Charles Portis - True Grit

The slope was gentle at first and then it fell off rather sharply. The brush grew thicker and I checked my descent by grabbing bushes. Down and down I went. As I neared the bottom, dreading the return climb, I heard splashing and blowing noises. My thought was: What on earth! Then I came into the open on a creek bank. On the other side there was a man watering some horses.

The man was none other than Tom Chaney!

You may readily imagine that I registered shock at the sight of that squat assassin. He had not yet seen me, nor heard me either because of the noise made by the horses. His rifle was slung across his back on the cotton plow line. I thought to turn and run but I could not move. I stood there fixed.

Then he saw me. He gave a start and brought the rifle quickly into play. He held the rifle on me and peered across the little stream and studied me.

He said, “Well, now, I know you. Your name is Mattie. You are little Mattie the bookkeeper. Isn’t this something.” He grinned and took the rifle from play and slung it carelessly over a shoulder.

I said, “Yes, and I know you, Tom Chaney.”

He said, “What are you doing here?”

I said, “I came to fetch water.”

“What are you doing here in these mountains?”

I reached into the bucket and brought out my dragoon revolver. I dropped the bucket and held the revolver in both hands. I said, “I am here to take you back to Fort Smith.”

Chaney laughed and said, “Well, I will not go. How do you like that?”

I said, “There is a posse of officers up on the hill who will force you to go.”

“That is interesting news,” said he. “How many is up there?”

“Right around fifty. They are all well armed and they mean business. What I want you to do now is leave those horses and come across the creek and walk in front of me up the hill.”

He said, “I think I will oblige the officers to come after me.” He began to gather the horses together. There were five of them but Papa’s horse Judy was not among them.

I said, “If you refuse to go I will have to shoot you.”

He went on with his work and said, “Oh? Then you had better cock your piece.”

I had forgotten about that. I pulled the hammer back with both thumbs.

“All the way back till it locks,” said Chaney.

“I know how to do it,” said I. When it was ready I said, “You will not go with me?”

“I think not,” said he. “It is just the other way around. You are going with me.”

I pointed the revolver at his belly and shot him down. The explosion kicked me backwards and caused me to lose my footing and the pistol jumped from my hand. I lost no time in recovering it and getting to my feet. The ball had struck Chaney’s side and knocked him into a sitting position against a tree. I heard Rooster or LaBoeuf call out for me. “I am down here!” I replied. There was another shout from the hill above Chaney.

He was holding both hands down on his side. He said, “I did not think you would do it.”

I said, “What do you think now?”

He said, “One of my short ribs is broken. It hurts every breath I take.”

I said, “You killed my father when he was trying to help you. I have one of the gold pieces you took from him. Now give me the other.”

“I regret that shooting,” said he. “Mr. Ross was decent to me but he ought not to have meddled in my business. I was drinking and I was mad through and through. Nothing has gone right for me.”

There was more yelling from the hills.

I said, “No, you are just a piece of trash, that is all. They say you shot a senator in the state of Texas.”

“That man threatened my life. I was justified. Everything is against me. Now I am shot by a child.”

“Get up on your feet and come across that creek before I shoot you again. My father took you in when you were hungry.”

“You will have to help me up.”

“No, I will not help you. Get up yourself.”

He made a quick move for a chunk of wood and I pulled the trigger and the hammer snapped on a bad percussion cap. I made haste to try another chamber but the hammer snapped dead again. I had not time for a third try. Chaney flung the heavy piece of wood and it caught me in the chest and laid me out backwards.

He came splashing across the creek and he jerked me up by my coat and commenced slapping me and cursing me and my father. That was his cur nature, to change from a whining baby to a vicious bully as circumstances permitted. He stuck my revolver in his belt and pulled me stumbling through the water. The horses were milling about and he managed to catch two of them by their halters while holding me with the other hand.

I heard Rooster and LaBoeuf crashing down through the brush behind us and calling out for me. “Down here! Hurry up!” I shouted, and Chaney let go of my coat just long enough to give me another stinging slap.

I must tell you that the slopes rose steeply on either side of the creek. Just as the two peace officers were running down on one side, so were Chaney’s bandit friends running down the other, so that both parties were converging on the hollow and the little mountain stream.

The bandits won the foot race. There were two of them and one was a little man in “woolly chaps” whom I rightly took to be Lucky Ned Pepper. He was still hatless. The other was taller and a quite well-dressed man in a linen suit and a bearskin coat, and his hat tied fast by a slip-string under his chin. This man was the Mexican gambler who called himself The Original Greaser Bob. They broke upon us suddenly and poured a terrible volley of fire across the creek with their Winchester repeating rifles. Lucky Ned Pepper said to Chaney, “Take them horses you got and move!”

Chaney did as he was told and we started up with the horses. It was hard climbing. Lucky Ned Pepper and the Mexican remained behind and exchanged shots with Rooster and LaBoeuf while trying to catch the other horses. I heard running splashes as one of the officers reached the creek, then a flurry of shots as he was made to retreat.

Chaney had to stop and catch his breath after thirty or forty yards of pulling me and the two horses behind him. Blood showed through on his shirt. Lucky Ned Pepper and Greaser Bob overtook us there. They were pulling two horses. I supposed the fifth horse had run away or been killed. The leads of these two horses were turned over to Chaney and Lucky Ned Pepper said to him, “Get on up that hill and don’t be stopping again!”

The bandit chieftain took me roughly by the arm. He said, “Who all is down there?”

“Marshal Cogburn and fifty more officers,” said I.

He shook me like a terrier shaking a rat. “Tell me another lie and I will stove in your head!” Part of his upper lip was missing, a sort of gap on one side that caused him to make a whistling noise as he spoke. Three or four teeth were broken off there as well, yet he made himself clearly understood.

Thinking it best, I said, “It is Marshal Cogburn and another man.”

He flung me to the ground and put a boot on my neck to hold me while he reloaded his rifle from a cartridge belt. He shouted out, “Rooster, can you hear me?” There was no reply. The Original Greaser was standing there with us and he broke the silence by firing down the hill. Lucky Ned Pepper shouted, “You answer me, Rooster! I will kill this girl! You know I will do it!”

Rooster called up from below, “The girl is nothing to me! She is a runaway from Arkansas!”

“That’s very well!” said Lucky Ned Pepper. “Do you advise me to kill her?”

“Do what you think is best, Ned!” replied Rooster. “She is nothing to me but a lost child! Think it over first.”

“I have already thought it over! You and Potter get mounted double fast! If I see you riding over that bald ridge to the northwest I will spare the girl! You have five minutes!”