Free 05 Ironhorse by Robert Knott Page B

sections.”
    The front section with Emma and Abigail had been commandeered by someone, maybe the mysterious Yankee. I thought about Emma, about looking into her eyes, and I wondered if I’d ever look into them again.
    The next section was full of passengers not knowing what would happen to them. The grieving widow, the old toothless man, the chubby man, the Apache woman, the undertaker, the freckle-faced woman, and Whip, all hunkered down in a coach, sitting stock-still on the tracks in the pouring rain. The next section, the single coach carrying Virgil and me, was now rolling freely downgrade. The last section held the governor, his wife, Bloody Bob, Vince, the remainder of the bandits, and the stock trailer with my bony dark-headed roan and Virgil’s chestnut stud. Even though it was raining and it was dark, Virgil and I could see each other. There was a full moon above the rain clouds providing us with an eerie hint of silver light. The whites of Virgil’s eyes had a subtle glow. We stood side by side, looking down the track into the darkness. I turned the wheel, adjusting the brake, keeping our speed steady as the blowing rain swirled around us.
    “Like sailors,” I said.
    “It’s wet enough,” Virgil said. “I’ll give you that.”
    “Fact remains, though, we’re on a hard damn rail that ain’t leading to the open seas.”
    “That’s a fact.”
    “We go at it alone,” I said.
    “We do.”
    “Like we’ve done many times before.”
    “We have.”
    “Can’t think of anybody I’d rather be going at it with.”
    “Me neither,” Virgil said.
    I thought of Virgil’s words. Luck most often is accompanied with knowing what you are doing.
    We rode in silence for a while before I asked, “You want to tell me about what was in that telegram?”

31
    “NO,” VIRGIL SAID.
    “But you will.”
    Virgil nodded.
    “Yes, I will.”
    “It was about Allie,” I said.
    “It was.”
    “Not from Allie, though.”
    “Pony Flores,” Virgil said. “It was from Pony Flores.”
    “About Allie,” I said.
    “I already said it was about Allie.”
    “What about Allie?”
    “I ain’t said yet, Everett. You let me tell ya, I’ll tell ya.”
    “Okay, go right ahead, but you already told me you think she’s fucking Chauncey Teagarden.”
    Virgil just looked at me.
    “My apologies, go right ahead.”
    “The telegram was, as I previously said, from Pony. Pony wrote, Allie started working at the Boston House Saloon again.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Pony’s telegram said Widow Callico took up working at the Boston House first,” Virgil said, “and encouraged Allie to join her.”
    “Sheriff Callico’s grave is still warm,” I said.
    “Allie obliged Widow Callico, and they started up a duo.”
    “A duo? What kind of duo?”
    “Allie sings and plays the piano, and Widow Callico dances some and plays the fiddle,” Virgil said.
    “I’ll be damn. A duo.”
    “That’s what the telegram said.”
    “That’s not that bad,” I said. “Not necessarily good for those listening, but there’s no reason for jumping to conclusions.”
    “Pony’s telegram said they draw a lively crowd.”
    “Maybe Widow Callico is a bit more musically inclined than Allie.”
    “It’s a nightly mus-A-cal,” Virgil said.
    “Well, how about that,” I said. “Maybe she’s found her calling; maybe this attention will do her some good.”
    “Let’s have a nudge of your spirits, Everett.”
    I pulled my flask from the inside breast pocket of my jacket and handed it to Virgil.
    “Maybe she’s making some money,” I said. “That’s not a bad thing.”
    Virgil uncapped the flask and took a nip.
    “Seems after this nightly mus-A-cal, Widow Callico and Allie have both been spending time upstairs in Teagarden’s room,” Virgil said. “Allie told Pony’s wife they play cards, pinochle.”

32
    VIRGIL PASSED THE flask back to me. I took a drink and thought about what he was telling me. I kind of figured by Virgil’s