Larry McMurtry - Comanche Moon

There he had met her; there, for years, they had kissed, quarrelled, joked, teased; often they had made plans for a future together, a future they would now never have.

When he walked into the little room in the rough bunkhouse that he shared with Woodrow Call, what he felt in his heart must have showed in his face.

Woodrow was just about to go out, but the sight of Gus stopped him. He had never seen Gus with quite such a strange look on his face.

"Are you sick?" Call asked.

Gus made no reply. He sat down on his cot and took off his hat.

"I have to pay a call, but I'll be back soon," Call said. "The Governor wants to see us again." "Why? We done saw him, the fool," Gus asked.

"We're captains now," Call reminded him. "Did you think we were just going to see him that one time?" "Yes, I had hoped I wouldn't have to look at the jackass again," Gus said.

"I don't know what's the matter," Call said, "but I hope it wears off quick. You needn't be sulky just because the Governor wants to see us." Augustus suddenly drew back his fist and punched the center of the cot he sat on, as hard as he could. The cot, a spindly-legged thing, immediately collapsed.

"Dern it, now you broke your bed," Call said in surprise.

"Don't matter, I won't be sleeping in it anyway," Augustus said. "I wish that damn governor would send us off again today, because I'm ready to go. If I ain't rangering I mean to be out drinking all night, or else reside in a whorehouse." Call had no idea what had come over his friend --bbf he could investigate, Augustus suddenly got up and walked past him out the door.

"I'll be down at the saloon, in case you lose my track," he said.

"I doubt I'll lose your track," Call said, still puzzled. By then Augustus was in the street, and he didn't turn.

Call, about to leave Maggie's, was in a hurry, aware that he was almost late for his appointment with the Governor, and he still had to find Gus and drag him out of whatever saloon he was in. He didn't at first understand what Maggie had just said to him. She had said something about a child, but his mind was on his meeting with the Governor and he hadn't quite taken her comment in.

"What? I guess I need to clean out my ears," he said.

Maggie didn't want to repeat it--she didn't want it to be true, and yet it was true.

"I said I'm going to have a baby," she said.

Call looked at Maggie again and saw that she was about to cry. She had just made him coffee and fed him a tasty beefsteak, the best food he had had in a month. She had a plate in her hand, but the hand that held the plate was not steady. Of course, she usually got upset when he had to leave, even if he was just going to the bunkhouse. Maggie wanted him to live with her, a thing he could not agree to do. The part about the baby hardly registered with him until he saw the look in her eyes. The look in her eyes was desperate.

"The baby's yours, Woodrow," she said.

"I'm hoping you'll help me bring it up." Call took his hand off the doorknob.

"It's mine?" he asked, puzzled.

"Well, it's ours, I mean," Maggie said, watching his face as she said it, to see if there was any hope at all. For three weeks, ever since she was sure that she was pregnant, she had anguished over how to tell Woodrow. Over and over she practiced how she would tell him. Her best hope, her nicest dream, was that Woodrow would want the baby to be his and also, maybe, want to marry her and care for her as his wife.

Sometimes Maggie could imagine such a thing happening, when she thought about Woodrow and the baby, but mostly she had the opposite conviction. He might hate the notion--in fact he probably would hate it. He might walk out the door and never see her again. After all, he was a Texas Ranger captain now, and she was just a whore. He was not obligated to come back to see her, much less to marry her or help her with the child. Every time she thought of telling him, Maggie felt despair--she didn't know what it would mean for their future.

But she .was pregnant, a truth that would soon be apparent.

Now the ^ws were out--Woodrow just seemed puzzled. He had not flinched or looked at her cruelly.

"Well, Maggie," he said, and stopped. He seemed mainly distracted. Maggie had put on her robe but hadn't tied it yet; he was looking at her belly as if he expected to see what she was talking about.

"This is surprising news," he said, rather stiffly, but with no anger in his voice.

The fact was, Call had set his mind on the next task, which was locating Gus and getting on to the Governor's office. He had never been good at getting his mind to consider two facts at once, much less two big facts. Maggie was slim and lovely, no different than she had been the day he had ridden off to Fort Belknap. It occurred to him that she might just be having a fancy of some kind--Gus had told him that Clara often had fancies about babies. Maybe she had just got it into her head that she was having a baby. It might be something like Gus McCrae's conviction that he was going to stumble onto a gold mine, every time they went out on patrol. Gus was always poking into holes and caves, looking for his gold mine. But there wasn't a gold mine in any of the caves and there might not be a baby in Maggie, either.

What he didn't want to do was upset her, just when it was necessary to leave. She had been sweet to him on his return and had fixed him a tasty meal at her expense.

Maggie was a little encouraged by the fact that Woodrow didn't seem angry. He had an appointment with the Governor and was clearly eager to get out the door, which was normal. If he went on with his task, perhaps he would think about the baby and come to like the notion.

"You go on, I know you're in a hurry," she said.

"Why, yes, we can discuss this later," Call said, relieved that no further delay was required.

He tipped his hat to her before going out the door.

The minute he left, Maggie hurried over to the window so she could watch him as he walked down the street. She had always liked the way he walked. He was not a graceful man, particularly. Even when he was relaxed he moved a little stiffly--but his very awkwardness touched her.

He needed someone to take care of him, Woodrow did, and Maggie wanted to be the one to do it. She knew she could take care of him fine, without ever letting him suspect that he needed to be taken care of. She knew, too, that he liked to feel independent.

Maggie just wanted her chance.

Despite herself, watching him walk away, her heart swelled with hope. He hadn't said anything bad, when she told him about the baby. He had not even looked annoyed, and he often looked annoyed if she asked him any question at all, or detained him even for a minute, when he was in a hurry to leave. An appointment with the Governor was important, and yet he had stopped and listened to her.

Maybe, after all, the whoring was over, she thought. Maybe Woodrow Call, the only man she had ever loved, would think about it all and decide to marry her. Maybe he was going to make her dream come true.

Inez Scull, dressed entirely in black, was sitting in Governor Pease's office when Call and Augustus were ushered in. Bingham had come to fetch them and had not said a ^w on the buggy ride. What was more surprising to Call was that Gus had not said a ^w either. In the whole stretch of their friendship Call could not remember an occasion when Gus had been silent for so long--andthe buggy ride only took ten minutes, not a long silence by normal standards.

"Are you sick, or are you so drunk you can't even talk?" Call asked, near the end of the ride.

Augustus continued to stare off into the distance. He did not speak a ^w. In his mind's eye he saw the woman he loved--the woman he would always love--steaming up a broad brown river with Bob Allen, horse trader of Nebraska. His rival had won; that was the bleak fact. He saw no reason to chatter just to please Woodrow Call.