Free Butcher's Crossing by John Williams Page B

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?”