The Bridge

by Robert Knott

  “What do you figure?” Chastain said.

  “Let’s move off this way,” Virgil said, pointing to his left. “We’ll cross the creek and move down the bank on the other side. Have a better view.”

  We did as Virgil said. We walked to our left until we were in complete darkness again, then we crossed the creek and moved down the bank on the opposite side.

  We stayed out of the camp’s spilling light as we moved slowly and cautiously.

  We could hear voices, muffled conversations coming from inside tents, but like we figured, as cold as it was, there were only a few people moving about.

  We passed by one man chopping wood beside a tent and two others drinking beer as they watched him.

  A little farther down the way from them, two men sat next to a spit, turning what looked to be a goat.

  Virgil led the way; Chastain was behind him, then Eddie, and then me. Eddie stopped, grabbed my arm.

  He was looking at the two men over the spit.

  “That’s him,” Eddie said.

  —62—

  Virgil,” I said softly.

  Virgil stopped and looked back. He moved closer to Eddie. He followed Eddie’s look to the two men and the goat.

  “The one on the right,” Eddie said. “I think that’s him.”

  “You think?” Virgil said.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the younger one,” Eddie said. “Hard to tell from here, what with him all bundled up and all, but I think that’s him. Could tell for sure if we got closer.”

  “The good news is,” I said, “there aren’t many others moving about.”

  Virgil leaned forward, looking to his left, then looked to his right. Then he looked to the two men at the spit.

  “That big tent across the way from them with the wood sides, Everett?” Virgil said. “That the chicken hole?”

  “Think so,” I said. “Got some ladies’ stuff on top of that tent rope there.”

  “That other fella at the spit there,” Virgil said. “You maybe recognize him as one of them you saw that day when they come riding by Hal’s?”

  “Don’t,” I said.

  Virgil watched for a moment.

  “What do we do, Virgil?” Chastain said.

  “Everett?” Virgil said.

  “Might as well waltz in there, sort of quiet like,” I said. “Sit by the spit, see what comes up.”

  “Got to start somewhere,” Virgil said.

  “Good a place as any,” I said.

  “It is,” Virgil said.

  “Two stay back,” I said. “Keep cover.”

  Virgil nodded.

  “Two of us go in,” I said.

  “Chastain,” Virgil said. “You and Eddie move up on either side of that tent there.”

  The two of them nodded.

  “Everett and me will do like Everett’s saying,” Virgil said. “We’ll walk in there and sort out what we can. See who’s interested in going to jail or who’s interested in dying.”

  “Okay,” Chastain said.

  “Eddie,” Virgil said. “You walk with me across the creek and come up on this side of the tent. You’ll have a better view of that fella over the spit.”

  Eddie nodded.

  “Everett,” Virgil said. “You and Chastain come up on that other side. Once I get the nod from Eddie, you walk in from that side of the tent and I’ll walk in from the other.”

  “What if Eddie don’t identify him as one of the Cotters?” Chastain said.

  “That’s a good point, Chastain,” Virgil said. “But like Everett said, we gotta start someplace.”

  “What happens if all hell breaks loose and shooting starts?” Chastain said.

  “Shoot straight,” Virgil said.

  “But we’re after the seven,” Chastain said. “Not everybody.”

  “I figure anybody with a gun that is using it is most likely going to be one of them.”

  “And if they are not?” Chastain said.

  “Then they got no goddamn reason to be raising arms on lawmen,” Virgil said. “So shoot and shoot straight.”

  Virgil looked to each of us in turn, and we moved out.

  We crossed the creek and when we did I thought about what Séraphine had said to me. About the warning she left me with, about my life in danger. About men running and that she saw me away, elsewhere from Appaloosa, and there would be water. Holy by God, water, I thought, as I crossed the shallow creek.

  Chastain and I did as Virgil instructed. We posted at the back of the tent on the right side.

  We could see Virgil and Eddie. They were at the rear of the tent on the left side.

  Chastain and I watched Virgil. We waited on a signal, and after a moment, Eddie nodded. Virgil looked to me and nodded.

  Here we go, I thought.

  Virgil and I walked deliberately past the tent and directly over to the two men and the goat they were turning on the spit.

  “Evening, fellas,” Virgil said.

  They looked up.

  “Who are you?” the man with the beard said.

  “My name is Virgil Cole. The fella here next to me with the eight-gauge is Everett Hitch.”

  I nodded politely.

  “Everett and me are lawmen,” Virgil said.

  I looked around to see if we were drawing any attention from anyone yet, and so far there was no one looking or coming in our direction.

  “I’m a territorial marshal,” Virgil said. “And Everett here is my deputy marshal.”

  The man with the beard shifted his eyes back and forth.

  In an instant, his body shot up and across the campfire in an attempt to run, but I swung my heavy eight-gauge the way the baseball fellas go after the ball and caught him just under his chin. His feet flipped out from under him and he hit the ground so hard on his back it knocked the wind right out of him.

  He grasped his throat, trying to get a breath.

  The second man was much slower, and Virgil just put his Colt between his eyes.

  “Just stay seated,” Virgil said.

  I got the bearded man by his hair and propped him up near the fire. I put my boot to his chest with the eight-gauge barrels pointed at his head and pushed him back toward the flames lapping up from the spit.

  “I think the combination of my eight-gauge hitting your throat and you hitting the ground hard like you did is making it difficult for you to breathe,” I said. “Regardless, I know some shit about you.”

  I dug my boot hard into him, pushing him toward the fire.

  “I’m gonna ask you a few simple questions. If you don’t answer, or if you lie to me, I’m gonna burn your face off in this fire. You try to move for some stupid reason, I’ll blow your head off with both barrels of this eight-gauge.”

  The bearded man just looked at me as he tried to get his breath.

  “First question is,” I said, “what is your name, but before you answer, just know, I know what your name is, so if for some reason it comes out wrong, I start burning your face.”

  —63—

  Fuck you,” he said.

  I crammed my boot fast and hard under his neck and pushed him back to the fire. His hair started to burn.

  “Ahha,” he rasped as he squirmed trying to worm out of the fire, “Ohhh . . . stop! Stop . . . Dee! Fuck. Dee. Name is Dee.”

  “You murdered the sheriff and his deputies of Appaloosa?” I said. “Yes or no?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Dee said.

  I shoved him back into the fire and he fought me, but I held him to it.

  “Ahhh,” he cried.

  I wanted to pull both triggers on my side-by-side and watch his face explode, but I took another tactic and let up on him.

  “Oh, fuck,” Dee said, as I let him out of the fire.

  “Oh, fuck . . .” he continued. “Oh, fuck . . .”

  “This fella here with you and this goat?” I said. “He part of your rotten gang?”

  Dee’s eyes were just wide with p
ain and madness.

  “What’s your name, your real name?” I said to the man Virgil had his Colt leveled at. “You lie to me and I will burn you, too.”

  “Dmitry,” he said.

  Dee squirmed and I dug my boot into his neck.

  “I ain’t done nothing,” Dmitry blurted out. “I didn’t kill nobody. Honest.”

  Dmitry was a little man with a wool head cap. He had thin lips and slits for eyes.

  “There’s gonna be a few options for you, Dmitry,” Virgil said. “One is you will die, the other is you will go to jail.”

  “I didn’t do nothing to no one,” Dmitry said.

  “How many are you, Dmitry?” I said.

  “Fuck him,” Dee said.

  Virgil looked around. I glanced around, too, and for the moment there was no one moving about except for the men fifty yards down the way in the darkness. The men were still chopping wood and they were unaware we were even in camp.

  “How many are you, Dmitry?” I said.

  Dmitry’s eyes worked back and forth.

  “Talk,” Virgil said, as he pressed his Colt on Dmitry’s forehead.

  “Seven,” Dmitry said, “There’s seven of us . . .”

  Dee squirmed some more. He was clearly not liking the idea that Dmitry was forthcoming.

  A hefty man wearing long johns walked out of the tent that was flanked by Chastain and Eddie. He saw Virgil and me, and Dee on the ground, and guns out. This sight was obviously a confusing and unexpected one.

  “Wha . . . what’s going on out here?” he said.

  “We’re just having a visit,” Virgil said.

  “What?” the hefty fella said.

  In an instant, Chastain was at his side with his rifle crammed into his ear.

  “Down,” Chastain said quietly.

  The man just looked to Chastain, and Chastain slapped him hard on the side of the head with the barrel of the rifle.

  “Now,” Chastain said with a harsh hush.

  The hefty guy did as he was told and got down on his knees. Chastain peeked quick into the tent, then looked to Virgil and me and shook his head, letting us know there was no one else inside. He put his boot in the middle of the hefty man’s back and shoved him hard face-first into the dirt.

  “Don’t move a muscle,” Chastain said.

  “Fat fella one of your clan?” Virgil said to Dmitry.

  Dmitry glanced to Dee, then nodded.

  “Eddie,” Virgil said.

  Eddie was standing in the dark beside the tent and looked out a little.

  Virgil nodded for him to step out.

  “Here,” Virgil said.

  Eddie moved out into the open road area, looking both to his left and to his right as he made his way over to us.

  Dee cocked his head, looking at Eddie. He recognized him.

  “I’ll be goddamned,” Dee snarled. “You fuck.”

  Without saying a word, Eddie took one bounding step and kicked Dee so hard between the legs his head jerked forward and he busted his mouth on the barrels of my eight-gauge.

  “Goddamn,” Dee cried, as he crunched his legs up and spit out pieces of his bloody teeth. “Goddamn . . .”

  —64—

  Eddie,” Virgil said, tossing Eddie his knife, “cut some lines off that tent. Tie up that big boy under Chastain’s boot first. Tie him up good.”

  Eddie nodded and did as he was told. He cut the tent ropes, then moved to the man under Chastain’s boot.

  “Hands behind your back,” Chastain said.

  The man did as he was ordered.

  “Snug ’em tight to his feet, Eddie,” Chastain said.

  Eddie did just that. He tied the fella’s hands behind his back, then looped the rope around his feet, and with a half-hitch jerk he pulled the man into an uncomfortable backward arch.

  “Gag him,” Chastain said.

  Eddied nodded and crammed his handkerchief into the man’s gaping mouth.

  From a ways down the dirt path of shacks and tents that lined the creek we heard some music start up, a fiddle and a guitar. They were working on some dancing tune.

  “Dmitry,” Virgil said. “The more you tell me, the better off things will be for you when we take you in, that is if we take you in. If things go a way we might not appreciate, there’s a good chance you will burn and die here tonight.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Dee said, struggling to speak.

  “The less you tell me of what you know, Dmitry,” Virgil said, “the worse things will be for you.”

  “Wha . . . what do you want to know?” Dmitry said.

  “First thing I want to know is where are your horses?”

  “Corral down at the end here,” Dmitry said.

  “All seven of you here?”

  Dmitry nodded.

  “Where are the other four?”

  Dmitry nodded up the path.

  “Whore shack,” he said.

  Out of the darkness came the three men we saw chopping wood. The woodchopper was a big man and he had the ax in his hand. The two men following him were kind of pint-sized. They both were holding beer mugs.

  “What the hell?” the woodchopper said.

  Chastain and Eddie trained their guns on the men.

  “Don’t move,” Chastain said. “Stay right where you are.”

  The men raised their hands up away from their bodies.

  “They with you?” Virgil said to Dmitry.

  “They are not,” he said.

  “We’re law,” Virgil said. “Just stay where you are.”

  They did as they were told.

  “You damn sure,” Virgil said to Dmitry, “they’re not part of your kettle?”

  “They’re not,” he said.

  “You lie to me,” Virgil said, “and if shit goes down, you will be the first to die.”

  “They’re not,” Dmitry said.

  Virgil looked to Dmitry for a bit, then looked to the men.

  “You fellas,” Virgil said. “Like I say, we’re law. We’ve located these critters here and we’re sorting them out for the lawbreaking they’ve done. You can be part of this or you can go back down on the other end and keep out of this. The choice is yours.”

  The three of them started backing up.

  “We got no dealing with nothing that the law needs to be part of, mister,” the woodchopper said, “No dealing.”

  “Okay,” Virgil said. “I see you or anyone else come down the road this way, they will become part of something they’d be better off not being part of, comprende?”

  The men nodded and started backing away.

  “One thing,” Virgil said to the men.

  “Yes, sir,” the woodchopper said.

  “How many people are here?” Virgil said. “In this camp?”

  “There’s us down here,” the woodchopper said. “Six of us, we’re all from Missouri. Be on our way to California when the weather clears. And down there, on the other end, there’s them fellas there, them seven, and there’s five other fellas, regulars that are here all the time.”

  “Whores?” Virgil said.

  “Three,” the woodchopper said. “Indians.”

  Virgil nodded.

  “Go on back,” Virgil said to the men. “Go on back or get yourself into some shit you don’t want no part of. Go on.”

  The three backed on down the road and disappeared into the darkness they came from.

  “Who’s behind all this?” Virgil said to Dmitry.

  “Goddamn you,” Dee said.

  I pressed my eight-gauge on Dee’s bloody mouth.

  “Behind what?”

  “Don’t fuck with me,” Virgil said.

  “I’m not,” Dmitry said.

  —65—

  Who paid you to blow up the bridge, Dmitry?” Virgil said.

  “I don’t know,” Dmitry said nervously, looking between Dee and Virgil.

  “Bullshit,” Virgil said. “You got paid, you killed the Appaloosa lawmen, and you came to town
to get paid. By who?”

  “I don’t know. Honest, I don’t, I’m just a hand. That was all his big brother’s plan,” Dmitry said. “It was Dirk and that Ballard who was in charge. I didn’t kill nobody.”

  “You boys came into Appaloosa,” Virgil said. “To get paid, by who?”

  “I swear to you, mister, I don’t know,” Dmitry said, then looked to Dee. “It was all his brother’s plan.”

  “Shut up,” Dee said.

  “It was just his brother,” Dmitry continued hurriedly. “His brother, Dirk, that got the money, him and Ballard. I don’t know from who or where. They did it. I just did what they told me to do.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Dee said. “Shut . . .”

  I pushed my eight-gauge under Dee’s nose, shoving his head back.

  “I was just promised money,” Dmitry said, shaking with fear. “His brother, Dirk, he got me to help ’cause me and Big Billy know about dynamite. I ain’t lying.”

  Dmitry pointed to the heavy fella on the ground.

  “Me and Big Billy there,” Dmitry said. “We worked in the mines. Ask Billy. He was the one who knowed Dirk and Dee, not me. I swear to you.”

  “You’re lying,” Virgil said.

  Dmitry shook his head hard.

  “I’m not. Billy and me don’t know who paid and we didn’t kill nobody,” Dmitry said, looking at Billy tied up on the ground. “Ask Big Billy.”

  “Who killed the lawmen?” Virgil said.

  Dmitry just looked to Dee.

  Virgil pressed his Colt hard into Dmitry’s head.

  “Talk or die now,” Virgil said.

  “Them three,” Dmitry said. “They done it. They, they scared the hell outta Big Billy and me, they made us watch and, and . . .”

  “Ballard, Dee and Dirk killed the lawmen?” Virgil said.

  Dmitry nodded.

  “They did,” Dmitry said. “I never seen no men like them.”

  “Fuck you,” Dee said. “You lying piece of shit.”

  “Dirk, Ballard, the others are in the whore shack,” Virgil said. “Which tent?”

  “Big tent just there with the wood sides,” Dmitry said.

  “Besides Dirk and Ballard,” Virgil said. “How many others in there?”