Free The Bridge by Robert Knott Page A

entertainment.”
    “No doubt,” I said.
    Virgil tipped his hat.
    “Ma’am.”
    I followed him out the door. We turned to the west and walked up the boardwalk toward Dag’s Hotel.
    “Early to be hitting the bottle,” I said.
    “Not for the by-God glorious Beauregard Beauchamp,” Virgil said.

— 21 —
    D ag’s Hotel was on the west side of Appaloosa, across the tracks. It was a dingy place where mining crews stayed. Two big miner boys walked out as Virgil and I entered.
    The lobby smelled of tobacco and whiskey. The room was cluttered with café tables and twenty-gallon barrels for chairs. Spittoons were scattered about under the tables, and the walls were devoid of any kind of hanging decoration with the exception of a stuffed buffalo sporting a lady’s pink bonnet.
    A counter lined the back of the lobby, with a set of stairs behind it leading up to the rooms. A potbellied stove sat in the corner with pots of coffee sitting on top.
    Sitting at a table by the window was a bearded old-timer, wearing overalls and a train engineer’s cap. He was sipping coffee from a tin cup and scribbling intently in a notebook.
    Virgil and I made our way through the tables to the counter, where a tough-looking heavyset woman was perched on a stool. She looked a little more like a man than a woman, and when she spoke her voice was raspy.
    “How do,” she said. “You fellas looking for a room?”
    She was missing a few teeth, both top and bottom, and it gave her raspy voice a slight whistle when she spoke.
    “No,” I said.
    I pulled back my slicker and coat lapel and showed her my badge.
    “We’re marshals,” I said.
    She looked back and forth between Virgil and me.
    “Oh,” she said. “I’ve heard about you two. Name’s Sandy. How can I help you?”
    “We’re looking for some soldiers,” I said.
    Sandy shook her head.
    “Had some soldiers here, but they done left.”
    “When did they leave?” I said.
    “This morning.”
    “Time?” Virgil said.
    “Early, just after daylight.”
    “Say where they were headed?” Virgil said.
    “No,” she said.
    “Say anything?” I said.
    “They didn’t say much of anything. They got here, ’bout, oh, noon yesterday, were wet as rats. They dried out, came and went a little bit in the afternoon and evening for food and whiskey and such, but they’re gone now.”
    “You saw them this morning?” Virgil said.
    “I did,” she said. “They sat in here, had some coffee but stayed to themselves. Weren’t the friendliest soldiers I ever met.”
    “Don’t think they’re soldiers,” the old man in the engineer’s cap said.
    We turned, looking at the old-timer.
    “What’s that?” I said.
    “Before I took on with the Santa Fe,” he said. “I spent most my born days with the blue.”
    “That’s Jasper,” Sandy said. “Don’t listen to him. He don’t got both oars in the water.”
    “Said the barn hog to the wild piglet,” Jasper said.
    “Don’t you go on with your storytelling and name-calling, you old fool, or I’ll throw you out on your ass,” Sandy said, and then leaned across the desk on her elbow. “He don’t work for the railroad no more, they cut him loose ’cause he’s nuttier than a pecan pie.”
    “Don’t listen to her,” Jasper said. “I got my suspicions about those soldiers, or one of them, anyway. Which makes me think the lot of them was nothing but gray-back rebel blue dressers.”
    “Jasper,” Sandy said. “Hush.”
    Virgil moved toward the old man a step.
    “What makes you say that?” Virgil said. “They were dressers.”
    “’Cause I know soldiers.”
    “Go on,” Virgil said, taking another step toward the old man.
    “I was sitting right here. One of ’em walked in last night. I talked to him,” Jasper said.
    “What’d he say?” Virgil said.
    “He was full of shit,” Jasper said.
    “He say anything about them being after a raiding party?” Virgil said.
    “He did,” Jasper said.
    “What’d he