— 37 —

When Virgil and I got close we could see Lonnie was not lying. He had been shot. He was alone, hungry, dirty, cold, and in bad shape. He had been under a cavelike outcropping where he’d been able to keep a small fire going.

Lonnie dropped when we got close. He’d obviously been living on sheer will, and the sight of us as reinforcement allowed him to give way to exhaustion.

“Hang on, Lonnie,” I said. “Just hang on.”

Virgil fetched our horses and I tended the best I could to Lonnie. I eased him under the dryness in the outcropping. I pulled back his coat and blood-soaked shirt and looked at his wound. He’d been shot in the back, just below his collarbone, and the bullet exited out the lower part of his chest. He had managed to somehow wrap the wound with part of his shirt he’d ripped up. He’d made a bandage with his belt. He’d wrapped it under one arm and over his neck and on the opposite side, holding the pieces of ripped shirt tight to his body.

When Virgil arrived with the animals I retrieved the medicine kit from the panniers the deputies packed. We got the fire going good, and I cleaned Lonnie’s bullet wounds with hot water, doused them with carbolic acid, then wrapped his shoulder with bandages.

We cooked some venison strap we’d got from the cook at the bridge camp and heated up some beans.

Lonnie was hurt and weak, but he was hungry and had no trouble getting food down.

“Wanna tell us what happened here, Lonnie?” Virgil said.

Lonnie looked at us and shook his head a little.

“I run into some shit,” Lonnie said.

“You seen Sheriff Driskill and his deputies, Karl and Chip?” Virgil said.

“No, I haven’t,” Lonnie said. “I sure wish I had, that’ve been a blessing.”

“What kind of shit did you run into?” Virgil said.

“I was riding from the camp, on my way back to Appaloosa, and Ruth, my mare of twenty years, spooked. There was a goddamn rumble from the earth or some such, blackbirds shot out of a thicket and Ruth jerked up and sidestepped. Next thing I know she was walking funny. I got off her and there was bone sticking out of her leg. Poor Ruth. I hated it, but I had to put her down.”

Lonnie paused. He looked down, thinking of his horse. He blinked a few times and looked back to us.

“I was on foot,” he said. “Weather was getting bad. Started raining. I’d been walking for, hell, a good three hours when some soldiers come riding up behind me.”

“How many?” I said.

“There was seven of them,” Lonnie said. “And they had a buckboard.”

Virgil looked at me.

“What happened?” Virgil said.

“Well, hell, I thought, Thank God. Soldiers. The soldier driving the buckboard looked kind of familiar to me. I asked them if I could get a lift back to Appaloosa. He said nothing but nodded to one of the other soldiers. That soldier got off his horse, friendly like, and asked me if I was heeled. I told him I was. He asked me to show him my gun. I did, I didn’t think nothing of it. I didn’t think nothing of it until he told me to take off running. He said he was gonna give me a ten count. I asked him what he was talking about and he started counting and, well, I took off running and he shot me in the back with my own gun.”

“Then what?” Virgil said.

“They started laughing,” Lonnie said. “I heard one of them say, ‘Finish him off,’ but I did not move. I laid facedown like I was dead.”

“Then what happened?” Virgil said.

“I waited. I was just imagining he was gonna walk over and put a bullet in my head. I heard them talking, couldn’t really make out what they had to say, and then, thank God in Heaven, the fuckers rode off.”

“Then what’d you do?” I said.

“I laid there, afraid to move for ’bout an hour. But then I figured I better get up before I did die. It started raining harder and I found this place and took shelter. Thank God I had some jerky and matches or I’d be dead for sure. I started gathering wood and stashing it under here. I got a good bunch of it. I was able to find some fairly dry bark here and there and I finally got me a fire going. I gathered more and more wood and stayed hunkered down here outta the rain and tended to my wounds the best I could. I been here a long time, can’t say how long, exactly, but a long time. I drank as much water as I could from this creek behind me here. I kept thinking the weather was gonna clear, but then it just got worse and worse and all I could think about was I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die in this goddamn pile of rocks. Then y’all came and thank God. Thank God.”

— 38 —

Lonnie was too weak to be moved, so we kept him warm and let him rest up for the night. Through the evening the sky cleared a little and some stars came out.

Virgil and I drank coffee by the fire. The night was bright with the opening skylight reflecting off the snow. With the exception of the golden glow of the campfire, our snow-covered surroundings were a glistening steel blue.

“What the hell, Virgil?” It was a combination of a question, a query, and downright dismay.

Virgil stared at the fire for a moment before he answered.

“Them two men,” Virgil said, “the Cotter boys. They didn’t do this for shits and grins.”

“No,” I said.

“Somebody hired them,” Virgil said.

I nodded.

“Paid them pretty good, too, I figure,” I said.

“Yep,” Virgil said. “They didn’t spend two weeks working on the bridge because they were honest bridge builders.”

“Who are they, I wonder?”

“Whoever they are,” Virgil said, “they got hired by someone that wants the bridge gone.”

“They hire on, get the lay of the land around the bridge,” I said. “Plan the attack.”

Virgil nodded.

“Those soldiers you saw riding into town,” Virgil said. “They have mules?”

“No.”

“Somehow they managed to get a shitload of dynamite,” Virgil said. “We ain’t talking about a little dynamite in saddlebags.”

“No,” I said. “That was a massive structure. Took a bunch.”

“More than what a few horseman carried,” Virgil said.

We thought about that for a moment.

“Then,” Virgil said. “They cut the telegraph line at the way station so they give themselves as much distance as possible.”

“It was damn sure thought out,” I said.

“Was,” Virgil said.

“Then they get picked up by the five other riders and hightail it,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“Get into Union uniforms,” he said.

“They did.”

“Like I said, gives them validation,” Virgil said.

“Just like what happened here with Lonnie,” I said. “He thought Good when he saw blue. Bad never crossed his mind.”

“Yep,” Virgil said, looking over to Lonnie, who was sleeping.

“Till they goddamn told him to run, and shot him in the back,” I said.

“Yep,” Virgil said. “And then they ride into Appaloosa for one night.”

We thought about that for a bit.

“Why ride to Appaloosa?” I said.

Virgil looked at the fire for a long moment, then looked to me.

“Get paid,” Virgil said.

“Paid by who is the question.”

“Why is the question,” Virgil said.

“We find out why, we find out who,” I said.

Virgil nodded.

“You think this Swickey fella did this?” I said.

“Maybe,” Virgil said.

“Cox?” I said.

“Don’t think so,” Virgil said.

“Something about him, though,” I said.

“There is,” Virgil said.

“Why would he blow up his own bridge?” I said.

Virgil shook his head.

“Like you said,” Virgil said. “We look at the why and will find the who.”

“’Spect we need to pay this Swickey a visit?” I said.

“We do.”

“Just need to figure out where his place is,” I said.

“Him running a big cattle outfit,” Virgil said. “He shouldn’t be too hard to find.”