by Robert Knott
THE SPENSER NOVELS
Robert B. Parker’s Old Black Magic
(by Ace Atkins)
Robert B. Parker’s Little White Lies
(by Ace Atkins)
Robert B. Parker’s Slow Burn
(by Ace Atkins)
Robert B. Parker’s Kickback
(by Ace Atkins)
Robert B. Parker’s Cheap Shot
(by Ace Atkins)
Silent Night
(with Helen Brann)
Robert B. Parker’s Wonderland
(by Ace Atkins)
Robert B. Parker’s Lullaby
(by Ace Atkins)
Sixkill
Painted Ladies
The Professional
Rough Weather
Now & Then
Hundred-Dollar Baby
School Days
Cold Service
Bad Business
Back Story
Widow’s Walk
Potshot
Hugger Mugger
Hush Money
Sudden Mischief
Small Vices
Chance
Thin Air
Walking Shadow
Paper Doll
Double Deuce
Pastime
Stardust
Playmates
Crimson Joy
Pale Kings and Princes
Taming a Sea-Horse
A Catskill Eagle
Valediction
The Widening Gyre
Ceremony
A Savage Place
Early Autumn
Looking for Rachel Wallace
The Judas Goat
Promised Land
Mortal Stakes
God Save the Child
The Godwulf Manuscript
THE SUNNY RANDALL NOVELS
Robert B. Parker’s Blood Feud
(by Mike Lupica)
Spare Change
Blue Screen
Melancholy Baby
Shrink Rap
Perish Twice
Family Honor
THE JESSE STONE NOVELS
Robert B. Parker’s Colorblind
(by Reed Farrel Coleman)
Robert B. Parker’s The Hangman’s
Sonnet
(by Reed Farrel Coleman)
Robert B. Parker’s Debt to Pay
(by Reed Farrel Coleman)
Robert B. Parker’s The Devil Wins
(by Reed Farrel Coleman)
Robert B. Parker’s Blind Spot
(by Reed Farrel Coleman)
Robert B. Parker’s Damned If You Do
(by Michael Brandman)
Robert B. Parker’s Fool Me Twice
(by Michael Brandman)
Robert B. Parker’s Killing the Blues
(by Michael Brandman)
Split Image
Night and Day
Stranger in Paradise
High Profile
Sea Change
Stone Cold
Death in Paradise
Trouble in Paradise
Night Passage
THE COLE/HITCH WESTERNS
Robert B. Parker’s Revelation
(by Robert Knott)
Robert B. Parker’s Blackjack
(by Robert Knott)
Robert B. Parker’s The Bridge
(by Robert Knott)
Robert B. Parker’s Bull River
(by Robert Knott)
Robert B. Parker’s Ironhorse
(by Robert Knott)
Blue-Eyed Devil
Brimstone
Resolution
Appaloosa
ALSO BY ROBERT B. PARKER
Double Play
Gunman’s Rhapsody
All Our Yesterdays
A Year at the Races
(with Joan H. Parker)
Perchance to Dream
Poodle Springs
(with Raymond Chandler)
Love and Glory
Wilderness
Three Weeks in Spring
(with Joan H. Parker)
Training with Weights
(with John R. Marsh)
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Publishers Since 1838
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2019 by The Estate of Robert B. Parker
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Names: Knott, Robert, author.
Title: Robert B. Parker’s buckskin / Robert Knott.
Description: New York : G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 2019. | Series: A Cole and Hitch novel ; 10
Identifiers: LCCN 2019001337 | ISBN 9780735218277 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780735218284 (epub)
Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION / Westerns. | FICTION / Historical. | FICTION /Mystery & Detective / General. | GSAFD: Western stories. | Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3611.N685 R6248 2019 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019001337
p. cm.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
For Julie
Contents
Also by Robert B. Parker
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
1
An all-day celebration had been taking place. The sounds of music, dancing, people talking and laughing echoed inside the jailhouse. The blue-eyed kid with a busted lip and bruised face sat on his cell bunk sharpening a spoon handle to a point. He wore a huge sombrero and a short-waisted Mexican jacket. He favored the Mexican culture over the American way of living, but he was no Mexican.
Ever since he was on his own, he’d spent most of his time drifting from town to town along the border. He preferred the Mexican people. Especially the señoritas, and the señoritas took a liking to him as well. He was fond of the Mexicans’ food and Mexicans’ drinks, too—mescal was his favorite. And he spoke the Spanish language well, or well enough to get what he wanted.
When he was in one place long enough and feeling generous, he would wire or write a letter to the old man. The old man was the only person the kid had any tether to on the earth. The kid was never sure how he ended up with the old man, who the old man even was, or where he came from. The kid had a vague memory of moving from one family to another as a child. Until one day, when the kid could put on his own breeches, an old man came and took him away. The old man took him to the mountains and put him to work.
The whistling sound of fireworks interrupted the waltz that played in the plaza. The kid sprang up and stood atop his bunk. He could see through the bars of the cell window the tail end of the skyward firework, then it exploded and brightened the night sky.
“Hot damn,” he said. “Hot damn.”
Another one launched and exploded.
“Damn. I was sure looking forward to this here celebration. I sure was.”
“I told you to shut up before I come in there and shut you up for good,” the jailer said. “Shut your mouth.”
The kid laughed.
“Like to see you try. Like to see you try. I no more than get to town here yesterday, and what happens? You lock me up and for no reason. No reason at all. Two big’ens like you and your soldier-blue buddy slapping me around. You should be ashamed. ’Sides, I was leaving tomorrow. I got to be someplace soon. I told you that. Didn’t I? I have someplace to be, ya see?”
More fireworks lit up the sky, one after another after another. A large pinwheel was lit, spewing sparks that cast a bright glow on the kid’s boyish face. He beamed like a child, watching in awe.
“You oughta see this. Boy, oh, boy.”
He watched, wishing he was part of the fireworks and festivities taking place on the town’s plaza. The band ended the slow waltz and started up with a lively tune that brought hoots and hollers from the crowd.
“I should be out there among ’em. Not in here, out there. How about letting me out? I should be out there.”
“I told you to shut your mouth.”
“I should.”
He watched for a minute, then said, “Lands alive, food smells good out there. Don’t it? I’m hungry as a bear. If you won’t let me out, why don’t you go out? You should go out, dance and have some fun. Get something to eat and bring me back something, too. No reason to sit in here with lil’ ol’ me. Hell, what am I gonna do? Nothing. That is damn sure plain to see. Nothing.”
The jailer was fuming but didn’t glance up from the newspaper he was reading as the kid continued.
“You know as well as me that it doesn’t make good sense, me being in here and all. Hell, I was doing nothing. I was minding my own business yesterday. I was passing through. I’m heading up north. I got business up north. Important business.”
The jailer continued to ignore the kid, who’d been talking nonstop since he got locked up.
“I could have danced right off, ya know. I should have, but I didn’t. Know why?”
The jailer spoke without looking up from the newspaper.
“’Cause you was riding the dead man’s horse?”
“I won that horse fair and square. Wasn’t my fault that drunk put his pony on the table ’cause he had no money.”
The jailer lowered his newspaper. Then tipped back in his chair so he could see the kid eye to eye, but said nothing as he stared at him.
“I won that pony, even got a bill of sale.”
He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, jumped down from the bunk, and moved to the bars. He held out the paper, waving it at the jailer.
“Take a look-see, why don’t you? I tried to show you and that other brass-buttoned bastard this, but you wouldn’t look at it. I didn’t do nothing wrong. Nothing at all. Here, take a look. I didn’t have nothing to do with shooting that fella. Got this telegram, too.” He removed a telegram from his pocket. “Requesting I come as soon as possible.”
“Shut up, kid.”
“I didn’t. I was nowhere near that cantina where he got shot. I mean, yeah, I had been there earlier, like I said, when I won the pony, but was nowhere near there when it happened.”
“Save that crap for the judge.”
“You don’t know nothing . . . You’re a dumb shit is all.”
“What’d you say, boy?”
“You heard me.”
“Don’t you push me, boy. I’ve had enough of your yapping.”
“Or what? What you gonna do?”
The jailer stared at the kid. And the kid could tell he was getting to him.
The kid smiled.
“You’re just one of those dumb-shit soldier boys. One of those that follow orders ’cause you can’t think for yourself. I should have just danced, just danced right off.”
“Keep it up and I will come in there and dance your ass around till you quit breathing, save the court money.”
“Fuck you, dumb shit.”
The jailer slammed down his newspaper. He lifted out of his chair, snatched the keys from the desk, and marched to the cell.
The kid moved away from the bars as the jailer fumbled with the keys, trying to unlock the cell.
“No need to get all worked up,” the kid said.
The kid was small, not tall at all and one hundred thirty pounds soaking wet. He backed away as the cell door opened and the burly jailer charged him. He slapped the kid so hard blood flew from the kid’s mouth and splattered on the wall. He hit him a second time, sending another stream of blood flying in the opposite direction. The next strike came from the kid. It was swift and to the jailer’s throat, and it was the sharp spoon handle that burrowed into the man’s neck. The jailer felt his neck where blood was flowing. He reached for the kid, but the kid was swift and moved out of his grasp. Then the kid kicked the jailer hard in the groin and stabbed him again, another blow to the jailer’s neck. The jailer stumbled, hurt and bleeding. He dr
opped on the bunk and the kid stabbed him again and again. Then the kid held up the stabbing tool. He showed the spoon knife to the jailer. The jailer was now weak, and blood flowed from the many wounds to his neck.
“This here spoon was from that lousy plum pudding your asshole buddy gave me yesterday. That was all I had to eat. You realize that?”
The jailer stared at the kid and blood poured out of his neck and bloomed out across the front of his shirt.
“You dumb fuck,” the kid said. “You and him didn’t have smarts enough to make sure you got the pudding spoon back, did you? I was up all night working on this. While you and that Yankee friend of yours were playing checkers with each other like little children. Telling each other lie after lie. About how you did this or how he did that, I was working on this. I told you I had business to attend to, didn’t I? Didn’t I? Now look at you. All you had to do was go out like I said and have some fun, bring me something to eat, and this might not have happened. But it’s happened now, ain’t it? Ain’t it?”
2
Two coyotes stood on the road, staring at us as we approached. They were bleached white by long days of harsh sun. It’d been hot and bone-dry all summer. And like most critters enduring the continuing drought, the coyotes were suffering. They were skinny, parched, and hungry-looking. When we got closer, they moved off the road and into the short brush. The smaller of the two stopped and stared at us as we passed.
Virgil and I were riding out of Appaloosa to pay one of two competing mining camps a visit. There’d been ongoing friction between the two outfits. Ever since the first day they found gold in the jagged hills north of town, there’d been nothing but trouble.
Half of the gold discovery was on land owned by a consortium: a group of Appaloosa businessmen known as the Baptiste Group. The other half belonged to two Irishmen, ranchers, the McCormick brothers.
The McCormicks purchased the land from the Baptiste Group a year prior to the discovery. The transaction turned out to be a misstep that prompted Henri Baptiste to regret the sale. So much so, he hired gun hands to intimidate the Irishmen. But the move only made the McCormicks hire their own gunmen in case tough talk turned to triggers pulled.
The two groups had camps on opposite sides of the discovery, but they had to share the same road coming or going. Virgil and I had not encountered any of these men. We’d heard about them and about reports of skirmishes on the road, but that was it, only reports. We figured it’d be a matter of time before we had the pleasure of making their acquaintance.
