Buckskin

by Robert Knott

  “Sí?”

  “See, see, see,” Lloyd said as he unlocked the cell. “Come on.”

  Johnny gazed around.

  “Vámonos,” Skeeter said, “no tenemos toda la noche.”

  Johnny got to his feet.

  “A donde?” Johnny said.

  “Donde on out here, Johnny,” Lloyd said. “Let’s go. Step on outta there.”

  “What for?” Noah Miller said.

  “You don’t look like no Mexican Rodriguez to me,” Lloyd said. “I’m talking to Johnny see, see, see Rodriguez here.”

  “What’s going on?” Noah said.

  Johnny stepped out into the hall and Lloyd locked the door behind him.

  “Where we going?” Johnny said.

  Johnny walked to the office with Virgil and me. Lloyd closed the door to the hall behind him.

  Virgil pointed to a chair.

  “Sit down there, Johnny,” Virgil said.

  Johnny sat. His clothes were wrinkly and his long, bristly hair was sticking out in every direction. His round face was covered with thick whiskers that were closing in on the length of his quarter-’til-three mustache.

  “Got a few questions for you,” Virgil said.

  “What kind of questions?”

  “Just answer,” Virgil said. “Try not to think too hard.”

  Johnny smiled, showing his missing front tooth.

  “Cigar?” Johnny said.

  Virgil looked to the desk.

  “Sure,” Virgil said as he got a half-spent cigar out of the ashtray. He handed it to Johnny. Johnny turned his nose up at it, then took it and put it in his mouth. He smiled.

  “Got a match?” he said.

  Virgil handed him a match and Johnny pulled the tip across the bottom of the chair and lit the stub. Once he got it going good, he smiled.

  “How can Johnny help you, Marshal Virgil Cole?” he said.

  “Any of you boys carry a small-caliber pistol or rifle?” Virgil said.

  “Like a .22?” I said.

  “A .22?” Johnny said.

  “That’s right,” Virgil said. “Rifle or pistol.”

  “No, señor,” he said.

  “No time to bullshit here,” Virgil said.

  “No,” he said. “No one has a .22. Not that I know about.”

  “Did Victor or Ventura ever get any instructions from the jefe you boys was working for to harm or kill any of the miners? I asked you before and you said no.”

  “I know nothing about no miners,” he said.

  “How about harm or kill the McCormick brothers?” Virgil said. “El jefe?”

  “No, señor.”

  Skeeter leaned against the front doorjamb with his arms folded in front of him, shaking his head.

  “Mentiroso,” Skeeter said.

  “Fuck you,” Johnny said. “I am not lying. I do not know nothing about no miners.”

  He turned to Virgil, shaking his head slowly.

  “Nothing.”

  32

  After more tequila, she led the kid down the hall toward her bedroom at the rear of the house. He was warm from the alcohol that was thrusting through his veins. He was feeling feral. He thought he might be unsteady after so much drink, but he was not. She carried a single lamp through the narrow hall that led to the room.

  The interior of the room was like nothing the kid had ever seen before. It was painted completely white. The ceiling, walls, and floor were all white. Thin white curtains covered the windows, and white fabric draped over the rafters throughout the room. And there were mirrors. More mirrors in one room than imaginable or understandable to the kid. He watched her move. She glided rhythmically and without effort, like a magnificent creature.

  “You sure about this?” the kid said.

  She said nothing as she closed the door and set the lamp on a table next to the bed.

  “I can sleep elsewhere,” he said.

  “No,” she said.

  The bed, covered in fur hides, shimmered from the lamplight, giving the impression that the bed was a living creature. The hides were all patched together and appeared to be a breathing mixture of beaver, fox, and coon. All animals the kid had skinned in this youth. He knew these creatures. Creatures that made the nighttime their active time. He ran his hand through the hair, feeling the pelts’ softness.

  Then he turned and watched her as she moved about the room, lighting candles. Many candles. Years of wax had built up under the snowy mounds.

  It all reminded the kid of winter, of his time living in the mountains. It made him think of the snow-covered tents in the camps, where he was raised.

  Then, when she was done lighting the candles, she moved toward the kid. He stood frozen, watching her. She towered over him. He stared up to her. He felt as if he was about to be eaten.

  “Sit,” she said.

  He did just that and sat on the bed. She pushed his chest and laid him flat on the bed. Then she removed his boots. He cut his eyes to the door. Thinking he heard something. And it crossed his mind that he might just be sacrificed tonight. Was this it? Was this his last day on earth? It kind of felt like that to the kid, but she spoke as if she were listening to his thoughts.

  “You are not afraid,” she said.

  “I don’t know fear,” he said.

  She smiled.

  “Yes,” she said. “I know.”

  “I have no reason,” he said.

  “This, too, I know,” she said.

  “Sometimes I wish I had,” he said.

  “Wishes are for fountains,” she said.

  The candlelight reflecting in her dark eyes made her seem even more mysterious.

  “I am here for you,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “Perhaps I have been waiting for you,” she said.

  “Well,” he said. “I’m here.”

  She nodded and smiled.

  “Yes, you are,” she said.

  “We will go places we’ve never been,” she said. “But they will be familiar.”

  Then she unbuckled his belt.

  “Because we have, in another time, within another animal, been there before.”

  “I have seen you before,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “I know.”

  He smiled as she stared at him.

  “You have every reason to be everything that is within you, and everything that you can harness within me,” she said.

  “I don’t have a choice about that,” he said.

  “This, too, I know about you,” she said.

  She pulled down his trousers.

  “To do the things you need,” she said.

  He stared at her.

  Then she pulled her dress over her head. And she was muscled and naked before him.

  She untied her hair that was piled atop her head and let it fall. The dark twisting locks appeared violent and alive. Everything about her seemed somehow otherworldly to the kid, prehistoric even.

  “My God,” he said.

  “God has nothing to do with it,” she said.

  33

  Johnny remained sitting in the chair in the sheriff’s office and continued to insist he knew nothing regarding the miners who had gone missing. But he was becoming more and more agitated from Virgil’s questioning. Like Skeeter, Virgil, Lloyd, and I were thinking that Johnny had something to hide, but getting to it was another matter. So Virgil offered him another cigar, this time a fresh, clean one. After Johnny got it going good, Virgil stayed on the course of his interrogation.

  “Are you a killer, Johnny?”

  “Me?” he said. “No.”

  “Mentiroso,” Skeeter said.

  Virgil glanced over at Skeeter. Skeeter held up his hands, a gesture to say sorry, a
nd stepped out on the porch.

  “I done told you before, señor,” he said.

  “Where is Victor and his no-good brother?” Virgil said.

  “The hotel by the tracks over there,” he said.

  Then he pointed his finger in the direction of the hotel he’d been staying at before he was arrested.

  “You know the one. I told you.”

  “They’re gone,” Virgil said.

  Johnny raised his eyebrows.

  “Where to?” Johnny said.

  Virgil smiled.

  “I’ll ask the questions, Johnny, and you’ll answer,” Virgil said. “Muy bueno?”

  “Sí, señor.”

  “Any idea where Victor and his brother have gone off to?” Virgil said.

  He shook his head hard.

  “No, señor.”

  “Where were you boys before you got here?” Virgil said.

  “Before we come here, to Appaloosa?” Johnny said.

  “Sí,” Virgil said.

  “Santa Fe,” he said.

  “How about Victor’s brother, Ventura?” Virgil said.

  “What about him?”

  “He come here with you from Santa Fe?”

  “No, señor.”

  “Where’d he come from?”

  “He was in Las Vegas,” Johnny said. “He met us here. One week after we got here.”

  “How did he know you were here?”

  Johnny shrugged.

  “Victor sent him a wire,” he said.

  “Why?” Virgil said.

  “Said there was money to be made,” Johnny said. “I don’t know for sure, but that would be my guess.”

  “Doing what?” Virgil said.

  “I did not ask,” Johnny said. “I just do what it is that Victor tells me to do.”

  “So what did he tell you to do?”

  “So far we have done nothing other than ride around between the mine and here.”

  “You know of any other people here in Appaloosa that Victor or Ventura know?”

  “What do you mean?” Johnny said as his eyes narrowed from the sting of the cigar smoke wafting.

  “Just that,” Virgil said. “Answer me. Do Victor or Ventura have any friends here that you know about?”

  “No, señor,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t think so.”

  “Everett and me stopped by Deek’s livery,” Virgil said. “Didn’t we, Everett?”

  “We did,” I said. “You know Deek’s, Johnny? That’s the livery there by Dag’s Hotel. Where you boys have your horses stabled.”

  “Sí,” he said.

  “Your horse is the pinto?” Virgil said.

  Johnny’s eyes lit up.

  “Sí,” he said. “Jasper.”

  “The good news is Jasper is still there,” I said. “Not been sold off, seeing how you are locked up.”

  “Sold off?”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  “Do you want to get your horse back?” Virgil said.

  Johnny sat up.

  “Sí, señor,” he said.

  “Maybe get out of jail?” Virgil said.

  “Sí.”

  “Give me some information,” Virgil said.

  “I don’t want Jasper to get sold,” he said, with tears welling.

  “No,” Virgil said. “I don’t imagine you do.”

  “What do I say?” Johnny said.

  “Did Victor kill those miners?”

  “No,” he said.

  “How about them boys you been locked up with?” Virgil said. “Did any of them have a hand in those miners who went missing?”

  He shook his head.

  “Tell me about Ventura,” Virgil said.

  Johnny’s eyes swiveled between Virgil and me.

  “Did Ventura have a hand in what happened with those miners?” Virgil said.

  Johnny stared at Virgil, then down at the floor. He turned in his chair to the door separating us from the hall, leading to the cells. Virgil glanced to me.

  “Did he?” Virgil said. “Tell me, Johnny.”

  Lloyd’s eyes turned to me. Then Skeeter lingered into the doorway. We were all waiting on what Johnny had to say.

  “Tell me what happened,” Virgil said.

  Johnny shook his head.

  “Ventura did it,” he said.

  “You see him do it?” Virgil said.

  “He said he would kill us if anybody ever found out.”

  “You see Ventura kill those miners?”

  He nodded.

  “Sí.”

  “How?”

  He shook his head.

  “Tell me.”

  “Shot ’em. He just shot them.”

  “What about Victor? Him, too? Did Victor do it, too? He pull a trigger, too?”

  “No. He was not there, either time.”

  “Where was he?”

  “Every day they kind of took turns,” Johnny said.

  “Doing what?” Virgil said.

  “Riding to the mines. That was our job, to make ourselves seen. And that gets kind of no bueno after some time. Ventura, he was all the time mad being just seen. So he killed them. He just did it. Both times.”

  “What about the other men?”

  “We tried to stop him. I swear to you we did, but he’s . . . he’s colder, meaner than any hombre that I have ever known in my life.”

  Virgil’s eyes moved to Skeeter, then Lloyd, then me, then rested on Johnny.

  “Where, Johnny? Where did he kill them?”

  “The shortcut trail, off the main road. Between here and the mines.”

  “Both men?”

  “Sí.”

  “Where are the bodies?”

  “Arroyo,” he said. “Off the trail.”

  “And their horses?”

  “Ventura sold them.”

  “To who?”

  “That I do not know.”

  “Let me ask you again. Since Victor and Ventura are no longer in the hotel there by Deek’s livery, do you have any idea where they are?”

  Johnny puffed on the cigar as he stared at Virgil. He glanced toward the closed door again. Then he leaned in and spoke softly.

  “You will let me out?”

  “Answer the question. You bullshit me, no. You don’t bullshit me, maybe.”

  “I have told you so much already. So much to get myself killed by one or both of the brothers, so why maybe?” Johnny said. “Maybe is no bueno.”

  “Better than no,” Virgil said.

  Johnny chewed on the cigar and tipped his head toward the cells.

  “They cannot know,” he said. “Any of what I have said.”

  “Answer,” Virgil said.

  Johnny leaned closer and his eyes narrowed.

  “What will happen with Ventura and Victor?”

  “Johnny?” Virgil said.

  Johnny leaned in even closer.

  “There is a whore that Ventura knows. He is sweet on. He could be there, Victor, too, maybe.”

  Virgil glanced to me.

  “I am not bullshitting you. He has been staying there. Sleeping there.”

  “This at Lenora’s place?” I said. “The whorehouse where you boys got in the shit with the McCormick hand?”

  He shook his head.

  “No, señor.”

  “What’s this whore’s name?” I said.

  “I do not know her name,” he said, shaking his head. “But I think I can find her place.”

  Johnny smiled a little at Lloyd and nodded.

  “Don’t look at me, you prickly cactus,” Lloyd said. “Only thing I can offer you is to keep your good-for-nothing ass locked up until I’m told otherwise.”


  “You say you think you can find the place?” Virgil said.

  “Sí, I can show you where she is. I do not know if that is where Victor and Ventura are, but I can show you.”

  “Here?” I said. “The north end?”

  He nodded.

  “Sí. I will have to go there with you and show you. I do not know which whore place it is to tell you.”

  “Es falso,” Skeeter said.

  “Fuck you,” Johnny said. “I am not lying. Fuck you!”

  “You would like to, I know,” Skeeter said. “Maricón.”

  Johnny stared hard at Skeeter. He wanted to charge Skeeter. But it was clear. Johnny was seeing an opportunity. That if he played his cards right, he could get out of jail.

  “I do not have to tell you, you know. There are many whorehouses there on the north end of town,” he said with a point. “Between all the places, I am not sure. But when I see it I will know . . . I was only by there one time. But I will remember. You will see I can show you.”

  “You’ve seen this whore?” Virgil said.

  “No, señor. I never was inside. I only know the house. We waited there for Ventura before.”

  “Don’t bullshit me,” Virgil said.

  “No bullshit,” Johnny said.

  Virgil turned his head toward Lloyd and me.

  “Worth a try,” I said.

  Virgil nodded.

  34

  We picked up Johnny’s horse, Jasper, from Deek’s livery. Virgil, Skeeter, Johnny, and I mounted up and rode to the north end. We kept Johnny’s hands shackled and left the bridle off his horse in case he felt like trying to hightail it. I towed Jasper with Johnny in the saddle by a lead rope. We rode up through the twisty roads leading to the hilly section of the north end.

  One thing for certain that Johnny wasn’t bullshitting about was the quantity of whorehouses. With the growing number of businesses in and around Appaloosa and up and down the river, the north end was in full bloom. Most of the houses were cheap, small, two-story structures. Every place appeared to be only a slightly different version than the next. And the way the streets were laid out in this area of town—twisting and turning this way and that between brothels, saloons, and card houses—made navigating and searching for criminals damn near impossible. So finding what Johnny was looking for proved, for a time, to be a task without end. We stopped in front of a number of places before Johnny pointed out a two-story building that caught his attention.