by Robert Knott
We were standing partially in the rain. I took her by her arm and led her under an overhang of the last structure by the pole lamp at the end of the street.
“My friends?”
“Yes,” she said. “Your guides.”
She sat on a bench in front of the building.
“What about them?”
“Codder,” she said.
“Codder?” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “Do you know of something or someone named Codder or perhaps Cotter?”
“No.”
She shook her head violently, as if she were trying to get the vision to formulate clearly.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I wish I could tell you what to look out for, but I don’t know. Not now, anyway, but you must believe me.”
“Well,” I said. “It’s kind of like Mother Nature. Not much can be done about the forces of nature.”
“I’m trying to help you,” she said.
“You’ve readily allowed there are men running, scared. Something or someone named Codder or Cotter, but it doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Just be aware,” she said. “Keep those thoughts with you.”
She stood and took a step closer to me.
“Now I must go. I’m just here,” she said, pointing toward the vacant lot where the troupe was camped. “I will scurry through this rain to the dryness. I will see you again.”
She moved a little closer. She leaned in and kissed me, but as I worked to kiss her back she pulled away.
“Be careful, Everett.”
With that she took off running in the rain toward the troupe’s encampment.
I watched her until she faded away into the dark of the rainy night.
“Hocus-pocus,” I said.
—9—
The following morning I woke up to the sound of thunder. I looked out the window and it was still raining. It was colder than it had been when I had finally drifted off to sleep in the early morning hours.
Since Virgil and I had been back in Appaloosa I’d been sleeping in a small alley room I’d rented above a survey company on the south side of town. The room consisted of a small bed, a chair, a washbasin, a dresser, a small Pettit and Smith heater, a window, and a door.
I laid in bed looking out the window and watched the rain falling for some time. My head was throbbing a little. I thought about the card game with Virgil and Allie and my strange encounter with Madame Séraphine Leroux. Codder, Cotter, I thought, and men running. What the hell am I supposed to make of that?
I spent the first half of the day in the Appaloosa Livery, the main livery stable in town, drinking coffee with Salt, an old Teton Sioux blacksmith, while I shinbone-oiled my saddle and tack.
I liked old Salt. I’d known him for years. He was a small, easy-moving man with dark, intelligent eyes. What I liked most about Salt was he didn’t say much and when he did he was always worth listening to.
When I left the livery, Salt told me the weather was going to get much worse before it got better.
I walked across town and stopped in for some fried chicken at Hal’s. I sat by the window with two elderly ranchers. They talked about how we needed this water, their fields, their livestock, the price of grain, and life on the farm. I shared with them what Salt had said about the forecast. Most everyone in Appaloosa, including the two ranchers, knew Salt and revered him as a man of wisdom and understanding. Upon hearing Salt’s weather predictions, the old ranchers didn’t waste any time to leave. Saying though they were appreciative of the water, they needed to get back to their spreads and prepare for worsening conditions.
I smiled, thinking about Séraphine. I thought she should throw in with Salt. Hell, between the two of them, they could strike gold.
Séraphine. The name suited her. I kept imagining I would turn around and she’d be behind me.
Hal brought me a plate of fried chicken from the kitchen. He set it in front of me and poured me some more coffee.
“There ya go, Hitch,” Hal said.
Hal was a six-foot-six mountain of a man, an ex-slave from Alabama with a shock of white hair and an infectious wide grin.
“Looks good, Hal,” I said.
“Enjoy,” Hal said, then looked out the window.
I followed Hal’s glance.
Seven men on horseback were riding slowly up the street. Three had on kepi hats; the four others were wearing Union slouch-brims.
“Soldiers,” Hal said.
“Is,” I said.
“Looks like them boys been in it for a while,” I said.
“It sure do,” Hal said.
“Must be up from Fort Union,” I said.
Hal nodded.
When they rode by the window, the bearded lead rider turned his head slowly and looked at me. He looked haggard. He raised his hand up from his saddle and gave a limp wave as they moved past the window.
“Don’t seem all together,” I said, “do they?”
“No, Hitch,” Hal said. “They don’t.”
When I left Hal’s, a dandy moving quick on the boardwalk damn near collided with me. Another man was coming quickly right behind him and then I heard a gunshot.
I turned, seeing a big man in a slicker holding a pistol. He fired a second shot. He was shooting at the men I’d just encountered.
I pulled my Colt and stepped back in the doorway of Hal’s as two more shots rang out. The big man came running by the door of Hal’s.
“Drop your pistol,” I shouted.
He turned, raising his pistol at me.
I moved quickly behind the doorjamb and he fired on me.
I stuck my pistol around the jamb and returned fire in his direction; two shots, and I heard him groan loudly, “Aw, damn . . . Lordy hell.”
I stepped back and peeked out the window. He staggered in the street, holding his side, and then dropped in the mud on his ass.
“I’m Deputy Marshal Hitch,” I said. “Throw that pistol away from you or I’ll kill you.”
He looked around some, then tossed the pistol in the street.
I stepped into the doorway with my Colt trained at his head.
He looked up at me, shaking his head some, then leaned over slowly on his side.
I looked to my left. The two men he’d been firing on stepped out from an opening between two buildings down the way and looked in my direction.
“Stay where you are,” I said.
They stopped.
“Hands away from your body.”
They did as I told them.
The big man in the street rolled onto his back, looking up at the rain falling in his face as he clutched his side.
“What’s happened here?” I said to the two men standing on the boardwalk thirty feet away.
“He tried to kill us,” one of the men shouted, like he was about to burst into tears.
“Both of you. Walk over here. Now.”
The two men followed my orders.
“Either of you heeled?”
“No,” the taller of the two said.
They walked shoulder to shoulder up the boardwalk and stopped when they got close to me. One of the men was stocky, with a trimmed red beard and a high top hat. The other, the taller man, was slim, clean shaven, and wearing a high ribbon bowler. They both wore suits with fancy silk ties.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Grant Minot,” the bearded man said.
Grant’s voice was soft with a Yankee lilt. He nodded to the taller man next to him.
“This is my partner, Elliott Warshaw,” Grant said.
“Why was he trying to kill you?” I said.
“He came into our office,” Grant said, “claiming we owed him and his brother, Ballard, and . . .”
“You goddamn sure do, you silly shit,” the man lying on his back in the street interrupted. “You goddamn sure do.”
“And who is this man?”
“I’m the man who tried to kill those two fucking crooks is who I am,” the ma
n said. “Just wait and see what happens when Ballard gets wind of this.”
“He’s Bolger Orsley,” Grant said. “Bolger and his brother, Ballard, worked for us.”
“And wasn’t paid,” Bolger said with a groan.
“Just keep your mouth shut,” I said to Bolger.
Bolger lifted his head.
“You just wait,” Bolger said. “When Ballard finds out what you did to me . . .”
“Not another word,” I said.
Bolger sneered at me, then lowered his head back in the mud.
I called back into the café. “Hal?”
“Yessir,” Hal replied.
“Do me a favor,” I said.
Hal came to the door. He ducked under the door and stepped out.
“Wha’cha need, Hitch?”
“Go and get Doc Crumley, will ya, Hal?”
He looked at Bolger lying in the street.
“On my way,” Hal said.
“And stop by Virgil and Allie’s place,” I said. “Let Virgil know what happened here. Find any deputies along the way, tell them, too.”
—10—
Grant and Elliott were sitting side by side on a sofa in Doc Crumley’s front office when Virgil entered with Lewis “Book” Page, one of the deputies Sheriff Driskill left on duty. Book carried a short-barrel twenty-gauge. He was a hefty overgrown kid with rosy red cheeks and thick spectacles.
Virgil scanned the room, then met my eyes.
“You good?” he said.
“I am.”
Virgil nodded. He didn’t smile, but I could tell—inside—he was smiling a little.
“Hal fill you in?” I said.
“He did,” Virgil said.
Virgil looked to Grant and Elliott sitting next to each other.
“This them?” Virgil said.
“They are,” I said.
“You boys okay?”
“We are,” Grant said. “This just shook us up, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
Virgil looked at me.
“The fella doing the shooting?” Virgil said.
I nodded to the back room of the office.
“Doc’s working on him now,” I said. “Skinny Jack’s in there making sure he don’t try nothing more.”
Virgil walked to the back-room door. I opened it.
Skinny Jack, a deputy with a scruffy goatee, was seated in the corner with a Winchester across his lap.
He stood up when he saw it was Virgil.
“Oh, Marshal Cole, sir,” Skinny Jack said.
Bolger was lying facedown on the table as round-faced Doc Crumley stitched his exit wound. He looked up over his spectacles at Virgil as he pulled the thread tight.
“Hey, Virgil,” Doc said.
“He gonna live?” Virgil said.
Crumley straightened up, stretching the ache out of his back some.
“Oh, yes,” Doc said. “’Fraid so. He’s drunk as a skunk at the moment.”
“Regardless,” Skinny Jack said, “I got my eye on him, Marshal, in case he wakes and tries to get shitty.”
Virgil nodded.
“You seen him around before, Skinny Jack?”
“We have,” Skinny Jack said. “He’s been picked up a few times drunk. Heard bad things about him, but we’ve not experienced nothing serious, not until now, anyway.”
Virgil nodded and looked back to the partners sitting on the sofa. I closed the door to the back room and Virgil faced the men.
“This is Grant Minot and Elliott Warshaw,” I said.
“I’m Territorial Marshal Virgil Cole.”
“We’ve heard all about you, Marshal,” Grant said. “Your reputation precedes you.”
Elliott nodded.
“What happened here?” Virgil said.
“That beast of a man in there tried to kill us, for God sake,” Grant said.
“I’ve been apprised of what went down,” Virgil said. “Why don’t you tell me why he tried to kill you?”
“Bolger, um, Mr. Orsley,” Grant said, “came into our office with a gun, demanding pay.”
“Pay he’s owed?” Virgil said.
“Well, yes,” Grant said. “But, well, it’s complicated.”
“Why don’t you uncomplicate it for me?”
“It’s a commerce issue, really,” Grant said.
Elliott put his hand on Grant’s hand.
“Let me explain,” said Elliott.
Grant nodded, smiling pleasantly at Elliott.
“Bolger and his brother, Ballard, worked for us,” Elliott said. “They delivered goods for us.”
“Goods?”
“Yes,” Elliott said. “We supply the Rio Blanco crews with food and Bolger is, well, was our driver.”
“The bridge?” Virgil said.
“That’s right,” Elliott said.
“Where’s the rub?” Virgil said.
Elliott turned his head to the side and looked to Grant.
“The problem,” Grant said, providing the meaning of rub to Elliott.
“Oh. Well, Bolger and Ballard had been making delivery runs to the camp twice a week,” Elliott said, “and for two weeks consecutive we’ve not been paid and therefore we were unable to pay Bolger and Ballard.”
Elliott glanced to Grant. Grant bobbed his head a little.
“Where’s Ballard?” Virgil said.
“We don’t know,” Elliott said. “He’s a mean man, and when he hears about this, he will become even meaner, I’m sure of that.”
Grant nodded.
“With him loose we will need protection,” Grant said. “I can tell you that.”
“I assure you we did everything in our power to pay what we owed. This is a new business for us,” Elliott said. “We were both employed as tailors previously. We wanted to start our own business and heaven knows cash flow is a necessity for a new enterprise. We certainly don’t blame Bolger or Ballard for being upset, but, well, there was simply nothing we could do.”
“You can imagine how we felt,” Grant said. “I think perhaps Bolger was drinking.”
“Inebriated is more like it,” Elliott said with a huff. “Both of them are drunks. We didn’t know that when we got into business with them.”
“One thing you should know about Ballard,” Grant said.
“What’s that?” I said.
“Well, I know Bolger talks about him like they are close but Ballard was very mean to him,” Grant said.
Elliott nodded.
—
One day, the last delivery, actually,” Elliott said, “they got into a bad fight and Ballard hit Bolger, told Bolger he was no longer part of the business.”
“We haven’t seen Ballard after that,” Grant said.
“Or the buckboard,” Elliott said.
“Ballard took the buckboard?” I said.
They nodded.
“He did,” Elliott said.
“Bolger, however,” Grant said, “kept coming around, asking us for money.”
“Then he came with the gun,” Elliott said.
“We tried to reason with Bolger,” Grant said. “Thank God Elliott pushed him when he was standing over me with the gun in my face.”
“He stumbled and we took off running,” Elliott said.
“Who’s supposed to be paying you that ain’t paying you?” Virgil said.
“We’re the middlemen, so to speak. Our deal is with a grocer in town,” Elliott said. “The contractor pays them and they pay us.”
“Grocer claims it’s the contractor,” Grant said. “That is why I stated it was a commerce issue.”
“Why’d he try and shoot you, Everett?” Virgil said.
“Bad weather, I reckon.”
—11—
Before we left Doc Crumley’s office Virgil opened the door and looked into the back room again. He instructed Skinny Jack and Book to take turns keeping an eye on Bolger.
“Get him locked up as soon as the doc says he’s okay to be moved,” Virgil said.
> “He’s not hurt. He’ll be walking easily on his own accord by morning,” Doc said.
“Keep the door locked and be ready if this brother of his wants to show up and lend a hand.”
“Will do,” Skinny Jack said.
Virgil nodded and moved to Grant and Elliott. They were watching him like trained lapdogs awaiting instruction.
“You boys want to press charges, I imagine?” Virgil said.
Grant looked to Elliott and Elliott looked to Grant. They looked back to Virgil and nodded in unison.
“We do,” Elliott said.
“Most certainly,” Grant said. “We need him to be unable to get to us.”
“Yes,” Elliott said. “He should be locked up.”
“Indeed,” Grant said. “But what about Ballard?”
“You got no idea where he is?” Virgil said.
They shook their heads.
“Know where he lives?” Virgil said.
“No,” Elliott said. “We have no idea.”
“When we first hired them they were so nice, polite, and clean actually,” Grant said. “But then, after a few runs up to the river bridge, they were always dirty and smelled of liquor. All the time. Elliott said something to them about drinking on the job and oh, my. That’s when we knew we had hired degenerate dregs.”
“They turned on me,” Elliott said. “And I thought they were going to kill me right then and there.”
Virgil looked to deputy Book.
“Get these fellas to fill out a full report, Book,” Virgil said. “Get it to the office and we’ll get it processed in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” Book said.
Virgil looked back to Grant and Elliott.
“We’ll get this report filed with the DA’s office first thing,” Virgil said. “In the meantime, you boys find someplace to stay where you won’t be expected to stay. Don’t want this brother of his showing up to fuck with you.”
Grant looked to Elliott. His face twisted up. He started to cry. Virgil glanced to me and I followed him out the door.
The rain was still coming down and it seemed that it was getting a little colder. We stood under the overhang for a bit, watching the rain.
“Allie heard when Hal came and told me what went down in front of his café,” Virgil said. “She damn near bawled just thinking about the notion of something happening to you. Said she wouldn’t know what to do without you.”