Virgil nodded to Cox.

“He make a good boss?” he said.

Gains tilted his head a little, followed by a slight nod.

“Late on paying bills and payroll these last two months,” Gains said, “but I don’t think it was any fault of his. I think it was just the territory with bureaucrats acting as bankers.”

Virgil looked over to Cox sleeping on the cot.

“What will happen now?” Gains said.

“After I finish this coffee, Everett and me are gonna ride to the way station,” Virgil said. “Maybe send us a wire or two.”

We sat for a while longer, discussing the cleanup operations with Gains, then Virgil and I left him and Cox. We got our horses from the stable, mounted up, and rode off to the telegraph way station on the road to Fletcher Flats.

The snow was still falling and there was a good eight inches that had built up. We rode awhile without talking, then Virgil asked me the question I was expecting.

“Tell me about this fortune-teller woman?” Virgil said.

“What do you want to know?”

“Where she come from?”

“Not sure just where, but like I told you, she’s part of the traveling show.”

We rounded a mess of hillside spindly fir saplings that were sagging over the road from the weight of the snow.

“She come up with the name Cotter,” Virgil said.

“She did,” I said.

“Think she’s got something to do with this?” Virgil said.

“Don’t,” I said.

“You sure?”

“Sure as I can be, Virgil.”

“How then did she know?”

We rode for a bit before I answered.

“Well, Virgil, I don’t know.”

Virgil nodded a little.

“So you believe this,” Virgil said. “She knows shit that she sees in her head?”

“I don’t know what to believe right now. Damnedest thing. Before I didn’t think much of her talk at all. Hell, I just enjoyed her female company and thought she was just full of her own musings and now this.”

We rode for a bit.

“What do you think?” I said.

Virgil shook his head a little.

“What all she tell you again?” Virgil said.

“Said she saw men running. Someone or something called Codder or Cotter. And that my life was in danger.”

“Goddamn,” Virgil said. “Win. Place. Show.”

I didn’t say anything and we rode on for a while more before Virgil said anything else.

“That all the fortune-tellin’ business she offered?”

“No.”

“What else?”

“She said that my life being in danger was not the shoot-out with Bolger that she saw.”

“What was it?”

“Said the life-in-danger business wasn’t in Appaloosa.”

Virgil turned in his saddle a little, looking at me.

“Not in Appaloosa?”

“Yep.”

“Where?” Virgil said.

“Didn’t say.”

“So it’s just a show-and-place ticket,” Virgil said.

— 34 —

Virgil and I came upon the way station just as it was getting dark. It was a large low log cabin with a corral, a horse shed, and a number of small outbuildings behind it. Smoke drifted up lazily from the cabin’s chimney and hung heavy around the old log structure like a dense, dark, ominous cloud.

A chubby man was relieving himself just outside the front door. He looked over, seeing us as we neared. He finished his business and stepped out, watching us as we got closer. He walked out to greet us and we moved our horses toward a covered lean-to hitch on the opposite side of the road.

“How do,” he said.

“Evening,” I said.

“You the operator?” I said.

“One of them,” he said.

“I’m Deputy Marshal Hitch, this is Marshal Virgil Cole.”

“Oh, I’m Pedrick,” he said. “I take it you’re here because of the bridge? Thank goodness.”

“Need to send a wire,” Virgil said.

“By all means,” Pedrick said. “Please, come in. That we can most certainly do.”

Virgil and I dismounted. We tied our horses to the hitch and followed Pedrick back across the road to the cabin.

Pedrick looked like a drunk. Probably was a drunk. He had a large red nose situated on a pink puffy face framed with thinning light-reddish-colored hair.

The way station was a small store, telegraph office, and saloon, all combined. We could smell the aroma of flavorful cooking happening somewhere.

Pedrick’s wife walked out of the back room when we entered. She was wearing an apron and wiping fixings from her hands with a rag. She looked enough like Pedrick they could be brother and sister.

“These men are marshals from the bridge camp,” Pedrick said. “This is my wife, Patty. She’s the main operator. Patty, this is Marshal Cole and . . .”

“Deputy Marshal Hitch,” I said.

“Yes,” Pedrick said. “Hitch . . .”

Virgil removed his hat.

“Ma’am.”

“Nice to meet you both and so glad you are here,” she said. “This has been just so awful. Do you know who did this?”

“Not as of yet,” I said.

“Well,” Patty said, “I hope to God you find whoever is responsible.”

“We do, too,” I said.

“It is the saddest thing,” Patty said angrily. “Just downright sad.”

I nodded.

“They need to send a wire,” Pedrick said.

“Absolutely,” Patty said.

Patty continued to wipe her hands with the rag as she walked over to the telegraph desk situated in front of a west window.

“Honey,” she said to Pedrick, “keep an eye on my stew, don’t let it burn.”

Pedrick nodded obediently.

“Will do,” he said, as he scurried out of the room.

Patty sat in the chair in front of the telegraph desk and looked back to us.

Virgil looked to me some, then walked over to Patty.

“Were you here last night?” Virgil said.

“I was,” she said.

“You received a number of wires from Appaloosa law,” Virgil said.

She nodded.

“That was us,” Virgil said.

“You got here quick,” she said, wide-eyed.

Virgil nodded.

“Want to send a wire back to Appaloosa now,” Virgil said. “Want to know if Sheriff Driskill and his deputies have returned or if they have been heard from.”

“Want this sent from you, Marshal Cole?” Patty said.

Virgil nodded.

“Sure.”

Patty nodded and tapped out the note on the key.

A quick response came back from the Western Union operator. Charlie Hill in Appaloosa said he’d check and for us to stand by.

Patty looked to Virgil and me.

“You fellas want a drink?”

“Sure,” Virgil said.

Patty got up from the desk. She walked to the opposite side of the large room to a makeshift bar in the corner.

“Well, come on,” she said, as she walked behind the counter.

Virgil and I moved over and sat on two stools opposite Patty.

She got a bottle and poured the three of us a drink.

Patty offered us a cigar from a box with Florida’s Finest written across the top.

“Good ones,” she said.

I shook my head.

Virgil nodded.

“Sure.”

Patty clipped the cigar for Virgil and handed it to him. She struck a match and cupped it for him.

When Virgil got the cigar going good the sounder on the telegraph desk clicked. Patty tilted her head a little as she listened, then shook her head.

“Nope,” Patty said. “No sign of Sheriff Driskill.”

— 35 —

Virgil and I rode back to the bridge camp, and when we arrived we found Cox sitting at the end of a long table in the office and Gains sitting just next to him. Gip jumped up, excited to have more company, and started with his nonstop barking.

“Gip, stop,” Gains said. “Stop it, boy.”

Gip swayed his head a few times low to the ground. He wagged his tail rapidly like he didn’t hear the command.

“Gip.”

Gip looked to Gains.

“No.”

Gip wasn’t happy, but he complied. He circled a few times and laid down where Gains was pointing.