We watched the fire for a moment, then Virgil looked around as if he was looking for something. After a moment he looked back to the fire, staring.

“Should have come across something by now?” Virgil said.

He didn’t say it, but I knew he was talking about Sheriff Sledge Driskill and his deputies Chip and Karl.

“Damn should have,” I said.

“You think maybe they run into them Cotter brothers and company,” I said.

“Don’t know,” Virgil said.

“Something,” I said.

“Yep,” Virgil said. “Goddamn something.”

“One thing for sure,” I said. “Somebody in the Cotter and company knew about this shortcut.”

“They did,” Virgil said.

“Maybe we’ll run into something on down the road here,” I said.

“Maybe,” Virgil said, “maybe.”

After a while Virgil and I got some blankets and prepared us a place to sleep. I let Virgil share the warm overhang where Lonnie was bedded, and I cleared a section of snow and lined it with wool.

When I laid down the night sky was brilliant, bright and clear.

I saw Orion’s Belt and thought about Séraphine. I wondered what she was doing tonight. I wondered if maybe she was looking at the same stars I was looking at. I thought about her, remembering her . . . her smell, her skin, her hair . . .

— 39 —

By morning the clouds were back over us and a light snow was falling.

We got Lonnie situated as comfortably as we could on top of the mule between the panniers and traveled the shortcut the rest of the way back to the main road. We saw no sign of Driskill and his deputies on the route back to Appaloosa, but we arrived with Lonnie alive.

Lonnie insisted we let his wife, Winifred, know he was okay. We did, we stopped by their place, and Winifred scolded Lonnie regardless of his condition or what he had to say.

We left Lonnie and Winifred at Doc Crumley’s, then Virgil and I made our way over to the sheriff’s office.

It was five in the afternoon when we entered the office. Chastain was behind the desk and sitting in a cell next to Bolger was Beauregard Beauchamp. Beauregard looked up at us when we entered.

“There you are, gentlemen,” Beauregard said in his big voice as he got to his feet. “I was trying to explain to your illustrious deputy here we are friends and that there was no need to lock me up. No need whatsoever.”

Virgil looked to Chastain.

“He was drunk,” Chastain said.

Beauregard laughed, shaking his head dramatically from side to side.

“No, no, no,” Beauregard said.

“Goddamn were, too,” Bolger said from the next cell.

“A simple misunderstanding,” Beauregard said. “It was nothing more than a misunderstanding.”

“Bullshit,” Bolger said.

“One of the show people,” Chastain said, “came over, said they heard Mr. Beauchamp yelling at Mrs. Beauchamp in their trailer. Was scared for her. Book and me went over there. We knocked on the door and Mr. Beauchamp here came out with his fists up like he was a boxer and started swinging at me. I had no choice but to lock him up.”

“It was just a misunderstanding,” Beauregard said. “My wife and I were rehearsing, you see, nothing more.”

“You were drunk. Mrs. Beauchamp was frightened. And you, Mr. Beauchamp, were doing your best to hit me,” Chastain said.

“Mrs. Beauchamp okay?” Virgil said.

“She is,” Chastain said.

“He sober now?” Virgil said.

Chastain nodded.

“Should be.”

Virgil got the keys and walked toward Beauregard’s cell.

“See,” Beauregard said to Chastain, “Marshal Cole and Deputy Marshal Hitch know all too well I am like them. I am a man of substance. A man of quick resolve.”

Virgil unlocked the cell door.

Beauregard put on his fancy gambler’s frock coat and meticulously placed his wide-brimmed hat on his head with a stylish sideways tilt to it.

Virgil pulled open the cell door.

“Why, thank you, Marshal,” Beauregard said with a bow.

“I find you mistreating your wife or anybody else,” Virgil said, “I will personally put a knot in your ass.”

Beauregard gulped.

“Why, Marshal?”

“Get,” Virgil said.

Beauregard was stymied for a brief moment.

Chastain stood up and opened the door to the street for him to leave.

Beauregard was unsure just how to regain some pride, some dignity. He pulled back his shoulders, pointed his nose in the air, and walked out the door with one shoulder leading the other like the seasoned thespian he was.

“Goddamn clown,” Chastain said, closing the door behind him.

Chastain looked over us for a bit.

“Look like you been through it,” Chastain said.

“Any word from Driskill?” Virgil said.

Chastain shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said. “I was hoping he’d be with you or you’d know something.”

Virgil shook his head.

“We don’t,” Virgil said.

“Not seen ’em,” I said.

“Goddamn,” Chastain said.

Chastain walked over and shut the door between the office and the cells.

“I was here, got your wire,” Chastain said, “from the bridge camp way station.”

Virgil nodded.

“What do we do?” Chastain said.

“Not much we can do with the weather like it is,” Virgil said. “Rough and slow going out there with this snow. Be like birds looking for seeds. Soon as it gives way we need to mount a posse.”

Chastain nodded.

“And the bridge?” Chastain said.

“Gone,” I said.

Chastain shook his head slowly.

“My God,” he said. “Who done it?”

“Know some of who done it,” Virgil said. “Just don’t know who had them do it.”

“Who is the some of the who done it?” Chastain said.

“The soldier fellas that come through town,” Virgil said.

“Soldiers?”

“They weren’t soldiers,” Virgil said.

I nodded.

“Who were they?” Chastain said, as he poured Virgil and me a cup of coffee.

“We don’t know,” I said. “Know two names, most likely aliases. Brothers, or claimed to be brothers, last name Cotter.”

“Never heard of them,” Chastain said, as he handed Virgil and me each a cup of coffee.

“You ever hear of Walton Wayne Swickey?” Virgil said.

Chastain squinted a little.

“Name’s familiar,” he said. “Who is he?”

“Big cattleman. Got a spread across Rio Blanco someplace,” I said. “He was the one that bid against G. W. Cox for the bridge contract.”

Chastain nodded a little.

“You think he’s behind this?” Chastain said.

“Could be,” Virgil said. “We need to find out his whereabouts and then find him.”

“Being a cattleman, he can’t be that hard to find,” Chastain said. “I’ll poke around.”

“Do,” Virgil said.

Virgil walked over to the window. He looked out for a moment as he sipped his coffee.

“Money,” Virgil said.

Chastain looked at me.

Virgil continued staring out the window for a bit, then he said, “Swickey or not . . . It’s all about the money.”

“Ain’t that always the case,” Chastain said.

“Need to find out about this contract,” Virgil said, looking back to Chastain and me. “The bridge foreman said Cox was late on paying. Them boys that had Bolger and his brother delivering goods said the pay chain was broke.”

“What are you thinking?” Chastain said.

“Just need to figure out what’s at stake here,” Virgil said. “Maybe Cox was in trouble with money. Maybe he has been doing something else with the money. Need to know how and when he was paid. Maybe there’s a policy he’s collecting on or something. Maybe he’s broke. Maybe Cox and Swickey are in on this together.”

“Together?” Chastain said.

Virgil nodded a little.

“Gotta be something else. Everett, let’s work up a letter, have Chastain send it, notifying the governor’s office, let them know what happened and find out all we can.”