Larry McMurtry - Comanche Moon

"Gus is late," Call observed.

"Maybe he didn't win the fight." "I imagine he won it," Long Bill said.

"I suppose Gus could handle two Germans, even if he was heartbroken." Call kept expecting to see Augustus ride up at any minute, but he didn't. They were all saddled up and ready. It was vexing to wait.

"His horse ain't here, Captain," Long Bill said. "Maybe he left without us." "I can't get used to you calling me "Captainea"' Bill," Call said. It was as an honest dilemma. He and Long Bill had been equal as rangers for years, and, in not a few instances, Long Bill, who was five years older than Call, had shown himself to be more than equal in judgment and skill. He was better with skittish horses than Call was, to name only one skill at which he excelled. Yet, through the whim of Captain Scull, he and Gus had been elevated, while Long Bill was still a common ranger. It was a troubling consideration that wouldn't leave his mind.

Long Bill, though he appreciated the comment, had no trouble with the shift in status. He was a humble man and considered himself happy in the love of his wife and the friendship of his comrades in arms.

"No, that's the way it ought to be," he said.

"You're in this for the long haul, Woodrow, andwith me it's just temporary." "Temporary? You've been at it as long as I have, Bill," Call said.

"Yes, but Pearl and me are having a baby," Long Bill confided. "I expect that's one reason she was so upset. She made me promise this would be my last trip with you and the boys --t's a promise I have to keep. Rangering is mostly for bachelors. Married fellows oughtn't to be taking these risks." "Bill, I didn't know," Call said, startled by the similarity of their circumstances.

Long Bill had fathered a child and now Maggie was claiming he had done the same.

"You're welcome to stay if you feel you need to," he told Long Bill. "You've done your share of rangering. You did it long ago." "Why, no, Captain. I'm here and I'll go," Long Bill said. "I mean to have one last jaunt before I settle down." Just then they saw Augustus McCrae come around the corner by the saloon. Gus was walking slowly, leading his horse. Call saw that he was heading across the street toward the Forsythe store, which was not yet open, it being barely dawn. Call wondered if the matter of Clara's marriage was really as settled a thing as everyone seemed to think.

"There he is, headed for Clara's," Long Bill said. "Shall we wait for him?" Call saw Gus turn his face toward where they sat, already mounted. Gus didn't wave, but he did see them. Though anxious to get started, Call hated to ride out without his friend.

"I guess he'll catch up with us--he knows which way we're headed," Jake Spoon said.

He was anxious to get started before he grew any more apprehensive.

"If he lives he might," Long Bill said, looking at the man walking slowly across the street, leading his horse.

"Well, why wouldn't he live?" Jake asked.

Long Bill did not reply. What he knew was that Gus McCrae was mighty fond of Clara Forsythe, and now she was gone for good. He was not stepping high or jaunty, and Gus was usually a high-stepper, in the mornings. Of course Bill didn't feel like explaining it to a green boy such as Jake.

Call too saw the dejection in Gus's walk.

"I expect he's just going to say goodbye," Call said. "We better wait. He might appreciate the company."

Augustus felt queasy in his stomach and achy in his head from a long night of drinking, but he wanted one last ^w with Clara, even though he didn't expect it to improve his spirits much. But, since the day he had met her, every time he rode out of Austin on patrol he had stopped by to say goodbye to Clara. She wasn't quite a married woman yet--one more goodbye wouldn't be improper.

Clara was expecting him. When she saw him come round to the back of the store she went out barefoot to meet him. A wind whistled through the street, ruffling the feathers of some chickens that were pecking away on the little slope behind the store.

"It's cold, you'll get goose bumps," Gus said, when he saw that she was barefoot.

Clara shrugged. She saw that one of his eyes was puffyou.

"Who'd you fight?" she asked.

"Didn't get their names," Gus said. "But they were rude. I won't tolerate rude behaviour." To his surprise he saw tears shining on Clara's cheeks.

"Why, now, what's the matter?" he asked, concerned. "I ain't hurt. It wasn't much of a fight." "I'm not crying about the fight," Clara said.

"Then why are you crying?" he asked. He hitched his horse and sat down by her for a moment on the step. He cautiously put his arm around her, not knowing if that was still proper--Clara not only accepted it, she moved closer and clasped his hand, tight.

"It's hard to say goodbye to old boyfriends-- especially you," she said. "That's why." "If it's so dern hard, then why are you?" Gus asked her. "Where's the sense?" Clara shrugged again, as he had when he told her she had goose bumps.

Then she put her head in her arms and cried harder, for a minute or two. Gus didn't know what to think, or what to say.

When Clara finished crying she wiped her eyes on her skirt and turned to him once more.

"Give me a kiss, now, Gus," she said.

"Well, that's always been easy to manage," he said. When they kissed he felt a salty wetness, from the tears on her cheeks.

As soon as the kiss was over, Clara stood up.

"Go along now," she said. "I hope to see you in Nebraska in about ten years." "You will see me," Gus said. He looked up at her again. He had never seen her look lovelier. He had never loved her more. Unable to manage his feelings, he jumped on his horse, waved once, and trotted away. He looked back but didn't wave.

Clara stood up and dried her cheeks-- despite herself, tears kept spilling out. Her father and mother would be up soon, she knew, but she didn't feel like facing them, just yet. She walked slowly around the store to the street in front of it. The six departing rangers were just passing. Call and Gus, both silent, were in the lead. Clara stood back in the shadows--she didn't want them to see her, and they didn't.

Along the street, also hidden in the shadow of buildings, two other women watched the rangers leave: Maggie Tilton and Pearl Coleman.

Maggie, like Clara, had tears on her cheeks; but Pearl Coleman was entirely convulsed with grief. Before the rangers were even well out of town she began to wail aloud.

Maggie and Clara both heard Pearl's loud wailing and knew what caused it. Maggie knew Pearl from the old days, when she had been married to a bartender named Dan Leary, the victim of a random gunshot that killed him stone dead one night when he stepped outside to empty an overflowing spittoon. Some cowboys had been shooting off guns outside a bordello--one of the bullets evidently fell from the sky and killed Dan Leary instantly.

Clara too knew Pearl--she was a frequent customer at the store. She started up the street, meaning to try and comfort her, and was almost there when Maggie came out of the alley, bent on the same errand.

"Why, hello," Clara said. "I guess Pearl's mighty sad, because Bill's run off again, so soon." "I expect so," Maggie said. She started to stop and leave the comforting to Clara, but Clara motioned for her to come along.

"Don't you be hanging back," Clara said.

"This job is big enough for both of us." Maggie, ever aware of her position, glanced down the street but saw only one man, an old farmer who was urinating beside a small wagon.

When they reached Pearl she was so upset she couldn't talk. She was a large woman wearing an old blue nightdress; her back shook, as she cried, and her ample bosom heaved.

"He's gone and he won't be back," Pearl said. "He's gone and this baby inside me will never have a father--I know it!" "Now you shush, Pearl, that ain't true," Maggie said. "This trip they're taking is just a short trip. They'll all be back." She said it, but in her own mind were fears for her own child, whose father also might never return.