The Bridge

3

Virgil and I had been working our job as territorial marshals for close to a year before we returned to Appaloosa. We spent the last part of the summer and near the whole of the fall helping the two German carpenters Virgil hired to rebuild Virgil and Allie’s house.

It was a bigger house than the one Allie had burned to the ground during a cooking mishap while Virgil and I were over in the Indian territories. The new house was a two-story with a three-sided porch. I told Virgil, and Allie, I was happy to help build it but had no interest in painting it. So, with the exception of the place being unpainted, the house was complete.

“She’s barefoot, covered in flour from head to toe,” Virgil said when he came back out with the Kentucky and two glasses.

Virgil poured us a nudge, put the bottle between us, and sat back in the chair.

“To the house,” I said, raising my glass.

“By God,” Virgil said, raising his.

“And to not being bossed around by those goddamn German boys no more,” I said.

Virgil offered a sharp nod.

“They’re particular,” Virgil said.

“You could call ’em that.”

We started to tip the whiskey back when Virgil stopped and looked toward the darkness in the far distance.

“You hear that?” Virgil said.

“Thunder?”

Virgil shook his head.

“No,” he said.

I listened.

“Hell,” I said. “Music.”

Virgil nodded and then we saw coming over the rise in front of the darkness to the north a tall colorfully painted wagon with musicians sitting on top, playing a lively tune.

Virgil shook his head a little.

“Don’t that beat hell?” I said.

“Does,” Virgil said.

Leading the wagon was a single rider on a tall horse. Behind the wagon with the musicians playing music on top were other wagons trailing behind, six wagons in all.

“That’s that troupe was up in Yaqui, no doubt.”

“What troupe?” Virgil said.

“Beauchamp Brothers Theatrical Extravaganza, they call it. A traveling group from New Orleans,” I said. “They go town to town doing dramatic shows, dancing, magic, got ’em a sharpshooter and clairvoyant fortune-teller, that sort of thing. Allie’s been talking about it for weeks. Said it’s been all the talk at the ladies’ social.”

“She never said nothing to me,” Virgil said. “First I heard of it.”

“She talks to me, Virgil.”

“Talks to me, too.”

“I listen to her.”

“Well, hell, Everett, I listen to her.”

“Not when she’s just going on you don’t.”

“Well, sometimes she talks just to listen to herself speak, Everett,” Virgil said. “More than sometimes. You know that.”

“I do.”

I got out of my chair and called into the house, “Allie.”

“What?”

“That Beauchamp Brothers bunch is coming into Appaloosa.”

“What!” Allie exclaimed. “Really? My goodness.”

She came running out of the front door, taking off her apron. She rolled it up and threw it in Virgil’s lap. A puff of flour dust exploded up in Virgil’s face as Allie leaned over on the porch rail and looked in the direction of the music.

“They weren’t supposed to be here until next week,” Allie said. “Oh my goodness, my goodness, my goodness. Isn’t this exciting, Everett?”

“Is, Allie.”

“Help me up, Everett?”

I held on to Allie’s hand so she could step up on the rail for a better view. Even though Allie was no longer a spring chicken, she still had a youthful beauty about her. Her agile body was firm, her eyes sparkled, and her skin glowed like that of someone half her age.

“Careful there, Allie, you don’t slip and hurt yourself,” Virgil said, as he bullwhipped the apron, freeing it of flour.

“Oh, Virgil.”

Folks started to gather in the street, looking in the direction of the Beauchamp Brothers Theatrical Extravaganza as they entered town. Now that they were closer, we could clearly see musicians playing banjo, trumpet, trombone, and tuba as a set of cymbals clanged together.

The single horseman leading the way held up his hand like he was a chief quartermaster halting his cavalry.

The musicians climbed down from the painted wagon and formed a line behind the horseman, never missing a beat.

“That must be him,” Allie said. “That must be Beauregard Beauchamp leading the way.”

“Everett said this extravaganza is the Beauchamp Brothers,” Virgil said. “Might well be the other brother.”

“Oh, no,” Allie said. “Boudreaux was killed a few years ago by a tiger.”