The Bridge

41

I walked the streets of Appaloosa. The city was quiet. The evening was cold, and most every business, even the saloons, was shut down. The snow had stopped, but it was deep and I couldn’t see where the boardwalks stopped and the streets began.

The newly installed street lamps were not lit and there was no traffic moving about on the boardwalks or streets. It was cold, dead still, and silent out.

I stopped in at the sheriff’s office and paid Chastain, Book, and Skinny Jack a visit.

The three men were sitting around the warmth of the potbellied stove, playing blackjack on a crate, when I opened the door.

“Howdy, boys,” I said.

I kicked the doorjamb, freeing my trousers and boots of snow before I entered.

The three of them looked at me with somber expressions.

“You get some word?” I said.

They shook their heads.

“No,” Chastain said. “We just keep thinking they’ll walk through the door any minute.”

I nodded.

“Just me,” I said, and closed the door behind me.

I walked over to the men and looked down at the card game.

“Who’s winning?” I said.

“I am, of course,” Book said.

“Chubby shit’s a card counter,” Chastain said.

“I can’t help it if I’m a good thinker,” Book said.

“Shit,” Skinny Jack said. “Just luck.”

I put my eight-gauge in the gun rack behind the desk. And hung my shell belt next to it on a hook.

“Find out any news of Walton Wayne Swickey’s whereabouts?” I said to Chastain.

Chastain sat back and shook his head.

“Not as of yet,” Chastain said. “Got a number of wires out. The office said they’d let me know first response.”

“Need to find him,” I said.

“I will,” Chastain said.

“Like Cole asked, I contacted the governor’s office with his wire,” Chastain said. “I let them know about the bridge. ’Spect they will know something shortly.”

“’Spect they will,” I said.

I walked back over near the desk. I could see Bolger through the open door between the cells and office. He was looking at me. I looked back at him.

I nodded to him and he looked to the floor. I continued to look at him sitting there on the bunk and then something occurred to me, something that I’d not thought about.

Could by God be... I thought, as I walked over to the door and looked in on him.

“Bolger?” I said.

He looked up.

“Hum?”

“Let me ask you a question,” I said.

“You can ask,” Bolger said. “Can’t guarantee you any answers, though.”

“Tell me about the buckboard,” I said.

“What buckboard?” he said.

“The one you used to take the goods up to the bridge camp,” I said. “That buckboard.”

“What about it?”

“It yours?” I said.

Bolger just looked at me.

“Is it?”

“Is,” he said. “Why?”

“Where is it?”

“Got stoled.”

“Somebody took it?”

“Yep.”

“Your brother?” I said.

Bolger looked away from my eyes.

“He the one who took it?”

“Now, why would my brother steal my buckboard?”

“You tell me?” I said.

“He didn’t,” Bolger said.

“You and him got into it?” I said.

“He’s gonna find you,” Bolger said.

“Didn’t you?” I said.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Bolger said.

“You and your brother?” I said. “When you traveled back and forth to the bridge camp, did you use the shortcut?”

Bolger just looked at me.

“Not a trick question,” I said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Did you?”

“Shortcut?” Bolger said.

“Yes.”

“What if we did?” he said.

“I’m just wondering,” I said.

“We ain’t stupid.”

“So you did?”

“Like I said, ain’t stupid,” Bolger said. “Saved over an hour on the road. Why?”

“Just curious,” I said.

“’Bout what?”

“You know some men that worked at the camp,” I said. “Brothers, named Cotter?”

Bolger just looked at me with a blank expression on his face.

“Do you?”

Bolger shook his head, but I could tell he knew something of what I was talking about.

“Your brother? He know them?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your brother cut you out of the deal?” I said.

Bolger just looked at me.

“Did he?”

“What deal?”

“You know goddamn good and well what deal I’m talking about,” I said.

“I don’t,” he said.

“You do,” I said.

Bolger looked down and spit on the floor, then looked up to me.

“I don’t,” he said. “You done?”

“Almost.”

“Good.”

“It was just Ballard who hauled the dynamite,” I said. “Wasn’t it?”

“Dynamite?” Bolger said.

“Yep.”

“I don’t know nothing about no goddamn dynamite,” he said.

“You got into a fight and he cut you out of the deal, didn’t he?” I said.

“You’re pissing in the wind,” Bolger said.

“Am I?”

“You are.”

“He don’t give a shit about you, Bolger,” I said. “Does he?”

Bolger didn’t say anything.

“Tell you what,” I said. “You think about it. If you come up with any information, you let me know. I will talk to the judge when he gets here and let him know how you are interested in not going to prison for attempting to kill a law officer.”

Bolger just stared at me.

“Night, Bolger,” I said.

I closed the door on him.