by Robert Knott
“Think they found them?”
“I don’t,” Virgil said. “You?”
“No. For some reason, I don’t either.”
“They didn’t seem satisfied,” Virgil said.
“No, but they’re damn sure gonna keep after it,” I said. “Until they are satisfied.”
“Or dead,” Virgil said.
40
When we got to the mine we stopped short and sat our horses under a stand of white pine trees across from the office. We figured we’d observe the comings and goings, thinking we might see Victor Bartholomew. There was nobody but the miners moving about, though, going this way and that, doing their mining business.
“Guess that buggy there belongs to Baptiste,” I said.
Virgil nodded.
“What say,” Virgil said, “we go in and say hello.”
We rode up to the side of the office. I pulled my eight-gauge out of its scabbard, and we dismounted.
* * *
• • •
Virgil and I entered. Eugene Pritchard was sitting at the big desk with his feet draped over the edge. The Appaloosa Star was held out in front of him. He peered at us over the paper. Then he laid it flat on the desk and leaned back in his chair. Henri was sitting in the chair opposite the desk. Their foreman, Frank Maxie, was in a corner chair, drinking a cup of coffee.
They did not seem to be too startled when we entered. It seemed as if they were expecting us.
“Well,” Henri said. “Marshals.”
“Look here,” Eugene said.
Frank Maxie smiled.
“Virgil,” he said with a nod. “Everett.”
Virgil smiled at Frank.
“Wasn’t too long ago,” Henri said, “that we were paid a visit by the McCormick men.”
“That right?” Virgil said.
“They were most unpleasant,” Henri said.
“Don’t think that is the word for them,” Eugene said, with all the unfriendliness he could muster in his voice. “Good thing we have guards out here.”
“What’d they visit you about?” Virgil said.
“As if you don’t know,” Eugene said.
“Tell me,” Virgil said.
Eugene bristled. Henri nodded to the newspaper.
“We read about the account of James McCormick’s passing in the newspaper,” Henri said. “What on earth happened to him? It doesn’t say there in the paper.”
“And so we know goddamn good and well why you are here,” Eugene said.
“Why?” Virgil said.
“Goddamn obvious, Cole,” Eugene said harshly.
“Eugene,” Henri said with a sharp look.
“Tell me,” Virgil said.
“You got no right coming out here,” Eugene said. “Acting like we are responsible for this.”
“Responsible for what?” Virgil said.
“Tell you what,” Eugene said, getting to his feet. “I will tell you like I told the others. Just turn your ass right around and go back to where you came from.”
“Eugene, please,” Henri said.
“Ever since I’ve been in Appaloosa you two have been full of yourselves. You don’t scare me, Cole. And you neither, Hitch.”
“You said you know why we are here?” Virgil said.
Eugene moved around the desk.
“Please, just hold on, Eugene,” Henri said. “What can we help you with?”
Virgil smiled and glanced to me.
“Where were you yesterday afternoon?” I said.
“So he was murdered?” Henri said. “James McCormick was murdered. Is that it?”
“Where were you?” I said.
“None of your goddamn business,” Eugene said.
“It is,” I said.
“Bullshit,” Eugene said.
“Where?” I said.
“Don’t say anything,” Eugene said. “We don’t need to say a thing to you.”
Henri raised his palm up to Pritchard.
“Please,” Henri said. “We were in town yesterday.”
“Leave it be,” Eugene said. “That is enough.”
“Both of us were in town,” Henri said.
“And Victor Bartholomew?” Virgil said.
“I do not know,” Henri said.
“You hired him,” Virgil said, “and you don’t know where he is?”
“No,” Henri said. “I don’t know where he is.”
“That’s enough, Henri,” Eugene said.
“No, it’s okay,” Henri said. “Look, we needed protection, not trouble. And what happened with his men at the Boston House, getting arrested, was not part of our agreement.”
“I asked you before,” Virgil said, “about Victor’s brother and you said you did not know him, know about him.”
“And I did not,” Henri said. “Not when we spoke. He was not with Victor and the others when we hired them. I don’t know much about him other than Victor demanded I pay him, too. Which I did.”
“Henri,” Eugene said.
It was clear Eugene Pritchard was boiling up.
“They’ve wanted to do things their way,” Henri said. “And that is not acceptable.”
“How not acceptable?” Virgil said.
“You don’t need to tell them anything more,” Eugene said.
“I wanted the Bartholomews to forget our business,” Henri said. “But they seem to have a mind of their own. I wanted them to move on. But they insisted they stay and do what they were hired to do. So I acquiesced and agreed they continue.”
“And you don’t know where they are?”
Of course, we had inside information on Ventura’s whereabouts. We knew he’d moved on for good, but had no need to show our hand to Baptiste.
“Not at this time,” Henri said. “No.”
Virgil nodded.
“There anybody to vouch for you?” Virgil said. “Where were you two yesterday afternoon?”
“Vouch!” Eugene said.
In a huff, he came charging around the desk as if he were going to do something he should not. “Vouch for us?” he said. “Get the fuck out of this office, now!”
He was red-faced and shaking his fist toward Virgil, who did not flinch. Easily and without much effort I stopped Eugene’s forward movement. I jabbed the butt of my eight-gauge hard into Eugene’s belly.
“No,” Henri said. “My God.”
Eugene coughed, then doubled over and dropped to his knees. Frank stood up and I turned the double barrels of my big gun toward him.
“Hold on. I got nothing to goddamn do with nothing, Everett,” Frank said. “I just do like I told you before, I take care of the men here and the rock they break. That is it.”
Eugene stayed down on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He put one hand on the corner of the desk to stabilize himself. He glared up at me.
“Goddamn you,” he said. “Coming in here, acting all . . .”
“Stop,” Henri said.
“Don’t say nothing more to them,” Eugene said. “We got nothing to do with James McCormick.”
“We for sure have people to vouch for us,” Henri said. “Indeed we do. You can check. Eugene was in the office, going over books with our other accountants.”
“And you?”
“I was at the Appaloosa Theater,” Henri said.
“Doing?” Virgil said.
“I was there in one of the dressing rooms. Backstage.”
“Doing?” I said.
“Visiting an actress,” Henri said. “A lovely actress.”
Virgil looked at me, but I didn’t meet his eye.
41
The kid rode with the teamster in the long buckboard. He was impressed at how well the man worked the team. His gee and haw commands were
effortless. He drove the mules without the crack of a whip. They traveled a well-rutted road for ten miles or so until they came to a huge Bessemer steel outfit by the river.
There they picked up the sticks of pipe, then headed for town. It was a rough ride, but it was pleasant enough, the kid thought. They talked about all kinds of subjects on the journey. The teamster carried on about the loads he carried and the mules. They talked about the teamster’s days in the Army and about horses and about the weather. They talked a lot about gambling. They carried on about the nuances of playing seven-up and faro and three-card, and stiff-arming dice. They’d been traveling for the whole day. And they talked about all kinds of things, except for something that was gnawing at the kid. So he figured he’d bring it up.
“So, I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
“What’s keeping you?”
“Nothing, I reckon.”
“So ask.”
“You don’t have no problem with me, do you?” the kid said.
“What kind of problem?” the teamster said.
“Well, I don’t got to point it out, do I?”
“You mean you sleeping with my wife?”
“Something like that,” the kid said. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t have any problem with it, did you?” the teamster said. “With her?”
“Problem?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, no. But . . .”
“You liked it, didn’t you?”
“Well . . . yeah. I mean . . .”
“That’s good,” the teamster said.
“How could I not?”
The teamster laughed. But the kid could not tell just where the laughter was coming from.
“She took a liking to you,” the teamster said.
“I just never. Well, I never had no man’s wife ask me to do such a thing,” the kid said. “Not with the husband right there next to me no-ways.”
“You’re not complaining, are you?”
“Complaining? Hell, no. I’m just . . .”
“What?” the teamster said.
“Just a . . . wondering how you feel about it.”
“I didn’t throw a shoe, did I?”
“No.”
“If it bothered me, I’d let you know.”
“It don’t?”
“She knows things I don’t. See’s things I don’t see,” the teamster said. “She’s special.”
“I’ll say.”
“There is no beginning and no end to her.”
The kid thought about that.
“I think I know what you are saying.”
“Like she came down from the stars,” the teamster said with a slight laugh.
“Where did she come from?”
“I found her in Death Valley.”
“Doing what?”
“She was young, her father had been recently killed, and she was left with a group of crazy gypsies. She was in a wagon train with a string of them, the gypsies there in the Borax Flats. After a few nights together, she told the others she was staying with me. That was that.”
“And you married her?”
“You could say that,” he said. “She married me. Been five years thereabout. She likes that I don’t take bullshit. Likes that I can take care of her, see to it she is free to be the woman she needs to be.”
“This sort of thing happen often?” the kid said. “Like with me, last night?”
“No,” the teamster said.
They rode in silence.
“But it’s happened before?”
“No,” the teamster said. “As a matter of fact. You’re the first.”
The kid stared at the teamster. The teamster met his eyes. He stared hard at the kid with a serious expression.
The kid was unsure. Then he noticed a slight grin and realized the teamster was ribbing him. The teamster laughed and the kid joined him in the laughter.
After the teamster and the kid dropped off the load of pipe in the city’s construction yard, they continued on, traveling west as the sun set.
It was early evening when they approached the town. The kid felt a sensation he’d never felt before as they got closer. He was excited, thinking this would one day soon be his home. He whistled through his teeth when he saw the glow of lights in the distance.
“Hot damn,” he said. “Is that it?”
“Yep,” the teamster said. “There she be.”
The kid was fighting back his emotions. Tears were coming up, hankering to spring from his eyes.
“I’ll be damned,” the kid said. “Appaloosa.”
Two riders came out of a path to the right and rode up just behind the buckboard. They were riding at a pace and in no time moved around it. They were handsome, rugged-looking men on fine-looking horses with shiny oiled tack. One of them was dressed in a black suit and vest with a crisp white shirt and a ridged brimmed black hat. He had a bone-handled Colt showing under his coat. The other was wearing matching shades of dark greens. He had a wide hat with a curled brim and high military-style boots that were polished. As they came alongside of the buckboard, they gave the kid and the teamster the once-over. They both had that kind of penetrating eyes. The kid knew the look. So did the teamster. Though they could not see badges, it was clear to the kid and the teamster that the riders were lawmen. One of them, the man in the shades-of-green clothing, nodded and tipped his hat a little as they passed. The kid noticed the tall butt of a huge nickel-plated shotgun sticking out of his scabbard. It appeared bigger than the average shotgun, bigger than a twelve-gauge, the kid thought, bigger than a ten-gauge even. After the two men passed, the teamster and the kid watched them as they moved on up the road, distancing themselves from the buckboard. The kid shook his head.
“That might have been a goddamn eight-gauge in that Johnny lawman’s scabbard,” the kid said.
42
It was her night off performing Evangeline, and Martha Kathryn and I were invited to dinner at Virgil and Allie’s house. As arranged by Allie, I stopped by the Hotel Windsor to escort Martha Kathryn. When I knocked on her room door, I was not displeased to see she had yet to dress.
“Hello,” I said.
“Well, hello to you.”
“You want me to wait downstairs?”
“Why?”
“So you can dress,” I said.
“Are you shy?” she said.
“A little.”
“Why do I get the feeling you have never been shy about anything?” she said.
“Don’t know,” I said.
“Perhaps it’s because it’s never happened.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or . . . Maybe it’s because you are only accustomed to watching women undress?”
I nodded.
“Maybe,” I said.
She smiled and pulled me into the room. She closed the door and pushed me up against it. Then she kissed me. It was a sweet, full kiss. With meaning and intention, she kissed me long and hard. But then she pulled away and did a pirouette in the room, which made her robe flair, showing her long legs.
“But,” she said, “not for the time being.”
“No?”
“No, for the time being, I will dress.”
“Okay,” I said.
“You’re not disappointed?”
I smiled.
“I am disappointed.”
“Good,” she said with a giggle. “Good.”
“You want me to suffer?”
“I do,” she said.
Then she let the robe fall to the floor. She stood there with her arms covering certain locations on her naked body, shyly feigning modesty.
“How do you feel?”
“Suffering.”
“Yes. Good, Everett. But we of c
ourse don’t want to be late, do we?”
“Of course not,” I said.
She took a few sensual strides toward me with that look in her eye and smiled.
“It just would not be appropriate,” she said.
“I agree.”
“Good,” she said. Then she laughed, turned, and opened the armoire. She pulled out a blue satin dress.
“It’s the actress in me,” she said. “Punctuality is the key, timing is everything.”
“I won’t disagree with you there,” I said.
“No?”
“No,” I said.
She held the dress in front of her.
“What do you think?”
“Nice,” I said.
“Glad you like it,” she said as she checked it out in the mirror.
“Look better on the floor,” I said.
She smiled, walked to me, and kissed me again.
“I shall dress,” she said.
I bowed, then took a seat in the corner chair and watched her. Once she was properly attired, it was everything I could do not to reverse the course of the action. She fitted her silk hat above her hair, then turned and smiled.
“Like to ask you something,” I said.
“Okay,” she said.
“Henri Baptiste?” I said.
She paused as she adjusted her hat in the mirror.
“What about him?”
“When did you last see him?”
She turned and cocked her head.
“Why?”
“I just need to know.”
“You’re jealous?”
“We already covered that territory,” I said.
“Seems like we’re on it again,” she said.
“No,” I said. “Just business.”
“Business?”
“Yes.”
“Really?” she said.
I nodded.
“Really.”
“He came to the theater.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“To see the show?” I said.
“Yes.”
“Did you see him before the show?”
“Yes. He stopped by my dressing room, prior to curtain.”
“For?”
She stared at me.
