“Start with,” Virgil said. “We send a wire back to the bridge way station.”
“Rattle the cage?”
“Yep.”
“See what is what?” I said. “Find out what we can.”
“Yep.”
Virgil and I walked to the sheriff’s office and Book met us at the door.
“Skinny Jack’s getting you ready,” Book said.
“Seen Chastain yet?” I said.
“No, sir.”
“Where can we find the Western Union operator that received this telegram this time of night?” I said.
“Right there at the office, that’s Charlie Hill,” Book said. “Should be there. He has a room there, just behind the office. Charlie and his little brother are both operators. They both live there.”
Virgil and I walked up the street two blocks to the Western Union office and I knocked on the door. The office was dark, but we could see light through the crack of a door at the rear of the office. I knocked again and then the door at the back of the office opened and a young man came out wearing his nightclothes and carrying a finger lantern. He set the lantern down and put on a pair of spectacles.
He looked out the door window and I showed him my badge.
“Oh,” he said, opening the door. “Marshal Cole, Deputy Marshal Hitch. I figured I might be seeing you. Come in.”
“You’re Charlie?” I said.
He nodded.
“I am,” he said. “Awful news.”
“Anybody else know about this besides you?” Virgil said.
“No,” Charlie said. “Well, my brother, and Deputies Book and Skinny Jack.”
“Nobody else?” I said.
“No,” Charlie said. “My brother and I are professional operators, not town gossips.”
Virgil nodded.
“So the way station had been unresponsive, not communicative for a while?” I said.
“Yes, sir, it was, until the wire came in this evening about the bridge.”
“The operator in now,” Virgil said. “This time of night?”
“Should be,” Charlie said. “They stay there.”
“There more than one operator?” I said.
“Yes,” Charlie said. “Like here and like most places. I know both the operators there. Well, I know them from all the correspondence. Husband and wife, Pedrick and Patty.”
“I want to send a wire,” Virgil said.
“Oh, well, sure,” Charlie said.
Charlie was a small fella with thin hair and delicate features. He sat behind his desk and looked up to Virgil.
Virgil said, “Just write, Appaloosa law enforcement, wanting to know the...”
Virgil looked to me.
“Status of workers and damage?” I said.
Virgil nodded to Charlie.
Charlie rubbed his hands together, pounded out the note on the key, then got to his feet.
“Be right back,” Charlie said. “Kind of on the cold side. Get my robe.”
Charlie ducked into the back room and came out a second later, tying the belt of the robe around his waist and carrying a pair of slippers. He dropped the slippers on the floor, slid his feet into them, then sat back at the telegraph desk and faced the key and sounder.
We all focused on the sounder and within a minute it went off and Charlie wrote the note.
“Cleanup has been under way... Bridge completely gone.”
Virgil looked at me.
“Respond, Has Sheriff Driskill been seen at the bridge camp?” Virgil said.
I nodded.
Charlie keyed the note. Waited and then replied, when the sounder replied.
Charlie relayed the code.
“No report of Sheriff Driskill of recent,” Charlie said. “Can check with camp and let you know right away.”
Charlie looked up to Virgil and me.
“The way station is about thirty minutes from the bridge, so some of what will be in response may not be immediate.”
Virgil nodded.
“How many dead, injured?” Virgil said.
Charlie keyed out the note and the sounder immediately sounded back.
“Three dead,” Charlie said. “No injuries.”
“Who were the raiders?” Virgil said.
Charlie tapped out Virgil’s request and then spoke out the words as he wrote the sounder’s reply.
“It is uncertain who they were or how many... Dynamite placed on the bridge in the night... Bombers blew up bridge in the a.m.... Three men, early workers, were on the bridge... They were casualties of the explosion.”
“Is G. W. Cox on location?”
Virgil looked at me.
“Curtis Whittlesey said Cox is the contractor,” I said. “Was an attorney, been here for a while in Appaloosa and won the bid to build the bridge.”
Virgil nodded.
Charlie keyed the note.
The sounder sounded back and Charlie shook his head.
“As of an hour ago, last report, Mr. Cox was not at the bridge,” Charlie said.
27
It was close to midnight by the time Virgil and I left the Western Union office.
“Why would somebody do this?” I said.
“Got to be some reason,” Virgil said.
We stayed on the porch and watched it snow for a moment, thinking.
“Cox lives in the big house on the corner of Fourth Street,” I said. “Maybe we let him know about this?”
Virgil nodded.
“Maybe he knows something,” I said. “Something we need to know.”
Virgil nodded.
“Maybe,” he said, and we stepped off the porch.
We walked to Cox’s place. It was a three-story structure toward the north end of town. We climbed the dark steps and I knocked on the door.
It took a while before a light appeared at the top of the steps. Slowly a man descended and came to the door.
“Territorial marshals,” I said. “Mr. Cox?”
We heard the door handle twist. It cracked open a little and a small black man peered out at us.
“No, sir,” he said. “I’m Mr. Cox’s butler, Jessup. Mr. Cox is asleep.”
“We need to talk to him,” Virgil said.
“Now?” Jessup said.
“Now,” Virgil said.
“Let him know it’s important,” I said.
Jessup looked to me, then to Virgil, and opened the door.
“Come in,” he said. “This way, please.”
Jessup led us. We walked through a set of doors leading into a stately office with books from floor to ceiling. Jessup set the lamp down and lit two lamps that were sitting on the corners of a huge desk.
“I’ll get Mr. Cox,” Jessup said.
Cox’s office was a shrine to his accomplishments. We walked around the room, looking at all the books.
“Goddamn library,” I said.
“Is,” Virgil said.
Behind the desk were gilded framed placards. I moved closer to read them.
“Graduate of Harvard University,” I said. “Certificate of excellence from Philadelphia Law. He’s no slouch.”
“Look here,” Virgil said.
I walked over to where Virgil was standing near the front window. Tacked on the wall were drawings of the Rio Blanco Bridge and sitting on a table in front of the window was an impressive wooden model of the bridge.
“Damn,” I said. “Something.”
“Was,” Virgil said.
“Yep.”
“No more,” Virgil said.
“Goddamn shame,” I said.
“Lot of work,” Virgil said.
We heard footsteps coming down the stairs, and in a moment G. W. Cox walked into the office, followed by Jessup.
Cox was very tall and thin, with broad shoulders. He was wearing a proper English robe with velvet lapels over a dark-colored silk sleeping gown. He looked to be in his mid-sixties. His hair was silver but his eyebrows, sideburns, and mustache were dark. His nose was long and pointed, with a high ridge in the middle. He had an instant, distinguished air of sophistication about him.
“Gentlemen?” Cox said in a deep southern baritone. “Jessup here said you men need to see me.”