The Bridge

by Robert Knott

  “Just Leonard,” Dmitry said, “and Ray.”

  “Goddamn you,” Dee said to Dmitry.

  I pressed Dee hard in the throat with my boot again and stuck the eight-gauge even harder under his nose, shutting him up.

  “Ray, Leonard,” Dmitry said quickly, “Dirk, and Ballard, I swear.”

  Virgil wasted no more time with dumbass Dmitry. He grabbed Dmitry and jerked him to his feet.

  “Eddie, Chastain,” Virgil said, as he shoved Dmitry toward the tent near Chastain, “do the same with this one, tie him up.”

  Eddie nodded and commenced to cut more rope from the tent.

  I reached down and grabbed Dee hard by the collar and yanked him to his feet.

  Like we’d been told, Dee was a strong, good-sized fella, but at the moment he felt like a limp rag doll to me as I hoisted him upright.

  Eddie and Chastain quickly got Dmitry tied up in the same fashion as the heavy fella.

  “Drag them inside that tent,” Virgil said.

  Eddie and Chastain dragged the hefty man and Dmitry into the tent.

  “Him, too?” Eddie said, looking at Dee.

  “No,” Virgil said. “Dee has a few things he’d like to talk about first. Don’t you, Dee?”

  Dee didn’t say anything.

  Virgil looked back to Eddie.

  “Cut the rest of the tent ropes,” Virgil said. “Drop that tent on them.”

  Eddie cut the remaining ropes and the tent collapsed on the two men that were bound and gagged under the weight of the canvas.

  “Good,” Virgil said, then turned to Dee.

  I had Dee by the back of his singed hair and had my eight-gauge tucked tightly under his bloody chin.

  “Dee,” Virgil said. “Let’s walk over to this tent where your brother and the others are and see what might be their evenin’ interests.”

  —66—

  Chastain, Eddie, Virgil, and I left the two men tied up under the dilapidated tent and walked down the trash-cluttered road toward the wood-sided tent with hurting and hunched-over Dee in tow.

  “Who’s behind this, Dee?” Virgil said, as we walked.

  Dee’s mouth was bleeding heavily from being smashed into the eight-gauge. He just shook his head.

  “Talk, Dee,” Virgil said.

  Dee didn’t respond.

  In the short walk, we were at the tent on the opposite side of the creek with women’s garments hanging on the stake ropes. We passed a few small tents and shacks as we got closer but didn’t see any other of the holdouts milling about.

  Like we’d figured, with it being winter, the Yaqui Brakes weren’t at their full capacity.

  When we stopped in front of the big wall-sided tent, a new guitar and fiddle tune started up from inside.

  “This it, Dee?” Virgil said.

  Dee didn’t answer, but we could tell this was where we needed to be. In fact, looking down the pathway of the camp road, there were no lights and no fires burning.

  “Good, Dee, appreciate it,” Virgil said, as he looked around. “Do me a favor and have a sit right here.”

  Virgil pointed to a crude chair made from green branches. The chair was sitting in front of an expired fire pit on the opposite side of the narrow road just across from the wood-sided tent.

  Dee dropped in the chair and looked to the ground.

  “Eddie,” Virgil said, without looking at Dee. “You stay out here with your Winchester at the back of his head.”

  Virgil nodded to Chastain and me.

  “The three of us are going inside here and pay these other fellas a proper visit,” Virgil said. “If this one here has any intentions of doing anything other than staying in this chair, kill him.”

  Eddie nodded.

  Dee remained looking at the ground, watching the blood drip from his mouth.

  Virgil looked off down the path toward the men at the far end, but they were gone. Then Virgil looked to the big tent, then to Chastain and me. He nodded.

  “Let’s go,” Virgil said.

  We started toward the tent, but just before we got to the opening, Dee sprang out of the chair, shouting and running toward the tent, “Dirk! Fucking law, Dirk! Law! LAW . . . DIRK!”

  The report of Eddie’s Winchester echoed loudly through the brakes. The bullet hit Dee in the back of the head and he fell face-first in the dirt. Without a moment of hesitation I was through the entrance of the tent, with Virgil and Chastain right behind me.

  Inside was chaos. The guitar player and the fiddler, two older fellas, cowered and dropped to the ground. Two half-naked women screamed loudly. A man next to them raised his arms above his head, but the man next to him came up quickly with a sawed-off.

  I let go with one barrel of the side-by-side. The sound was deafening, as the eight-gauge double-ought buck blasted out of the barrel. The man’s head exploded and splattered over the wall behind him.

  Another naked man came out of the back of the tent with a pistol in each hand and my second shot detonated with a blast of fire that knocked him back the way he came.

  We heard two shots fired outside the tent, followed by Eddie shouting, “Two, out here.”

  I followed Virgil and Chastain as they backed out quickly from the smoke-filled tent.

  “Got one,” Eddie said, pointing to a man on the ground next to the tent, writhing in pain. “They came out the back. The other is running off that way, in the creek.”

  “Stay right here,” Virgil said to Chastain. “Shoot anybody else who needs it.”

  I’d already reloaded as I moved toward the creek.

  “I’ll take the creek, Virgil,” I said. “You take the road.”

  Virgil was moving.

  I pointed my eight-gauge at the man on the ground next to the tent. I could tell right away this was the bearded man I saw riding into town. This was Dirk, Dirk the cold-blooded murderer Cotter. He looked up at me.

  Those were the eyes, the eyes I remembered: the murdering eyes. He was fully dressed. He’d been shot in the back and he was clutching his gut where the bullet exited. There was a rifle just out of his reach he’d obviously dropped when Eddie shot him. I grabbed it and slung it back toward Eddie. I thought as I moved off down into the creek bottom, How fitting. How fitting that both Dee and Dirk were shot by Eddie.

  Just as I heard the water splashing under my feet, I heard a shot and saw ahead of me the flash of a muzzle as the bullet hit me.

  I felt my legs give out. I fell back and dropped into the icy creek. Then all I could hear was the cold water rushing past my ears. I could see the stars above me.

  I thought about Séraphine, beautiful, mysterious Séraphine. I thought about being in her arms. I thought about her long, slender legs and her dark, silky hair. I thought about touching her, touching her soft porcelain skin. I thought about her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes looking at me.

  I remembered her intoxicating smell. I remembered. I remembered. I remembered. I smiled thinking, Cotter, men running, and water, water, water. I remembered. I remembered . . .

  There’s Orion’s Belt just there, I thought. It is, that’s Orion’s Belt.

  —67—

  Thunder rumbled. Dark clouds turned and twisted. Currents of stiff wind pushed and challenged strong trees to stay rooted, and jagged lightning cracked across the sullen sky.

  Embers skittered violently from a waning fire and the horses whinnied loudly. They were restless, anxious, and frightened. Was it just the weather that had them spooked or was it something else out there in the dark that was causing them agony?

  Then from inside the dark and ominous rolling clouds I saw a shimmering light, a dim shimmering spot of light on the horizon. It was coming closer and closer. The spot flickered as it got bigger. Then it came like a tornado, clearing the darkness, and suddenly it was bright.

  It was a lantern, a ceiling lantern. I stared at it for a long moment, then looked slowly to my right.

  Sun streamed through the thin lace curtains. There was an open
ing in the curtains and I could see glistening water dripping from the eaves.

  I looked around the white spartan-styled room.

  It was stark and sanitary, but it was warm. Above my head on the wall behind the bed was a small wooden cross. To my right, just beyond the window, was a framed printed painting of Jesus. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking to his right toward the window, toward the light. On the stand just left of the iron-framed bed I was lying on was an ivory-colored water pitcher and a single glass. I looked back out the window, watching the water dripping and the steam that was rising from it. I looked back to Jesus. Least I made it to a hospital.

  “Bonjour,” she said.

  I looked to my left toward the foot of the bed. There she was, Séraphine, standing in the doorway.

  “Look who’s here,” I said.

  She smiled.

  “Bonjour back,” I said.

  “Feeling better, I see,” she said.

  “Oui,” I said.

  She smiled and moved a little closer into the room.

  “For some damn reason, I’m drifting in and out of sleep,” I said.

  “Need your rest,” she said.

  “Damn doc’s keeping me drifting,” I said. “Opiates.”

  “Morpheus,” she said.

  “The dreams and here,” I said, “mix.”

  “I’m here,” she said.

  “Yes, you are,” I said. “I can see that.”

  She looked radiant in her long, pale blue dress. She slowly moved toward me.

  “Matches your eyes,” I said.

  She stepped close to the bed. She reached out and gently with her fingers touched the bandage around my chest.

  “It’s good your heart is not on this side,” she said.

  “What heart?” I said with a grin.

  “A beautiful heart,” she said.

  She leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m awake.”

  She smiled.

  “I’m not dreaming,” I said.

  “I’m right here,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  She moved a lock of hair that was hanging down in front of my eye.

  “Time for a haircut,” I said.

  She just looked at me and smiled warmly.

  “I’ll be up soon,” I said. “Think I’m close to being ready.”

  She smiled but didn’t say anything.

  I looked to the window.

  “Warming,” I said.

  She followed my look to the window.

  “Oui,” she said softly.

  “That weather came on harsh,” I said.

  “Oui,” she said.

  “Thought March was the lion,” I said.

  “Roared early,” she said.

  “Damn sure did,” I said.

  “It will make for a better spring,” she said.

  “It will,” I said.

  She took my hand and just looked at me.

  “Are they setting up now,” I said, “readying the show?”

  “Preparations are under way,” she said.

  I laid back and looked to the ceiling. The lantern looked foggy and dim.

  “Futures told,” I said.

  “Oui,” she said. “Legendary adventures revealed.”

  —68—

  It was Ballard who’d shot me, and it was Virgil who’d shot Ballard. His bullet hit Ballard in the temple and killed him instantly. By the time Virgil and Chastain got me out of the icy water, Dirk had died, too. The two men I’d shot with my eight-gauge inside the tent, Leonard and Ray, were both members of the gang, so there was no one left to provide any details other than Dmitry and Big Billy. They were the only two of the outlaws to survive the shoot-out at Yaqui Brakes.

  “We’ve interrogated the goddamn living hell out of them,” Chastain said.

  Virgil nodded. He was standing with his back to me as he looked out the window next to the painting of Jesus.

  Chastain was sitting in a chair next to the door.

  “They don’t know anything else?” I said.

  “Other than Dmitry and Big Billy providing details about Ray and Leonard being the fellas that did the work,” Chastain said, “they don’t know shit.”

  Virgil turned from the window.

  “They don’t,” he said.

  “Couple of dumbasses,” Chastain said.

  “They signed on,” Virgil said, “thought they’d make some good money.”

  “Little did they know,” Chastain said.

  “Don’t think they knew what they were getting into until it was too late,” Virgil said.

  “Yep,” Chastain said. “They was scared as hell of both Dirk and Ballard.”

  “Dee, too,” Virgil said.

  Chastain nodded.

  “Said they wanted to back out,” Chastain said. “But they were scared they’d kill them.”

  “Most likely right?” Virgil said.

  “How about the telegram we sent to the governor’s office?” I said. “Any word back regarding the financials and whatnot?”

  Virgil shook his head a little.

  “Only that someone would report from the office as soon as the weather permitted,” Virgil said.

  Doc Crumley came into the room with a dark bottle and a spoon.

  “Oh,” Doc said. “Didn’t know you fellas was up here.”

  “’Lo Doc,” Chastain said.

  “Doc,” Virgil said with a nod.

  “No more, Doc,” I said.

  “Too soon not to,” he said.

  “No more,” I said.

  “You sure?” he said.

  “More than sure,” I said. “I’ve had enough of that, don’t know if I’m coming or going.”

  “You’re gonna be in pain,” he said.

  “I know,” I said. “No more. If I go ahead and die, at least I will be alert enough to know it.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “Will do,” I said. “But I won’t. And I will be walking outta here shortly.”

  Doc put his fists on his hips.

  “Don’t want to push it, Everett,” he said.

  “I’m good,” I said.

  Doc shook his head.

  “You’re tore up inside,” he said, “and that needs time to heal, Everett.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’ll take it easy.”

  The doc looked to Virgil and Chastain and shook his head a little, then looked back to me.

  “Don’t get on any horses,” he said.

  “I won’t, Doc,” I said.

  Doc Crumley left the room, shaking his head.

  “So what now?” I said.

  Virgil folded his arms and looked to the floor for a moment.

  “Chastain and me rode out and talked to each of the ranchers from that list Swickey provided us,” Virgil said, shaking his head.

  Chastain nodded.

  “We don’t think none of them had a hand in this,” he said.

  “No,” Virgil said. “We don’t.”

  “We talked to the rancher Eddie worked with, too,” Chastain said.

  “Westmorland,” Virgil said. “The one that Dee and Dirk had worked for.”

  “And?” I said.

  Virgil shook his head.

  “He’d be the last to muster something like this,” Virgil said. “Good man.”

  “Leaves us with the whores,” I said.

  Virgil nodded.

  “We talked to a few,” Chastain said.

  “And we’ll talk to them all, but it’s like Belle was saying. Whores are whores because they are whores.”

  —69—

  I’m done with being looked after, Allie,” I said. “Really.”

  “Nonsense,” Allie called from the kitchen.

  “Not nonsense,” Virgil said. “If Everett wants to be left alone, leave him alone.”

  After I left the resting room above Doc Crumley’s, Allie had insisted
I stay with her and Virgil. The bullet I received from Ballard was a .45 that Crumley took out of me. Crumley said if it’d been an inch to the left it would have been the last train.

  I was weak from the loss of blood, and got around a little slow due to the pain, but was on the mend.

  Allie had a special down-filled cot she borrowed from one of her gal friends with the ladies’ social. She placed it near the fireplace and demanded I stay with them until the snow was all melted and it was no longer muddy.

  Allie came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a chunk of bread.

  “Everett needs continued rest,” Allie said. “And my special nourishment.”

  “Hell, Allie,” I said. “That’s pretty much all I have been doing, is eating and sleeping.”

  “Well, that’s just the way it is,” Allie said. “It’s not every day I get to take care of somebody.”

  “By God, not true, Allie,” Virgil said. “You take care of me every day.”

  “Oh, pooh,” Allie said, swinging her tail like a cat as she walked back to the kitchen. “Nobody takes care of Virgil Cole . . . ’Sides, Everett likes to be looked after by me.”

  She poked her head back out the kitchen door.

  “Don’t you, Everett?”

  I picked up my spoon and smiled.

  “I appreciate what you do for me, Allie,” I said. “I certainly do.”

  “See, Virgil,” Allie said. “Everett knows the meaning of appreciation.”

  Allie tucked back in the kitchen.

  “Only so much appreciation a man needs,” Virgil said. “Since Everett left that halfway room above Doc Crumley’s office all you been doing is looking after him. I think Everett might have just had his fill of appreciation.”

  “And thank that Jesus on the wall of that halfway room above Doc Crumley’s office,” Allie said, as she came back into the living room with a glass of milk, “that Everett’s come back this halfway of that room and not the other half so I can take proper care of his recovery. Here you go, Everett.”

  “I will say, Allie,” I said, “I’ve had enough milk to last me a lifetime.”

  Allie pinched my cheek.

  “Oh, moo,” she said with a giggle. “Drink it. It’s good for you, help you get your strength back.”

  “Quite frankly,” I said, “I’m looking forward to having a nudge or two of that Kentucky.”