The Bridge

57

Virgil took a few steps toward Swickey.

“What about it?” Virgil said.

“You think I had a hand in it,” Swickey said.

Virgil didn’t say anything.

Swickey moved a little closer to Virgil with his shoulders squared and relaxed.

“Don’t you?” Swickey said.

Virgil remained quiet, letting Swickey show as many cards as he was willing to turn over.

“You think I did it,” Swickey said. “You think I blew the sonofabitch up?”

“Who said it was blown up?” Virgil said.

Swickey looked at Virgil for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“I know it was, for certain,” Swickey said.

“You do it?” Virgil said.

“No,” Swickey said.

“Then what makes you certain?” Virgil said.

Swickey looked to one of the men at the table.

“Me,” the man said.

“Who are you?” Virgil said.

“David Daniels,” he said.

David slid back in his chair a bit more. He was a slender, strong-looking man. He wore a flat-crown wide-brim hat with rawhide straps hanging from its sides that funneled through a.45 casing just below his chin.

“Go on?”

“I saw it,” David said.

“You were there?”

He shook his head.

“Rode up on it,” David said. “We was gathering cattle and come up on it, I seen it.”

Virgil didn’t say anything.

“I heard you were looking for me,” Swickey said. “Inquiring about me, so I figured I’d save you the looking and pay you a visit.”

“You didn’t come all the way over here,” Virgil said. “’Cause you wanted to pay me a visit.”

“Not really,” Swickey said.

“Then why?” Virgil said.

“For a few reasons,” Swickey said.

“Which are?” Virgil said.

“You think I had a hand in this?” Swickey said. “Because of Cox?”

“What about him?” Virgil said.

“I don’t like the sonofabitch,” Swickey said. “Everybody knows that.”

Virgil didn’t say anything.

“But I damn sure didn’t blow up his bridge because I don’t like him,” Swickey said.

“Who did?” Virgil said.

“Hell,” Swickey said. “I don’t know.”

“What do you know?” Virgil said.

“That bridge was going to bring me prosperity,” Swickey said.

“What kind of prosperity?” Virgil said.

“I’m no goddamn bridge builder,” Swickey said. “But I wanted that bridge, that’s why I even put in a bid on it in the first place. I wanted to see it built.”

“That the prosperity you’re talking about?” Virgil said.

Swickey shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I damn sure could have made money on the contract. Good goddamn money. But that bridge was a goddamn gateway for me.”

“How so?” Virgil said.

“The money I would save on moving my cattle alone is one hell of a reason I wanted more than anyone to see that bridge built. The bridge would have connected the Southern Pacific to my back door, allowing me to move my cattle by rail. It would double my operation.”

“You said a few reasons,” Virgil said. “What’s the other reason?”

“Got my suspicions about who did this,” Swickey said.

“Who?” Virgil said.

Swickey looked to his chair behind him.

“Mind if we sit?” Swickey said, extending his hand to the open chairs at the table. “Goddamn trip, riding in that damn buggy wore my ass out.”

Virgil glanced to me, then the chair, then nodded slightly to Swickey.

Swickey nodded and smiled some. “Knees and back aren’t as friendly as they used to be. Hell, nothing is,” he said, as he sat slowly back in the chair.

Virgil and I moved to the table. Virgil pulled a chair back away from the table a few feet and sat with an empty chair on each side of him. I sat in a chair at a table just next to them.

Swickey looked back to O’Malley behind the bar. He’d been standing the whole time, watching Virgil and Swickey talk as he wiped down a rack of beer mugs.

“Young fella,” Swickey said, as he picked up the coffeepot off the table. “Could we get some more coffee here, please?”

“Certainly,” O’Malley said.

O’Malley came around the corner of the bar. Swickey handed off the pot to him, then turned and faced Virgil with one elbow on the table and one on the back of his chair.

“There’s a good number of cow-calf operations over here on this side of the bridge that goddamn sure didn’t want to see that bridge built.”

“There one in particular?” Virgil said.

“There are a few, I’d suspect. But considering another aspect of all this, Eddie Winslow here,” Swickey said, looking to the man sitting just to the right of him, “has other information I feel is something you will want to hear.”

“What’s that?” Virgil said.

“Eddie had some bad dealings with someone he thinks had a hand in this,” Swickey said.

“Who?” Virgil said.

“Cotters,” Eddie said. “Two fellas, name Cotter.”

Virgil looked and me and shook his head a little.