Butcher's Crossing (8 page)

In his room, Andrews heard shouts on the street below him and heard the thump of heavy feet; above these sounds, muffled by the distance, came the crack of a whip and the deep-throated howl of a driver. Andrews came to his feet and strode to the window; he leaned out over the ledge and looked toward the eastern approach to the town.

A great cloud of dust hung upon the air, moved forward, and dissipated itself in its forward movement; out of the dust plodded a long line of oxen. The heads of the lead team were thrust downward, and the two beasts toed in toward each other, so that occasionally their long curving horns clashed, causing both beasts to shake their heads and snort, and separate for a few moments. Until the team got very near the town—the lead oxen passing Joe Long’s barber shop—the wagon was scarcely visible to the townspeople who stood about the sidewalks and to Will Andrews who waited above them.

The wagon was long and shallow, and it curved downward toward the center so that it gave the fleeting appearance of a flat-bottomed boat supported by massive wheels; faded blue paint flecked the sides of the wagon, and the vestiges of red paint could be seen on the slow-turning spokes near the centers of the scarred, massive wheels. A heavy man in a checked shirt sat high and erect on a wagon box seat clipped near the front; in his right hand was a long bull-whip which he cracked above the ears of the lead team. His left hand pulled heavily against an upright hand brake, so that the oxen, which moved forward under his whip, were restrained by the heavy weight of the wagon above its half-locked wheels. Beside the wagon, slouched in his saddle, Miller rode a black horse; he led another, a sorrel, which was saddled but riderless.

The procession passed the hotel and passed Jackson’s Saloon. Andrews watched it go beyond the livery stable, beyond the blacksmith’s shop, and out of town. He watched until he could see little but the moving cloud of dust made brilliant and impenetrable by the light of the falling sun, and he waited until the dust cloud stopped and thinned away down in the hollow of the river. Then he went back to his bed and lay upon it, his palms folded beneath the back of his head, and stared up at the ceiling.

He was still staring at the ceiling, at the random flickerings of light upon it, an hour later when Charley Hoge knocked at his door and entered without waiting for a reply. He paused just inside the room; his figure was shadowy and vague, enlarged by the dim light that came from the hall.

“What are you laying here in the dark for?” he asked.

“Waiting for you to come up and get me,” Andrews said. He lifted his legs over the side of the bed and sat upright on its edge.

“I’ll light the lamp,” Charley Hoge said. He moved forward in the darkness. “Where is it?”

“On the table near the window.”

He pulled a match across the wall beside the window; the match flared yellow. With the hand that held the match, he lifted the smoked chimney from the lamp, set it down on the table, touched the match to the wick, and replaced the chimney. The room brightened as the wick’s burning grew steadier, and the flickerings from the out-of-doors were submerged. Charley Hoge dropped the burnt match to the floor.

“I guess you know Miller’s back in town.”

Andrews nodded. “I saw the wagon as it came past. Who was with him?”

“Fred Schneider,” Charley Hoge said. “He’s going to be our skinner. Miller’s worked with him before.”

Andrews nodded again. “I suppose Miller got everything he needed.”

“Everything’s ready,” Charley Hoge said. “Miller and Schneider are at Jackson’s. Miller wants you to come over so we can get everything settled.”

“All right,” Andrews said. “I’ll get my coat.”

“Your coat?” Charley Hoge asked. “Boy, if you’re cold now, what are you going to do when we get up in the mountains?”

Andrews smiled. “I’m not cold. I’m just in the habit of wearing it.”

“A man loses lots of habits in time,” Charley Hoge said. “Come on, let’s go.”

The two men left the room and went down the stairs. Charley Hoge went a few steps in front of Andrews, who had to hurry to keep up with him; he walked with quick, nervous strides, and his thin, drawn-in shoulders jerked upward with his steps.

Miller and Schneider were waiting at the long narrow bar of Jackson’s. They stood at the bar with glasses of beer in front of them; a light mantle of dust clung about the shoulders of Schneider’s red-checked shirt, and the ends of his straight, bristling brown hair visible beneath a flat-brimmed hat were caked white with trail dust. The two men turned as Charley Hoge and Will Andrews came down the room toward them.

Miller’s flat thin lips curved upward in a tight smile. A precise swath of black beard shadowed the heavy lower half of his face. “Will,” he said softly. “Did you think I wasn’t coming back?”

Andrews smiled. “No. I knew you’d be back.”

“Will, this is Fred Schneider; he’s our skinner.”

Andrews extended his hand and Schneider took it. Schneider’s handclasp was loose, indifferent; he shook Andrews’s hand once with a quick pumping motion. “How do,” he said. His face was round, and though the lower part was covered with a light brown stubble, the whole face gave the appearance of being smooth and featureless. His eyes were wide and blue, and they regarded Andrews from beneath heavy, sleepy lids. He was a man of medium height, thickly built; he gave the immediate impression of being at all times watchful, alert, and on his guard. He wore a small pistol in a black leather holster hung high on his waist.

Miller drained the last of his beer from his glass. “Let’s go in the big room where we can sit down,” he said, wiping a bit of foam from his lips with a forefinger.

The others nodded. Schneider stood aside and waited for them to pass through the side door; then he followed, closing the door carefully behind him. The group of four men, with Miller in the lead, went toward the back of the room. They took a table near the stairs; Schneider sat with his back to the stairs, facing the room; Andrews sat in front of him. Charley Hoge was at Andrews’s left, and Miller was at his right.

Miller said, “On my way back from the river, I stopped in and saw McDonald. He’ll buy our hides from us. That’ll save us packing to Ellsworth.”

“How much will he pay?” asked Schneider.

“Four dollars apiece for prime hides,” Miller said. “He’s got a buyer for prime hides back east.”

Schneider shook his head. “How much for summer hides? You won’t find any prime skins for another three months.”

Miller turned to Andrews. “I haven’t made any arrangements with Schneider, and I haven’t told him where we’re going. I thought I ought to wait till we all got together.”

Andrews nodded. “All right,” he said.

“Let’s have a drink while we talk,” Miller said. “Charley, see if you can find somebody to bring us back a pitcher of beer and some whisky.”

Charley Hoge scraped his chair back on the floor, and went swiftly across the room.

“Did you make out all right at Ellsworth?” Andrews asked.

Miller nodded. “Got a good buy on the wagon. Some of the oxen haven’t been broken in, and a couple of them need to be shod; but the lead team is a good one, and the rest of them will be broke in after the first few days.”

“Did you have enough money?”

Miller nodded again, indifferently. “Got a little left over, even. I found you a nice horse; I rode it all the way back. All we need to pick up here is some whisky for Charley, a few sides of bacon, and—Do you have any rough clothes?”

“I can pick some up tomorrow,” Andrews said.

“I’ll tell you what you need.”

Schneider looked sleepily at the two men. “Where are we going?”

Charley Hoge came across the room; behind him, carrying a large tray with a pitcher, bottle, and glasses upon it, Francine weaved among the tables. Charley Hoge sat down, and Francine put the bottle of whisky and the pitcher of beer in the center of the table and put the glasses in front of the men. She smiled at Andrews, and turned to Miller. “Did you bring me what I asked for from Ellsworth?”

“Yeah,” Miller said. “I’ll give it to you later. You set at another table for awhile, Francine. We got business to talk over.”

Francine nodded, and walked to a table where another girl and a man were sitting. Andrews watched her until she sat down; when he turned, he saw that Schneider’s eyes were still upon her. Schneider blinked slowly once, and turned his eyes to Andrews. Andrews looked away.

All of the men except Charley Hoge filled their glasses with beer; he took the bottle of whisky before him, uncorked it, and let the pale amber liquor gurgle into his glass nearly to the brim.

“Where are we going?” Schneider asked again.

Miller set his glass of beer to his lips and drank in long even swallows. He put the glass on the table and turned it with his heavy fingers.

“We’re going to the mountain country,” Miller said.

“The mountain country,” Schneider said. He put his glass on the table as if the taste of the beer had suddenly become unpleasant. “Up in the Colorado Territory.”

“That’s right,” Miller said. “You know the country.”

“I know it,” Schneider said. He nodded for several moments without speaking. “Well, I guess I ain’t lost much time. I can get a good night’s sleep and start back for Ellsworth early tomorrow morning.”

Miller did not speak. He took his glass up and finished his beer, and sighed deeply.

“Why in the hell do you figure to go clear across the country?” Schneider asked. “You can find plenty of buffalo thirty, forty mile from here.”

“Summer hides,” Miller said. “Thin as paper, and just about as strong.”

Schneider snorted. “What the hell do you care? You can get good money for them.”

“Fred,” Miller said, “we’ve worked together before. I wouldn’t lead you into something that wasn’t good. I got a herd staked out; nobody knows anything about it except me. We can get back a thousand hides easy, maybe more. You heard McDonald; four dollars apiece for prime hides. That’s four thousand dollars, six hundred dollars for your share, maybe more. That’s a damn sight better than you’ll do anywhere else around here.”

Schneider nodded. “If there’s buffalo where you say there is. How long has it been since you seen this herd?”

“It’s been some time,” Miller said. “But that don’t worry me.”

“It worries me,” said Schneider. “I know for a fact you ain’t been in the mountain country for eight, nine years; maybe longer.”

“Charley’s going,” Miller said. “And Mr. Andrews here is going; he’s even put up the money.”

“Charley will do anything you tell him to,” Schneider said. “And I don’t know Mr. Andrews.”

“I won’t argue with you, Fred.” Miller poured himself another glass of beer. “But it seems like you’re letting me down.”

“You can find another skinner who ain’t got as much sense as I have.”

“You’re the best there is,” Miller said. “And for this trip, I wanted the best.”

“Hell,” Schneider said. He reached for the pitcher of beer; it was almost empty. He held it up and called to Francine. Francine got up from the table where she was sitting, took the pitcher, and left without speaking. Schneider took the bottle of whisky from in front of Charley Hoge and poured several fingers of it into his beer glass. He drank it in two gulps, grimacing at the burning.

“It’s too much of a gamble,” he said. “We’d be gone two months, maybe three; and we might have nothing to show for it. It’s been a long time since you seen them buffalo; a country can change in eight or nine years.”

“We won’t be gone more than a month and a half, or two months,” Miller said. “I got fresh, young oxen; they should make near thirty miles a day going, and maybe twenty coming back.”

“They might make fifteen going and ten coming, if you pushed them right hard.”

“The days are long this time of year,” Miller said. “The country’s nearly level right up to where we’re going, and there’s water all along the way.”

“Hell,” Schneider said. Miller did not speak. “All right,” Schneider said. “I’ll go. But no shares. I’m taking no chances. I’ll take sixty dollars a month, straight, starting the day we leave here and ending the day we get back.”

“That’s fifteen dollars more than usual,” Miller said.

“You said I was the best,” Schneider said, “and you offered shares. Besides, that’s rough country where you intend to go.”

Miller looked at Andrews; Andrews nodded.

“Done,” Miller said.

“Where’s that gal with the beer?” Schneider asked.

Charley Hoge took the bottle of whisky from in front of Schneider and replenished his glass. He sipped the liquor delicately, appreciatively; his small gray eyes darted between Miller and Schneider. He grinned sharply, craftily at Schneider, and said:

“I knowed all along you’d give in. I knowed it from the first.”

Schneider nodded. “Miller always gets what he’s after.”

They were silent. Francine came across the room with their pitcher of beer and set it on the table. She smiled briefly at the group, and spoke again to Miller.

“You about finished with your business?”

“Almost,” Miller said. “I left your package in the front room, under the bar. Why don’t you run out and see if it’s what you wanted. Maybe you can come back a little later and have a drink with us.”

Francine said, “All right,” and started to move away. As she moved, Schneider put out a hand and laid it on her arm. Andrews stiffened.

“Sprechen sie Deutsch?” he asked. He was grinning.

“Yes,” she said.

“Ach,” he said. “Ich so glaube. Du arbeitest jetzt, nicht wahr?”

“Nein,” Francine said.

“Ja,” Schneider said, still grinning. “Du arbeitest mit mir, nicht wahr?”

“All right,” Miller said. “We’ve got things to talk about. Go on now, Francine.”

Francine moved away from Schneider’s hand and went quickly across the room.

“What was that all about?” asked Andrews. His voice was tight.

“Why, I just asked her if she wanted a little job of work,” Schneider said. “I ain’t seen a better looking whore since I was in St. Louis.”

Andrews looked at him for a moment; his lips tingled with anger, and his hands, beneath the table, were tightly clasped. He turned to Miller. “When do we figure on leaving?”