“Any new news?” Cox said.

“No,” Virgil said.

“I have a feeling if there were any news, you wouldn’t let me know, so I’m not sure why I even ask.”

“That’s okay,” Virgil said.

Cox just shook his head slightly.

“Keep in mind that this was my bridge and I’m accountable for all that transpires here, Marshal Cole.”

“I will,” Virgil said.

Cox just looked at Virgil for an extended moment.

“What now?” Cox said wearily.

“Everett and me are riding outta here before daylight,” Virgil said. “You are most welcome to ride with us back to Appaloosa if you’d like.”

“Well, I appreciate that, but I think it best I stay here for a while,” Cox said, pouring on his long southern drawl, “for the morale of the men. This has been quite a trauma for them, Marshal Cole. Many of the men have been working here for two years. This place has served as home away from home for them. It’s simply where I need to be.”

“You won’t stray away from here?” Virgil said.

“Stray?” Cox said with a frown.

“In case we need you,” Virgil said.

“I’ll be here, Marshal,” Cox said. “And will return shortly, rest assured.”

Virgil looked at Cox for an extended moment, then looked around the room. He walked over and looked at the bridge diagrams on the wall.

“One hell of a bridge,” Virgil said.

“Yes,” Cox said. “It was.”

I poured myself some coffee and took a seat in a rocking chair next to a center lodge pole, which for some reason gave Gip the inclination to play.

Gip picked up a knotted cluster of old socks and dropped them in front of me.

“You feeling neglected?”

Gip whined a little and I threw the knotted socks. Gip fetched them and caught them almost before they hit the ground.

I kept throwing the socks as Virgil perused the plans on the wall. After a bit Virgil moved away from the wall and pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the long table from Cox.

“The Rio Blanco is a tough goddamn river through these parts,” Virgil said.

“It damn sure is,” Gains said.

“Deep gorge that the water runs through,” Virgil said. “Rugged as hell for over fifty miles through here.”

“Indeed it is, Marshal,” Cox said.

Virgil looked back at the wall with the drawings on it for a moment, then looked to Cox.

“Let me ask you a question, Mr. Cox,” Virgil said.

“What is it, Marshal?”

Virgil removed his hat and tossed it to the center of the long table.

“Let’s say my hat there is the bridge and you are the land on one side of the bridge and I’m the land on the other.”

“Yes?” Cox said.

“Let’s say I’m the far side and you are this side.”

“Your point?”

“I’m just trying to determine who benefits the most,” Virgil said, “and who don’t. So if I’m the far side, the side cattleman Swickey has land on, or your side, the Appaloosa and vicinity’s side—”

“I certainly see where you are going with this,” Cox said, interrupting Virgil. “I’m not unaware of the most obvious here. It is why the bridge was to be constructed in the first place, Marshal. The bridge would allow goods and services, including the transportation of cattle. There is no argument for one side benefitting more from having the bridge than the other.”

“I’m not talking about benefitting from having the bridge,” Virgil said. “I’m talking about who’d benefit the most from not having the bridge.”

— 36 —

Virgil and I mounted up in the silvery cold morning and left the bridge camp slightly before daylight. The snow had let up, but there was a good foot packed on the ground and it was slow going as we rode.

There was not the slightest breeze. We traveled for eight solid hours in the silence of the snow-covered country. The woods were soundless and everything was still as we moved. We came to a wide-open section without trees and Virgil stopped.

“This must be the meadow Gains was talking about,” Virgil said.

I looked around.

“And that there must be the incline he was talking about,” I said.

Virgil nodded and we moved off the main road and started up the incline. It wasn’t a steep rise, and when we topped the ridge it was clear we were on another road. We continued on riding for about two hours when Virgil stopped again. He turned in his saddle and waited until I was close before he spoke.

“Smell that?” he said quietly.

I looked around.

“Do,” I said.

From somewhere in the woods in front of us we smelled smoke. We rode on for a bit more, then we caught a glimpse of smoke drifting through the trees off to our left. Virgil stopped and I sidled up next to him.

He pointed to the opposite side of the road to the right and we moved off the road and distanced ourselves from the origin of the fire. We stopped under some tall oaks, dismounted, and snugged our horses and the mule to a twisted old oak tree.

Virgil pulled his Winchester from his scabbard and I got my eight-gauge. We circled off the road so as to come upon the fire at a distance from the path.

We made it a step at a time, moving through the deep snow. It took us some time of slow moving before we were close enough to see the source of the smoke.

There was a small fire burning behind an outcropping of rocks next to a steamy creek.

We moved up ever so slowly, and when we were close Virgil signaled me to come in from one direction while he moved off to the other side so he’d come in from the opposite angle.

We kept each other in sight as we approached the camp.

I saw Virgil squat down and I did the same. After a moment Virgil brought the Winchester to his shoulder and pointed it in the direction of the fire.

“Don’t move,” Virgil called out. “I got you in my sights.”

“I ain’t armed,” a voice called back.

“How many are you?” Virgil said.

“Just me,” the voice said.

“Step out,” Virgil said.

Just then I saw the backside of a figure rise up from the rocks. He held his left arm up facing Virgil’s direction.

“I don’t got no gun,” the man said. “I’m friendly, by myself, and hungry. I don’t want no harm to me or no one else.”

“Who are you?” Virgil called.

“Name’s Lonnie,” the man said. “Lonnie Carman.”

Virgil lowered his Winchester some and looked over to me.

“I’m just a worker from the bridge camp,” Lonnie said, “and I need help.”

“Lonnie,” Virgil said. “If you are lying to me, you will die.”

“Oh, hell,” Lonnie said. “I ain’t lying. I’ve been shot. I’m alone, cold, and real near dead like it is.”

“Step out more,” Virgil said. “Keep your hands away from yourself.”

“Okay,” he said. “I can barely move.”

Lonnie stepped out slowly from the outcropping with one of his hands in the air.

“I can only lift my one arm,” he said. “Barely.”

Virgil nodded over to me and we moved slowly toward Lonnie.

When we got closer, I could see Lonnie clearly. He had his one hand on top of his head and he appeared to be in bad shape, facing Virgil as he approached.

“Lonnie,” I said.

Lonnie turned, looking back to me. He squinted in my direction. He kept looking at me, as I got closer to him.

“Oh, sweet Jesus. Deputy Hitch?” Lonnie said with a tremble in his voice. “That you, Deputy Marshal Hitch?”

“It is.”

Lonnie looked back to Virgil, as he got closer.

“And Marshal Cole?” Lonnie said.

“It is,” Virgil said.

“Oh my Lord. My prayers have been answered. Oh, my. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you.”

Lonnie looked back to me.

“Thank you, Jesus.”

Lonnie started crying.

“It’s okay, Lonnie,” I said.

“Deputy Marshal Hitch,” he said, then looked to Virgil. “And Marshal Cole. Oh, Jesus. Thank you, sweet Jesus. You fellas have no idea how goddamn glad I am to see the likes of you two. No idea.”