“What will you do?” Book said.
“Get Virgil. Figure, sort things out,” I said, as I opened the door, meeting the cold air.
“What should we do?” Book said.
“Find Chastain, let him know,” I said. “Get my horse and Virgil’s horse saddled and ready. Get panniers on one of the mules, too. Pack some feed, kindling, coffee, grub, medicines, hand tools, and get us some blankets, cold-weather coats and gloves from the locker.”
Book nodded and looked out the door past me.
“Snowing,” Book said.
“Is,” I said.
25
I walked the wet streets in the falling snow to Virgil and Allie’s place. I could see embers rising from the chimney and could smell the wood burning in their fireplace as I neared. I walked up the steps and knocked on the door. After a moment Allie looked out the window. I waved to her and she opened the door, holding a glass of whiskey.
“Everett, how about this? Snow.”
“Yes, it is.”
“What a pleasant surprise,” she said with a little slur. “Come on in.”
She leaned close and kissed me on the cheek next to my lips. I could smell the whiskey on her breath.
“Where’s Virgil?”
“He’s out back getting some wood for the fire.”
She held up her glass.
“Having a nightcap, would you care for one?”
I shut the door and leaned my eight-gauge on the wall next to the jamb.
“Sure.”
“Make yourself comfortable,” Allie said.
I took off my slicker and hat and hung them on the coat rack. Allie retrieved a glass from the breakfront in the dining room and poured me some whiskey.
“What brings you to see us?” she said.
Thankfully, Virgil entered from the back door carrying a bundle of scrap lumber in his arms and diverted the necessity of me needing to answer Allie’s question.
“Everett,” Virgil said.
“Virgil. Got it going, I see?”
“Did.”
“Drawing okay?”
“It is,” Virgil said.
“Guess those German boys knew what they were doing,” I said.
Virgil crossed the room and set the wood down near the hearth.
“Gotcha a nudge?” he said.
“Do,” I said, holding up the glass.
Virgil looked over, noticing my eight-gauge near the door. He stood up straight with his shoulders back, looking at me.
“Something up?” he said.
“Bad doings, Virgil,” I said.
I removed the telegram from my shirt pocket and handed it to Virgil.
“From the way station near the bridge,” I said.
“Driskill find that Lonnie fella?”
“Read,” I said.
Virgil unfolded the telegram and leaned close to the fireplace for better light.
“What is it, Everett?” Allie said.
Virgil read the telegram, then looked to me, shaking his head.
“Goddamn,” Virgil said.
“What is it, Virgil?” Allie said.
“Two days ago,” Virgil said.
I nodded.
“What is it, Virgil?” Allie said again.
“It appears there’s been some people killed, Allie,” Virgil said.
“Oh,” Allie said. “My goodness.”
Allie looked back and forth between Virgil and me.
“Who? What people?”
“At the bridge,” Virgil said. “On the Rio Blanco.”
“Who, at the bridge?”
“Don’t say,” Virgil said. “Says the bridge has been destroyed.”
“What?”
“What is says,” Virgil said.
“May I,” Allie said, holding out her hand for the telegram. “No reason to keep me in the dark.”
Virgil looked at me, then handed the telegram to Allie.
Allie read the note.
“Lord,” Allie said. “The bridge has been blown up, payroll robbed, and some folks have been killed. Oh my God, Virgil.”
She walked quickly to the front door and looked outside, craning her neck. Then she turned back, looking at us. She reread the telegram and shook her head.
“This is awful.”
Virgil got the telegram from Allie. He walked back near the fireplace and read it again.
“Had to be Indians,” Allie said. “Savages. My God. Those poor, poor people.”
“Not, Allie,” Virgil said.
“Well,” Allie said. “Surely you don’t think white men did this, do you?”
“I do,” Virgil said.
“Indians are not too inclined to go about blowing things up, Allie,” I said.
Virgil looked at the telegram, then looked up to me. He walked back and forth in front of the fireplace for a moment.
“When was this?” Virgil said, holding up the telegram.
“Tonight.”
Virgil looked at the telegram and shook his head a little.
“Any other correspondence with the operator?”
“No.”
Virgil nodded a little.
“Let’s get geared up, Everett,” Virgil said, “get over there.”
“I got Skinny Jack and Book outfitting us now,” I said.
“Tonight?” Allie said with alarm.
Virgil was already walking off down the hall, heading for the back room, when he answered.
“Yes, Allie,” he said. “Tonight.”
“What about me?” Allie called out to Virgil down the hall. “You can’t just leave me here with dynamiting murderers on the loose.”
“This happened a long ways away, Allie,” I said. “Bridge is a day’s ride from here.”
“No matter,” Allie said.
“Can’t take you with us, Allie,” Virgil called from the back room.
“There’s always something taking you away from me. Sometimes I wonder if you want bad things to happen so you and Everett can go off and be heroes.”
“Oh, hell, Allie,” I said. “You know better than that.”
“Well,” Allie said, “it’s just that I’ve gotten used to you being here. Having y’all here makes this lonely place a home.”
“It’s what we do, Allie,” Virgil replied, walking back up the hall and into the room with his gun belt.
“Oh, for God sake, Virgil. You always say that.”
Virgil didn’t say anything as he strapped on his holster.
“Well, Allie, this is an obvious inextricable circumstance,” I said.
“Whatever that means, Everett,” Allie said with a huff. “Don’t mean you need to speak for Virgil.”
“He’s not speaking for me, Allie,” Virgil said.
“Is too,” Allie said.
26
Virgil and I left Allie standing behind the front door.
“Don’t want to step into some kind of trap,” Virgil said, as we descended the steps and started walking to the sheriff’s office.
I glanced back. I could see Allie through the falling snow. She was looking out the door, watching us walking away.
“Who’d want to trap us?”
“Don’t know,” Virgil said, “but you can’t always believe what you read.”
“You don’t think this has happened?”
“Not saying that,” Virgil said. “Most likely it has. Just don’t want to go riding in there because someone has asked for us to come. Not without knowing a few things we don’t.”
“Like what?”
“Driskill and his deputies should have been there by noon yesterday,” Virgil said.
“Unless they ran into some trouble.”
“Yep,” Virgil said.
“The telegraph line being cut,” I said, “makes sense why the butter-churning woman, Winifred, wasn’t getting any response from the way station regarding the whereabouts of her husband, Lonnie.”
“Does,” Virgil said.
The snow was coming down pretty solid as we crossed the street and stepped onto the boardwalk.
“What do you want to do?” I said.