Buckskin

by Robert Knott

  Daniel’s wife, Irene, was a striking but harsh-edged woman with intense dark eyes and a narrow face. She was also nervous and talkative. She seemed uncomfortable and intolerant of silence.

  “This is just awful,” Irene said as she reached out and took Bernice’s hand. “Just awful. I don’t think I slept an hour straight last night. I’m sure you didn’t, either, dear.”

  Bernice remained stoic and did not say anything.

  “I’m sure you know just how hard this is for us, for Bernice.”

  “We do,” I said.

  “I’m sure you will find the men responsible,” Irene said as she scooped spoonful after spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “Won’t you, Marshal Cole, Marshal Hitch?”

  Virgil nodded.

  “We’ll do what we can,” he said.

  “Yes, I told Bernice that is exactly what you would do.” Then she turned to Bernice. “Like I told you, dear. Like I told you. Justice will prevail.”

  Virgil put his coffee cup on the table and leaned in with his elbows on his knees, in front of Bernice.

  “What can you tell us?” he said.

  His manner was thoughtful, gentle.

  Bernice shook her head.

  “She does not know what or how this even happened,” Irene said. “She was out back.”

  “Let Bernice answer, Irene,” Daniel said.

  “Well, of course, dear,” Irene said. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to be helpful in this most difficult time.” She turned to Virgil. “I’m sure you understand.”

  “We do,” he said.

  “I apologize, dear,” Irene said to Bernice. “Go on, of course. Please.”

  Bernice offered a weak smile and adjusted in her seat before she spoke.

  “I don’t know what happened and I don’t think I can offer any details other than what Daniel told you. Nothing that you don’t already know.”

  She summoned up a feeble smile to Daniel.

  “Just give them an account of what you know,” Daniel said. “What we talked about. What you told me.”

  She nodded.

  “I was just outside, on the back porch. I’d been out there for an hour, I’d say.”

  “Doing?” Virgil said.

  “I was reading.”

  “And James?” Virgil said.

  “He was not home, I was home alone. Well, Netta, our housemaid was home with me. She was upstairs at the time.”

  She paused and shook her head.

  “I heard the front door open. Then I called out and asked if it were James. But he did not reply and I did not think much about it. I thought it might have been Netta at the door, going in and out for whatever reason. Then I called to Netta but did not hear her respond. Then I heard a crash. Something breaking. And I thought, My gosh, what on earth, what could that possibly be.”

  Virgil nodded.

  “Then what?” he said.

  “Well, I got up. I went inside and the first thing I saw when I entered was a broken vase. It was there down the hall, shattered near the front door. The front door was open wide, and the vase was just there on the floor. A few other things had fallen, too, a few books, a carved box, a small candelabra, and so forth.”

  “Poor dear,” Irene said.

  “Irene,” Daniel said.

  “What did you do?” Virgil said.

  “Well, I moved to see what was the issue, what happened,” she said. “As I got near the entry, I saw Netta as she came walking down the stairs.”

  “She see anything?” I said.

  Bernice shook her head.

  “I asked her what happened, and she said she did not know. She said she just heard the crash, too. Then out the open door, I saw him.”

  “You hear gunfire?” Virgil said.

  She squinted at her hands in her lap then closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “No,” she said.

  Virgil glanced to me.

  “And where was James?” Virgil said.

  “On the porch,” she said.

  “You saw him?” Virgil said. “That’s when you saw James?”

  She nodded and opened her eyes, looking at Virgil.

  “He had his back to me. He was holding on to the post, at the top of the stairs. I called his name, but he did not turn to look to me. He just stumbled off down the stairs.”

  She stopped talking and stared blankly at nothing for a full minute doing her best not to cry. Then she met Virgil’s eyes.

  “I ran out after him,” she said. “And he collapsed in the street. Right there in front of me.”

  “And that’s when you saw the deputy?” Virgil said.

  “Yes,” she said. “I did not know he, the young Mexican man, was with law enforcement. I just asked . . . actually screamed at him to get the authorities. I was rather hysterical, I’m afraid.”

  “Well,” Irene said. “My goodness, who would not be under those circumstances.”

  Virgil nodded, then glanced over to me.

  “Is there anything else you remember,” I said. “Was there anyone else around other than you and the deputy?”

  “No,” she said. “Well, there was Netta came out after me, behind me. But there was no one else even on the street until I began to yell at the young deputy to get help.”

  She looked to Daniel. He nodded.

  “That is all I can tell you,” she said. “Then I sent Netta to get Irene here, and the next thing I know is my husband was dead. Just dead there in the street.”

  “And no gunshot?” I said.

  “No,” she said.

  “Where had he been?” Virgil said. “Where was he coming from?”

  “He’d been with me at the office,” Daniel said.

  Bernice nodded.

  “I expected him home. We had planned an early dinner and we were going to the theater after.”

  Virgil nodded, then turned to Daniel.

  “What happens to James’s portion?” Virgil said.

  “Of our company assets?” Daniel said.

  Virgil nodded.

  “Well, they belong to Bernice,” he said.

  “So you and Bernice are now partners?” Virgil said.

  “Well, yes,” he said. “In a sense.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Virgil said. “‘In a sense’?”

  “Well,” he said. “I mean, Bernice will, of course, inherit James’s portion of all our holdings, including the gold mine, but she would have no need to do anything. I can handle the work, and the profit will go to her as if it was James. She’ll be taken care of in that respect.”

  “What would happen,” Virgil said, “if something were to happen to you?”

  “Well, my wife, Irene, would receive my portion,” he said.

  “And who would run the company?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, I have in my will that they can carry on with the business as they see fit or they could liquidate. All assets could be sold off and the proceeds would be divided between them, Irene and Bernice. That is, if that was their choice.”

  Virgil smiled and nodded.

  “Good enough,” Virgil said.

  Virgil gave a sharp nod and we got to our feet.

  “Appreciate you taking the time,” Virgil said.

  “If we have any further questions,” I said. “We’ll get in touch with you.”

  Virgil moved to the door and I followed. He turned to the trio before opening the door.

  “Do not talk to anyone about this,” he said. “Nobody. The less others know, the better.”

  The three exchanged nods with each other.

  “Of course, Marshal,” Daniel said. “Of course.”

  The women nodded, too. Virgil opened the door and we left. We walked out past Lawren
ce and a handful of other young men who were busy shuffling papers. They all stopped their work to watch us as we exited.

  38

  After we left McCormick’s place, Virgil and I walked a ways on Appaloosa Avenue before Virgil stopped and pulled a cigar from his pocket. He bit the tip, then fished a match. He lit the cigar, shook the match, then worked on making sure it was going good.

  “What do you figure?” I said.

  “Don’t know. Don’t make good sense.”

  “It doesn’t. Not completely.”

  Virgil puffed on his cigar as we watched traffic.

  “Think it’s time to pay Baptiste a visit?” I said.

  Virgil looked up to the Appaloosa Avenue sign above his head and nodded.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  We started toward the office of Henri Baptiste.

  “For some reason it’s hard to think James’s murder was the work of the Bartholomew brothers,” I said.

  “Is,” Virgil said.

  “The motive and the pay would be there,” I said. “But the way James died, seems like somebody else might have had a hand in it.”

  “Hard to say,” Virgil said. “Baptiste could have hired someone else to do this.”

  “Or done it himself?” I said. “Or fucking Pritchard?”

  Virgil nodded.

  “Don’t seem like the type to do it by themselves,” he said. “Hire another killer, maybe, but not do the blood work. Everybody is capable, though.”

  “Obvious motive points to the gold,” I said.

  “If Daniel McCormick were to wake up dead,” Virgil said, “and the mines were sold, Henri Baptiste would swoop in and have it all.”

  We walked a bit more, thinking.

  “One thing for certain. If it was them, if the Bartholomew brothers did the killing,” I said, “there is just one brother left for us to sort out about it.”

  “Yep,” Virgil said.

  “Might be the meaner of the two,” I said.

  “Might,” Virgil said. “You offered to talk to Ventura instead of shooting him.”

  “You shot him first,” I said.

  “I did,” Virgil said. “He pointed his pistol out the window at me.”

  “The fact that he reacted like he did,” I said, “bodes well toward guilt, though.”

  “It does,” Virgil said.

  “Why else would they get out of the hotel like they did?” I said.

  “The Bartholomew boys have been guilty and moving, and guilty and moving, since the day they was born,” Virgil said. “Being quick to shoot and move goes with the territory.”

  “Don’t imagine Victor will be none too happy to hear about his brother,” I said.

  “No,” Virgil said. “He goddamn won’t.”

  “But they were hired by Baptiste to do such things,” I said. “Can’t forget that.”

  “That’s right,” Virgil said. “Ventura killed them miners, sold their horses.”

  “What’s your thoughts of how this murder happened?” I said.

  “Don’t goddamn know.”

  We walked without talking. We passed Allie’s shop. It was still early, and Allie had yet to open up.

  “So, James McCormick walks home from their office on Appaloosa Avenue, turns a few blocks this way and that,” I said. “Gets shot on the way, I guess, before he gets home?”

  “That’s right,” Virgil said. “And nobody hears the shot?”

  “Then he comes up the stairs to his house,” I said. “Enters the house and knocks over a bunch of stuff on the entrance table on his way in. Then stumbles out the front door.”

  “Or maybe he was inside and on his way out when it happened?” Virgil said.

  We walked, thinking about that for a bit.

  “Then he staggers and falls into the street and dies?” I said.

  “What she said,” Virgil said.

  We were met at Henri Baptiste’s office by one of Baptiste’s young freckle-faced bookeepers. He told us Mr. Baptiste and Eugene Pritchard had left earlier that morning to spend the day at the gold mine.

  By early afternoon Virgil and I saddled up and rode out to pay them a visit. There was a shortcut that riders took when traveling north in and out of Appaloosa, a tree-covered path that curved through a wooded valley. It crossed over a rocky rise before reconnecting to the main road. It was too narrow for wagon travel, but horsemen who knew about it always used it to save travel time.

  When we came to the high point on the path and started down, we were met by three riders.

  39

  As we got closer it became clear that the riders were Edward Hodge and his two men. They were a good fifty yards in front of us, riding in our direction. Hodge stopped his big dun horse and his men did the same. The manner in which they stopped on the narrow path gave us the impression they might likely have notions of blocking us from passing.

  We pulled to a stop.

  “None other,” Virgil said under his breath.

  “Well, well,” Hodge hollered.

  Then he pulled a rifle from his scabbard and laid it across his lap.

  “Don’t look pleasant,” I said.

  “No,” Virgil said, “they don’t.”

  Hodge said something to his men and they pulled their rifles and laid them across their laps.

  “Look who in the hell we got here,” Hodge said loudly.

  Virgil pulled his Winchester and rested it on his saddle horn. I pulled my eight-gauge from its scabbard and turned my horse slightly to the right. Then I put the barrels on the left side of my fork and pulled both hammers back.

  Hodge nudged his horse closer. The two men flanking Hodge did the same.

  “Imagine that,” Hodge said.

  We moved closer.

  “What brings you fellas out this direction?” Hodge said.

  “Be a good idea that you boys don’t fuck around and get yourselves killed,” Virgil said.

  “We ain’t fucking around,” Hodge said.

  “Good,” Virgil said.

  “Being out here,” Hodge said, “makes things a little different, don’t it?”

  We continued slowly and moved closer yet. The whole time I kept my horse angled to the right.

  “How so?” Virgil said.

  Hodge laughed.

  “For starters, the first thing is, there are three of us against two of you.”

  “Against?” Virgil said.

  “Goddamn right, against. You got a problem with that?”

  “Got no problem. Fact is you choosing to get yourself and your friends killed or not, is more your problem.”

  “Listen to mighty Virgil Cole . . . I offered you our help.”

  “Don’t need any help.”

  “I would not be too sure of that.”

  “Sure enough,” Virgil said.

  “These sumbitches have gone way too far and you know it.”

  “I know what I know.”

  “Well, that’s real good,” Hodge said.

  “What’s the other?” Virgil said.

  “What’s that?” Hodge said with a sneer.

  “You said for starters, the first thing is, there is three of you and two of us,” Virgil said. “What’s the second thing?”

  “Good to know you can count,” Hodge said. “The second thing is we ain’t within the town limits. In case you ain’t noticed.”

  “There is not much not to notice about you,” Virgil said.

  “Oh, you think?”

  “I do,” Virgil said.

  “Don’t matter,” Hodge said.

  “It matters,” Virgil said.

  Hodge nodded to his rifle but left it lowered.

  “Got no rules out here for us to follow, do ya?”

  “O
h, there are rules,” Virgil said.

  Hodge and his men rode closer and we moved closer still. Now we were within pistol distance.

  “Your rules?” Hodge said.

  Virgil nodded.

  “That’s right.”

  Hodge smiled.

  “I don’t much care for you, Virgil Cole. Or your fucking rules.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Yes,” Hodge said. “It damn sure is.”

  “But you’ll do best not to test me,” Virgil said.

  “Just funnin’,” Hodge said with a nasty grin, “Just funnin’.”

  “That right?” Virgil said.

  Hodge smiled and turned to his men.

  “Put your guns away.”

  The two sidekicks smirked and the three of them slid their rifles into their scabbards. Then Hodge moved closer and stopped. His men followed.

  “No worry, though,” Hodge said, focused on Virgil. “We will have our day.”

  Virgil said nothing. Hodge stared at him then moved his horse off the trail.

  Virgil glanced at me and rode on. Once he was twenty feet behind Hodge and his men, he stopped and turned his horse to face me. Then I rode on.

  Once I got to where Virgil sat his horse, I turned to face Hodge and his men, who had all turned their mounts slightly to face us. Hodge laughed but said nothing. Then he turned his horse and rode off, with his men following.

  “Think he’s right?” I said. “That you and him will have a day?”

  “If he keeps it up,” Virgil said. “I suspect so.”

  “In their heads, Baptiste has got a leg up in the tally,” I said. “Baptiste has only lost the one Bartholomew hand who pulled on you. And McCormick’s group has lost two workers and now James McCormick himself.”

  Virgil nodded.

  “One thing for certain, Hodge is dead set on intimidating you,” I said.

  “He is,” Virgil said.

  “Think it’s working?”

  Virgil smiled.

  “Not really,” he said. “You?”

  “No,” I said.

  We turned and continued on up the trail.

  “They no doubt came out here looking for what’s left of the Bartholomew clan that’s not locked up,” I said.

  “They did,” Virgil said.