Butcher's Crossing by John Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

party.”
    “What kind do you need?” Andrews asked.
    Miller did not look at him. “The kind that’ll let it be my hunt. They ain’t many places like this left, and I never wanted any of the other hunters along.”
    Andrews felt an obscure excitement growing within him. “How many men would it take for a party like this?”
    “That would depend,” Miller said, “on who was getting it up. Five, six, seven men in most parties. Myself, on this hunt, I’d keep it small. One hunter would be enough, because he’d have all the time he needed to make his kill; he could keep the buffalo in the valley all the time he needs. A couple of skinners and a camp man. Four men ought to be able to do the job about right. And the fewer the men, the bigger the take will be.”
    Andrews did not speak. On the edge of his sight, Francine moved forward and put her elbows on the table. Charley Hoge took a deep, sharp breath, and coughed gently. After a long while, Andrews said:
    “Could you get up a party this late in the year?”
    Miller nodded, and looked over Andrews’s head. “Could be done, I suppose.”
    There was a silence. Andrews said: “How much money would it take?”
    Miller’s eyes lowered and met Andrews’s; he smiled slightly. “Are you just talking, son, or have you got yourself interested in something?”
    “I’ve got myself interested,” Andrews said. “How much money would it take?”
    “Well, now,” Miller said. “I hadn’t thought serious about going out this year.” He drummed his heavy pale fingers on the table top. “But I suppose I could think about it, now.”
    Charley Hoge coughed again, and added an inch of whisky to his half-filled glass.
    “My stake’s pretty low,” Miller said. “Whoever came in would have to put up just about all the money.”
    “How much?” Andrews said.
    “And even so,” Miller continued, “he’d have to understand that it would still be my hunt. He’d have to understand that.”
    “Yes,” Andrews said. “How much would it take?”
    “How much money you got, son?” Miller asked gently.
    “A little over fourteen hundred dollars,” Andrews said.
    “You’d want to go along, of course.”
    Andrews hesitated. Then he nodded.
    “To work, I mean. To help with the skinning.”
    Andrews nodded again.
    “It would still be my hunt, you understand,” Miller said.
    Andrews said: “I understand.”
    “Well, it might be arranged,” Miller said, “if you wanted to put up the money for the team and provisions.”
    “What would we need?” Andrews asked.
    “We’d need a wagon and a team,” Miller said slowly. “Most often the team is mules, but a mule needs grain. A team of oxen could live off the land, going and coming, and they pull a heavy enough load. They’re slow, but we wouldn’t be in a great hurry. You got a horse?”
    “No,” Andrews said.
    “We’d need a horse for you, and maybe for the skinner, whoever he is. You shoot a gun?”
    “Do you mean a—pistol?”
    Miller smiled tightly. “No man in his right mind has any use for them little things,” he said, “unless he wants to get killed. I mean a rifle.”
    “No,” Andrews said.
    “We ought to get you a small rifle. I’ll need powder and lead—say a ton of lead and five hundred pounds of powder. If we don’t use it all, we can get refunds. In the mountains, we can live off the land, but we have to have food going and coming back. Couple of sacks of flour, ten pounds of coffee, twenty of sugar, couple pounds of salt, a few sides of bacon, twenty pounds of beans. We’ll need some kettles and a few tools. A little grain for the horses. I’d say five or six hundred dollars would do it easy.”
    “That’s nearly half of all the money I have,” Andrews said.
    Miller shrugged. “It’s a lot of money. But you stand to make a lot more. With a good wagon, we ought to be able to load in close to a thousand skins. They should bring us near twenty-five hundred dollars. If there’s a big