said. “Rugged as hell for over fifty miles through here.”

“Indeed it is, Marshal,” Cox said.

Virgil looked back at the wall with the drawings on it for a moment, then looked to Cox.

“Let me ask you a question, Mr. Cox,” Virgil said.

“What is it, Marshal?”

Virgil removed his hat and tossed it to the center of the long table.

“Let’s say my hat there is the bridge and you are the land on one side of the bridge and I’m the land on the other.”

“Yes?” Cox said.

“Let’s say I’m the far side and you are this side.”

“Your point?”

“I’m just trying to determine who benefits the most,” Virgil said, “and who don’t. So if I’m the far side, the side cattleman Swickey has land on, or your side, the Appaloosa and vicinity’s side—”

“I certainly see where you are going with this,” Cox said, interrupting Virgil. “I’m not unaware of the most obvious here. It is why the bridge was to be constructed in the first place, Marshal. The bridge would allow goods and services, including the transportation of cattle. There is no argument for one side benefitting more from having the bridge than the other.”

“I’m not talking about benefitting from having the bridge,” Virgil said. “I’m talking about who’d benefit the most from not having the bridge.”