The Bridge

6

I played some lengthy games of Dark Lady with Allie and Virgil, and the three of us drank more of the Kentucky than we should have. Allie went on and on about Beauregard and how special he was. She said he held court in the town hall that night and how wonderful it was for her and the ladies’ social to welcome him and the troupe to Appaloosa.

Allie told us Beauregard introduced some of the Beauchamp players and his wife of three years. She was a blond actress, the leading lady, named Nell from San Francisco. Allie went on and on about how smart and beautiful she was and how in love they were and what a splendid couple they made.

I left Virgil and Allie’s place at about half past midnight. There was a light rain falling over Appaloosa and the temperature had dropped significantly.

I crossed Main Street by the Boston House Hotel saloon and saw Fat Wallis McDonough through the open saloon doors. He was closing up, putting chairs on the tables. When I stepped onto the boardwalk, Wallis looked up and saw me. He stood upright and put his large hands out wide like a welcoming kinfolk.

“Well, Everett Hitch,” he said warmly.

“Evening, Wallis.”

“How goes it?” Wallis said.

“Goes and goes.”

“Whiskey?” he said.

“Looks like you’re closing up.”

“Always open for you, Everett,” Wallis said. “Always open for you.”

He removed two upside-down chairs from a table and set them upright on the floor.

“Sit yourself down,” Wallis said.

“All right,” I said. “Just a smidgen, though.”

Wallis moved his big body behind the bar. He didn’t glide as swift and easy as he used to when Virgil and I first met him.

“I got some special stuff,” Wallis said.

Wallis was the time-honored chief barman at the Boston House Hotel saloon. Virgil and I had plenty of history with the Boston House, some good and some not so good.

I looked about the room. It hadn’t changed too much. I walked between the tables. I looked through the doors into the lobby and thought about the day Virgil and I first arrived in Appaloosa and signed up as peacekeepers on the landing by the front windows. I turned back, remembering how within minutes of assuming our roles we had walked into this room and Virgil shot two of Randall Bragg’s hands right where I was standing.

Bragg, I thought. That sonofabitch. I hadn’t thought about Randall Bragg in a long while. I turned and looked to the piano in the corner. I walked over to it and pressed a key.

Bragg. I slapped him down right here, called him out after the no-good sonofabitch lured Allie and had his way with her. Good riddance. I gave the sonofabitch a chance. I gave him a gun, told him to come out and face me or I’d come back in there and kill him. I gave the sonofabitch an opening. At least that’s how I summed it up, anyway, how I tallied it, how I put it together.

For whatever reason the Boston House Hotel saloon seemed to have a dark cloud hanging over it.

“Not seen much of you since you and Virgil have been back in town,” Wallis said, carrying a tray with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey with a fancy label. “Where you been keeping yourself?”

“Virgil’s had me busy working on his new house.”

“I’ve not seen him in here since you been back this time.”

“He’s had his hands full.”

“I’ll leave it at that,” Wallis said. “I saw the house. It’s looking good.”

“It is,” I said.

I took a seat. Wallis set the two glasses on the table and poured us each a few fingers and took a seat next to me.

“Lot of building going on everywhere these days,” Wallis said. “That train keeps a’comin’ and more people keep getting off of it, and as far as I can tell nobody’s getting on. Town’s getting bigger every goddamn day.”

“Damn sure is,” I said.

“Hell, in the last few years you and Virgil have been away doing your territory marshaling, this place has grown from a small chickenshit town to a burgeoning goddamn city.”

“Little too big for my liking, Wallis,” I said. “I kind of liked it the way it was.”

Wallis nodded.

“Business is good, though,” he said. “Hell, it’s tripled with all the mining expansion north of town and the upstart of cow-calf outfits. Place is six square blocks now, can you believe that?”

“I don’t have a choice,” I said.

“Street lamps, boardinghouses, support businesses on every damn street,” Wallis said. “Mining, construction, cattle. Means employment, though. City’s now chock-full of goddamn cowboys, miners, and migrants from every damn where seeking goddamn promise. Damn near two thousand people now, two thousand. Can you believe that?”

Silently, almost ghostlike, a lovely woman appeared in the doorway.

“Excuse me,” she said.

Her accent was foreign. French, maybe.

Wallis looked at me, then back to the woman.

“Yes?” Wallis said.

She was strikingly beautiful. I knew this must be Madame Leroux, the woman with the ivory complexion I saw looking out the window of the fortune-teller’s trailer when the troupe rode into town.

She stood still with her shoulders relaxed and her chin held high. She glanced around, looking at the room some. She took a sure step forward. Her movement was graceful and self-assured, like that of a poised dancer.

She was willowy and her eyes were bright blue. Her dark hair was wavy, parted in the middle and so long it likely had never been cut. She wore bohemian jewelry and clothing. Long strands of colorful beads and shells draped around her slender neck and large gold hoops dangled from her ears. Her dress was black velvet with lace, and hanging on the edge of her sharp bare shoulders was a long tasseled shawl that glimmered in the dim saloon light.

“I need something strong,” she said.