Charles Portis - True Grit

“I can do nothing for you, son,” said Rooster. “Your pard has killed you and I have done for him.”

“Don’t leave me laying here. Don’t let the wolves make an end of me.”

“I will see you are buried right, though the ground is hard,” said Rooster. “You must tell me about Ned. Where did you see him?”

“We seen him two days ago at McAlester’s, him and Haze. They are coming here tonight to get remounts and supper. They are robbing the Katy Flyer at Wagoner’s Switch if the snow don’t stop them.”

“There is four of them?”

“They wanted four horses, that is all I know. Ned was Quincy’s friend, not mine. I would not blow on a friend. I was afraid there would be shooting and I would not have a chance bound up like I was. I am bold in a fight.”

Rooster said, “Did you see a man with a black mark on his face?”

“I didn’t see nobody but Ned and Haze. When it comes to a fight I am right there where it is warmest but if I have time to think on it I am not true. Quincy hated all the laws but he was true to his friends.”

“What time did they say they would be here?”

“I looked for them before now. My brother is George Garrett. He is a Methodist circuit rider in south Texas. I want you to sell my traps, Rooster, and send the money to him in care of the district superintendent in Austin. The dun horse is mine, I paid for him. We got them others last night at Mr. Burlingame’s.”

I said, “Do you want us to tell your brother what happened to you?”

He said, “It don’t matter about that. He knows I am on the scout. I will meet him later walking the streets of Glory.”

Rooster said, “Don’t be looking for Quincy.”

“Quincy was always square with me,” said Moon. “He never played me false until he killed me. Let me have a drink of cold water.”

LaBoeuf brought him some water in a cup. Moon reached for it with the bloody stump and then took it with the other hand. He said, “It feels like I still have fingers there but I don’t.” He drank deep and it caused him pain. He talked a little more but in a rambling manner and to no sensible purpose. He did not respond to questions. Here is what was in his eyes: confusion. Soon it was all up with him and he joined his friend in death. He looked about thirty pounds lighter.

LaBoeuf said, “I told you we should have separated them.”

Rooster said nothing to that, not wishing to own he had made a mistake. He went through the pockets of the dead thieves and put such oddments as he found upon the table. The lantern was beyond repair and LaBoeuf brought out a candle from his saddle wallet and lit it and fixed it on the table. Rooster turned up a few coins and cartridges and notes of paper money and a picture of a pretty girl torn from an illustrated paper and pocket knives and a plug of tobacco. He also found a California gold piece in Quincy’s vest pocket.

I fairly shouted when I saw it. “That is my father’s gold piece!” said I. “Let me have it!”

It was not a round coin but a rectangular slug of gold that was minted in “The Golden State” and was worth thirty-six dollars and some few cents. Rooster said, “I never seen a piece like this before. Are you sure it is the one?” I said, “Yes, Grandfather Spurling gave Papa two of these when he married Mama. That scoundrel Chaney has still got the other one. We are on his trail for certain!”

“We are on Ned’s trail anyhow,” said Rooster. “I expect it is the same thing. I wonder how Quincy got aholt of this. Is this Chaney a gambler?”

LaBoeuf said, “He likes a game of cards. I reckon Ned has called off the robbery if he is not here by now.”

“Well, we won’t count on that,” said Rooster. “Saddle the horses and I will lug these boys out.”

“Do you aim to run?” said LaBoeuf.

Rooster turned a glittering eye on him. “I aim to do what I come out here to do,” said he. “Saddle the horses.”

Rooster directed me to straighten up the inside of the dugout. He carried the bodies out and concealed them in the woods. I sacked up the turkey fragments and pitched the wrecked lantern into the fireplace and stirred around on the dirt floor with a stick to cover the blood. Rooster was planning an ambush.

When he came back from his second trip to the woods he brought a load of limbs for the fireplace. He built up a big fire so there would be light and smoke and indicate that the cabin was occupied. Then we went out and joined LaBoeuf and the horses in the brush arbor. This dwelling, as I have said, was set back in a hollow where two slopes pinched together in a kind of V. It was a good place for what Rooster had in mind.

He directed LaBoeuf to take his horse and find a position up on the north slope about midway along one stroke of the V, and explained that he would take up a corresponding position on the south slope. Nothing was said about me with regard to the plan and I elected to stay with Rooster.

He said to LaBoeuf, “Find you a good place up yonder and then don’t move about. Don’t shoot unless you hear me shoot. What we want is to get them all in the dugout. I will kill the last one to go in and then we will have them in a barrel.”

“You will shoot him in the back?” asked LaBoeuf.

“It will give them to know our intentions is serious. These ain’t chicken thieves. I don’t want you to start shooting unless they break. After my first shot I will call down and see if they will be taken alive. If they won’t we will shoot them as they come out.”

“There is nothing in this plan but a lot of killing,” said LaBoeuf. “We want Chelmsford alive, don’t we? You are not giving them any show.”

“It is no use giving Ned and Haze a show. If they are taken they will hang and they know it. They will go for a fight every time. The others may be chicken-hearted and give up, I don’t know. Another thing, we don’t know how many there is. I do know there is just two of us.”

“Why don’t I try to wing Chelmsford before he gets inside?”

“I don’t like that,” said Rooster. “If there is any shooting before they get in that dugout we are likely to come up with a empty sack. I want Ned too. I want all of them.”

“All right,” said LaBoeuf. “But if they do break I am going for Chelmsford.”

“You are liable to kill him with that big Sharps no matter where you hit him. You go for Ned and I will try to nick this Chaney in the legs.”

“What does Ned look like?”

“He is a little fellow. I don’t know what he will be riding. He will be doing a lot of talking. Just go for the littlest one.”

“What if they hole up in there for a siege? They may figure on staying till dark and then breaking.”

“I don’t think they will,” said Rooster. “Now don’t keep on with this. Get on up there. If something queer turns up you will just have to use your head.”

“How long will we wait?”

“Till daylight anyhow.”

“I don’t think they are coming now.”

“Well, you may be right. Now move. Keep your eyes open and your horse quiet. Don’t go to sleep and don’t get the ‘jimjams.’”

Rooster took a cedar bough and brushed around over all our tracks in front of the dugout. Then we took our horses and led them up the hill in a roundabout route along a rocky stream bed. We went over the crest and Rooster posted me there with the horses. He told me to talk to them or give them some oats or put my hand over their nostrils if they started blowing or neighing. He put some corn dodgers in his pocket and left to go for his ambush position.

I said, “I cannot see anything from here.”

He said, “This is where I want you to stay.”

“I am going with you where I can see something.”