Buckskin

by Robert Knott

  “Been thinking,” Virgil said.

  “’Bout?”

  “Ed Hodge.”

  “What about him?”

  “Could be one of his other gun hands, nothing to do with him. Don’t think he had a hand in this.”

  We walked a ways and I thought back on all of our interactions with him.

  “No, it does not seem likely. Does it?”

  “No.”

  I nodded.

  “Him coming to the office with James when we locked up his men,” I said. “Then coming to the house, raising a fuss with you after James was found dead, then us coming across him on the trail. He’s not smart enough to cobble together a front like that.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “And then him hanging around, watching us, following us,” I said with a shake of my head.

  “Not him,” Virgil said.

  “Then Daniel?” I said.

  “Don’t know.”

  “Know something soon enough,” I said.

  “I suspect we will,” Virgil said.

  “You thought any about what Allie said?”

  Virgil glanced to me.

  “About what kind of word that we’ll have with Daniel?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I reckon we will just have to ask him outright,” Virgil said.

  “And see what he says?” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “What do you think?” I said.

  “He won’t like it none,” Virgil said.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t imagine that he’ll take too kindly to the question.”

  “No,” Virgil said. “Don’t imagine he will.”

  62

  The kid twirled his old Colt pistol. It was void of blue, and in places it was showing its age with hints of rust. He flipped it first one way, then the other, as he paced anxiously in their hotel room.

  “What is the plan?” he said.

  “Plan?” she said.

  “Yeah, what are we gonna do?”

  “About what?”

  “Everything.”

  The teamster’s wife was getting dressed behind a screen as she watched the kid. She could tell he felt good in his new clothes. He strutted back and forth, pausing now and again to look in the mirror, stopping periodically to quickly point the gun at his reflection.

  “I thought we’d go for a walk,” she said.

  “Walk? Walk where?”

  “Oh . . . Through the nice part of town,” she said.

  “Walk and do what?”

  “Check things out. Find some food. Looks like a nice evening.”

  “Think that is where she will be? The nice part of town?”

  She continued to dress without responding to him. She powdered her neck with a delicate dust that sparkled, then she stepped into her dress.

  “Tomorrow we will find her,” she said. “Not tonight. Tonight is for us. For the two of us.”

  “What makes you think we will find her tomorrow?”

  “I just know.”

  “How?”

  “Tomorrow is a big occasion here. A party. Appaloosa Days.”

  “Appaloosa Days,” he said. “And you think she will be there?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “How do you know?”

  “I know.”

  “Damn,” the kid said. “Damn. After all this time. After all these years. Son of a bitch.”

  The kid picked up the tintype off the dresser. He rubbed his thumb lightly across his mother’s face in the photo. Then he laid it to rest gently on the dresser and continued to walk back and forth. His mind was racing, she could tell. He was half present and half someplace else with his thoughts as he paced.

  “I like parties,” he said.

  “Everyone will be there tomorrow,” she said.

  “The lawman, too?” he said.

  She did not say anything else to him. She just watched the kid moving to his left, then to his right. Always checking the mirror with each passing. He did not dwell on the idea of the lawman, though. She could tell where his thoughts resided. He stopped in front of the window looking out on the street. He stood for a long time staring out before he said anything.

  “Wonder what she does,” he said.

  She did not reply.

  “Wonder where she lives, what kind of home. And with who? I wonder if she is married.”

  She studied him, then . . .

  “I think we will find out soon enough,” she said.

  “You figure?”

  “I do,” she said. “Why we are here.”

  “Among other things,” he said.

  She stared at him, and he turned his gaze out the window again.

  “Wonder what she is like,” he said.

  “What would you want for her to be like?”

  He thought before he answered.

  “Hell, I don’t know.”

  “But you wonder.”

  “Well, hell, yeah. What I said. I guess I have always wondered that. Wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes. I understand.”

  “’Course you do.”

  He turned and stared at her. Then he grinned and faced the window again. He put a hand on each side of the frame, opening the curtains wider. She could see his boyish reflection in the glass.

  “Wonder why she did what she did,” he said. “Where she has been all these years . . . If she ever missed me.”

  He gazed upward, as if he were searching for a star. He shook his head.

  “Probably don’t give a rat’s ass,” he said. “Why would she?”

  She came out from behind the dressing screen wearing a black dress and walked to him.

  “Button me up.”

  She turned her back to him. He stuck the Colt behind his belt, and did as she asked. The dress was low around her neck and her dark skin glowed in the lamplight.

  “I been thinking,” he said.

  “About?”

  “What should I say to her? When I find her?”

  “What would you like to say?”

  He thought as he worked on the buttons.

  “Say what you feel,” she said.

  “That’s just the thing. I don’t know how I feel.”

  “What do you want from her?”

  He laughed a little.

  “I don’t know that, either.”

  “Are you angry at her?”

  He thought and nodded.

  “Would you be?”

  “I have nothing to do with this.”

  “The hell you don’t. You brought me here. You primed me.”

  “You say that like I filled you with gunpowder.”

  “Maybe you did.”

  “So, you are angry with her?”

  “I don’t know anger, really.”

  He finished with the buttons. She turned to him.

  “I’m just who I am. And for the most part, I think you could say that I am happy.”

  “Happy?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are a killer.”

  He pulled the pistol from his belt and stuck it into her stomach. He stared at her.

  “I never knew my mother,” she said.

  “No?” he said.

  “No . . . Only my father.”

  “Why?”

  “She died.”

  “How?”

  “Giving life to me.”

  63

  Lawrence, Daniel’s office manager, was removing his dress jacket from the back of his desk chair when Virgil and I entered McCormick’s office. There were three other young men in the office, all putting on their hats and buttoning their coats, preparing to leave.

  “Good evening,” Lawrence
said. “Just about to close up here. Can I help you?”

  “It’s Lawrence,” I said. “Right?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said with a smile and a nod. “What can I do for you?”

  “Looking for Daniel McCormick,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. McCormick’s not in.”

  “Any idea where he might be?” Virgil said.

  Lawrence smiled again and shook his head as he put on his jacket.

  Virgil kept looking at him.

  Lawrence held up a finger and smiled.

  “Excuse me one moment, Marshals,” he said, then turned to his coworkers. “That’s all, fellas, good day, thank you and see you tomorrow . . . Don’t be late.”

  The three young men nodded, said their goodbyes, then filed out the door.

  “Well, I’m not real sure about Mr. McCormick,” Lawrence said.

  “What are you unsure about?”

  “His whereabouts, exactly,” Lawrence said.

  “You have some idea?” I said.

  “Well, yes, I’m sorry, all I know is he went out of town on business.”

  “You don’t know where?” I said.

  “No.”

  “What kind of business?” I said.

  “I don’t know. Is there something I can perhaps help with?”

  “No,” Virgil said.

  “Sorry. I have no idea what his business was. All I know is he told us he was leaving town for a few days and for us to do our job and do it well.”

  “When will he be back?” Virgil said.

  “I don’t actually know. The fact is, he was supposed to return today, this evening’s train, but I don’t know if he made it.” Lawrence turned and looked at the clock on the wall. “It arrived an hour ago, but we’ve not seen him. Perhaps he went straight to his home . . . I’m not certain. Some of his men were here looking for him as well. Perhaps he’s at the house.”

  “What men?”

  “The men he hired for security at the mines. I don’t know their names.”

  Lawrence removed his hat from the hat rack.

  “I had everyone stay later than usual, figuring he might have things for us to do. But here we are, and it’s been a pretty long day, as we were all here before sunup to get the stuff done that we needed to do. We only have a half-day tomorrow, on account of the street closing for Appaloosa Days.”

  Virgil nodded, then walked over to a huge map of the McCormick Mining Company on the wall behind a row of desks. He studied it, then turned to Lawrence.

  “How long have you worked here?” Virgil said.

  “I was the first person hired by the McCormicks when Daniel and James arrived here to Appaloosa.”

  Virgil nodded and turned to the map again.

  “So you knew James well?” he said.

  “Yes, pretty well. He was my boss. Well, both of them, actually. I’ve worked for them since I first arrived in Appaloosa myself.”

  “Was James a friend?”

  “I guess. I mean, as much as an employee can be a friend . . . This has . . . well, it has been hard. With James’s passing, it has been a very difficult time for all of us.”

  “What can you tell us about James?” I said.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Just tell us about him.”

  “Well, my gosh, we miss him. James was kind. I looked up to him. He treated me, treated all of us, very fair. And like I’m saying, it’s been just very sad, difficult.”

  I nodded.

  “What do you do here, Lawrence?” I said.

  “Well,” he said as he looked about the room. “A lot. A bit of everything—accounting, mostly, I’d say. Accounts payable and accounts receivable, that sort of thing. But I do everything from writing letters to taking out the trash. No job too big or too small.”

  “What can you tell me about their relationship?” I said. “Daniel and James.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Did they like each other?”

  Lawrence smiled a bit.

  “Yes, they were brothers . . . well, half-brothers.”

  “Did you ever hear the two men argue?”

  He shrugged.

  “Some,” he said. “As people do managing a business. It’s stressful at times.”

  “Were you here, in the office, on the day James died?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see him leave the office that day?”

  “No, I was out.”

  “Thought you said you were here?”

  “Oh, well, I was here working that day, but I was out running errands.”

  “And Daniel was here in the office when you went out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was Daniel here when you returned?”

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of errands?”

  His eyes went back and forth between Virgil and me.

  “The usual.”

  “Which is?” I said.

  “Well, I made deposits at the bank. I went to the Western Union office and sent some wires to our vendors, a number of them, actually, which took a while. Then . . . let’s see, I went by Hammersmith’s hardware and picked up some office supplies. And I stopped at Hal’s and had myself a cream soda.”

  “When was the last time you saw James, then?” I said.

  “Before I left that day. When I returned, he was gone.”

  “What time did you return?”

  “Oh, gosh, around four-thirty, quarter till five. Something like that.”

  “Did you speak with him prior to leaving the office?”

  “Not really, nothing specific.”

  “Did you talk with Daniel when you returned?”

  “No. Not really. I just went about the rest of my day. Mr. McCormick, Daniel, was in his office though.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you last saw James, was he acting odd in any manner?”

  “Odd?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “No, I wouldn’t say so.”

  “He didn’t appear ill?”

  “No. Not that I could tell. No.”

  “Where, exactly, did you last see him?”

  “He was in his office,” he said with a point. “Look, I . . . I’m sorry, but . . . is this about his death?”

  “What makes you say that?” I said.

  “Well. Look, I know it has been speculated that there was something amiss about his death.”

  “Speculated by whom?” I said.

  “Just what happened, him falling dead on the street. Right in front of his home. All of us here in the office thought it suspect, that is all. One day he is fine and then he collapses and dies. It just seemed suspect.” Lawrence frowned and twisted his hands. “Is that right? Did something bad happen to him? Did someone . . . you know?”

  “We are just trying to understand some of the business here is all, Lawrence,” I said.

  “You said you hired on when you first got here to Appaloosa?” Virgil said.

  “Yes.”

  “How was it you came to Appaloosa in the first place?”

  “I’m related to the McCormicks. My aunt is Irene, Daniel’s, um . . . Mr. McCormick’s wife. When I graduated from the university, I came here straightaway and they hired me. Gave me a place to stay.”

  “You live with Daniel and his wife?”

  “Yes, but I’m trying to save money to buy my own home.”

  Virgil nodded.

  “But it is not easy,” Lawrence said. “If that is what you are thinking.”

  Virgil smiled.

  “Thinking?” he said.

  “I’m just saying there is no favoritism or nepotism at work here. I earn my way like
everyone else that works for the firm. Like everyone, in the shops, at the ranch, the mines, I keep my nose to my business and work hard. I take nothing for granted and I avoid taking advantage of the McCormicks in any way. I don’t do anything that would rile anyone.”

  “Does Daniel rile easy?”

  “No,” Lawrence said a bit quickly.

  “No?” I said.

  “Well, sometimes,” he said, “but if so, it is never unwarranted.”

  “What is warranted?”

  “Oh, you know, typical business things. He likes for things to run smoothly.”

  Virgil stared at Lawrence, then nodded.

  “Much appreciated,” Virgil said, then turned to the door.

  “Can you tell me what this is all about?” Lawrence said.

  Virgil stopped and turned to him.

  “We just want to have a word with Mr. McCormick. That is all, son.”

  We walked out, closing the door behind us.

  We crossed the street and started walking in the direction of Daniel McCormick’s residence.

  “Don’t think there is a person left in town who believes James died of natural causes.”

  “Keeps everybody guessing, though,” Virgil said.

  “That it does,” I said.

  “Except for whoever did it,” Virgil said. “They ain’t guessing.”

  “Nope.”

  We stepped up on the boardwalk and walked a ways, then Virgil gave me a glance.

  “Nepotism?” he said.

  “An offering . . . a favor to kinfolk,” I said. “Like giving a job to a relative.”

  “Like to a nephew?” Virgil said.

  “Yep. That’s right. Like to a nephew.”

  64

  We walked straight to Daniel and Irene’s place. By the time we approached the house, it was good and dark out. There were two lanterns hanging off the porch posts on either side of the steps, and as we neared we saw someone was sitting near the front door in a rocker. When we got closer, we could see that it was Irene. She was slowly rocking in the chair with a drink in her hand.

  “Mrs. McCormick?” Virgil said.

  “Hello there,” she said.

  Virgil removed his hat.

  “Pardon the time of evening,” he said.

  “Not at all,” she said. “It is early still. What brings you fellows around?”