Larry McMurtry - Comanche Moon

"What is the news?" he asked.

"The news is that I'm off to the Sierra Perdida, if anyone cares to know," Scull said.

Then he walked away, following the tracks of his big horse, toward the blue mountains ahead.

They had removed the young caballero's clothes and were tying him to the skinning post outside the big cave when Tudwal came loping into camp with news he thought Ahumado would want to hear.

Ahumado sat on a blanket outside the cave, watching old Goyeto sharpening his skinning knives. The blades of the old man's knives were thin as razors. He only used them when Ahumado wanted him to take the skin off a man. The young caballero had let a cougar slip into the horses and kill a foal. Though Ahumado never rode, himself--he preferred to walk--he was annoyed with the young man for letting a fine colt get eaten by the cougar.

Ahumado also preferred sun to shade. Even on the hottest days he seldom went into the big cave, or any of the caves that dotted the Yellow Cliffs. He put his blanket where the sun would shine on it all day, and, all day, he sat on it. He never covered himself from the sun--he let it make him blacker and blacker.

Tudwal dismounted well back from the skinning post and waited respectfully for Ahumado to summon him and hear his news. Sometimes Ahumado summoned him quickly, but at other times the wait was long. When the old man was meting out punishment, as he was about to do, it was unwise to interrupt him, no matter how urgent the news.

Ahumado was deliberate about everything, but he was particularly deliberate about punishment. He didn't punish casually; he made a ceremony of it, and he expected everyone in camp to stop whatever they were doing and attend to what was being done to the one receiveg the punishment.

When the young caballero, stripped and trembling with fear, had been securely tied to the skinning post, Ahumado motioned for old Goyeto to come with him. The two men were about the same age and about the same height, but of different complexions.

Goyeto was a milky brown, Ahumado like an old black rock. Goyeto had seven knives, which he wore on a narrow belt, each in a soft deerskin sheath. He was bent almost double with age, and only had one eye, but he had been skinning men for Ahumado for many years and was a master with the knives. He carried with him a little pot of blue dye to mark the places that Ahumado wanted skinned. The last man whose skin he had removed entirely was a German who had tried to make away with some rocks he had taken from one of Ahumado's caves. Ahumado did not like his caves disturbed, not by a German or anybody.

It was rare, though, for him to order a whole man skinned--often Goyeto would only skin an arm or a leg or a backside, or even an intimate part. Tudwal didn't expect him to be that hard on the young vaquero, who had only made a small, understandable mistake.

It soon developed that he was right. Ahumado took the little pot of dye and drew a line from the nape of the caballero's neck straight down to his heel. The line was not even an inch wide.

Ahumado lifted the boy's foot, drew the line across the sole of his foot, and stepped around him to the other side. Then he carefully continued the line all the way up to the boy's chin.

Ahumado pulled the boy's face around so he could look right in his eye.

"I do not raise horses for cougars to eat," he said. "I am going to have Goyeto take an inch of your skin. Goyeto is so good with the knives that you may not feel it. But if you do feel it please don't yell too much. If you disturb me with too much yelling I may have him skin your cojones or maybe one of your eyeballs." Then he walked back to his blanket and sat down. He could see that Tudwal was anxious to tell him something. Usually, while a torture was being performed, he made his couriers wait--it was hard to take in the news accurately when a man was screaming only a few feet away. But Tudwal had been sent north, toward the border, and it was never wise to ignore news from the border country.

He motioned to Tudwal, who came hurrying over. Just as he got there old Goyeto made a few cuts and began to peel the little strip of skin down the nape of the young caballero's neck. The boy, not understanding that he was being given only a light punishment, began to scream as loudly as he could. As Goyeto pulled and cut, pulling the strip below the boy's shoulder blades, the boy screamed so loudly that it was impossible to hear Tudwal's news. Before the strip of skin was pulled away past his hips the boy fainted, and Goyeto stopped and squatted on his heels.

Ahumado did not approve of him skinning unconscious men.

"Two Comanches are coming," Tudwal said quickly. "They are almost to the Yellow Canyon now." Ahumado was disappointed by the quality of news from the north. Two Comanches were worthless. He had been hoping that Tudwal might have spotted a party of rich travellers, or perhaps a small troop of federales. The rich people might have money and jewels with them; the soldiers they could torture.

He motioned for Goyeto to get on with things, so Goyeto pricked the caballero's cojones with the knives until he woke up. Soon he was screaming again, though not so loudly.

Of course Tudwal had known that Ahumado would not be excited to hear about the two Comanches; he decided to spring the news that he had been holding back.

"One of the Comanches is riding the Buffalo Horse," he said. "Scull's horse." Ahumado had been watching the practiced way Goyeto twisted the boy's foot up and held it between his knees as he continued to peel the strip of skin across the sole. Goyeto's expert knife work was a pleasure to watch. It took a moment for Tudwal's information to register with him. The boy was screaming more loudly again.

"Scull's horse?" Ahumado asked.

"Scull's horse," Tudwal said. "I have more news too." "You are a braggart," Ahumado informed him.

"You are no better than a crow." The old man's face was thin. His eyes were as flint when he was displeased, and he was often displeased.

"But I am the Crow Who Sees," Tudwal said. "I have seen the two Comanches and I have seen Scull. He is following the Comanches on foot, and he is alone." "Scull wants to kill me," Ahumado mentioned. "If he is alone, why didn't you catch him?" "I am only a crow," Tudwal said. "How can I be expected to catch such a fierce man?" "I think Scull wants his horse back," Ahumado said. "There is no other horse like the Buffalo Horse." "Maybe he wants his horse back, I don't know," Tudwal said. "Maybe he just wants to visit you." Ahumado watched as Goyeto worked the strip of skin up the boy's leg. He worked with such delicacy that the wound hardly bled.

Nonetheless, when the peel reached his hip, the young caballero fouled himself. Then, for the second time, he fainted.

"I am going to sell this boy as a slave, when he wakes up," Ahumado said. "He is too cowardly to work for me. If the federales caught him and squeezed his cojones he might betray me." Tudwal agreed. Only a little skinning had reduced the young caballero to a sorry state.

"What do you think those Comanches want?" Ahumado asked. "I am asking you because you are the Crow Who Sees." Tudwal knew he had better be careful.

When Ahumado was disappointed in one of his men, his disappointment could turn into fury, but a cold fury. The old man kept his eyes hidden and spoke in soft tones, so that the man he was angry with could not see, until it was too late, that his eyes were like those of a striking snake. Someone would be struck, usually to the death, when Ahumado began to question things.

"One of the Comanches is a man called Kicking Wolf," Tudwal ventured. "He took the Buffalo Horse. Maybe he means to sell him to you." The old man, the Black Vaquero, said nothing. Tudwal was scared, and when he was scared, he spoke nonsense. Ahumado did not buy horses from the Comanches, or do anything else with them except kill them. The best any Comanche could expect from him was a quick death. The Comanche who was bringing him the Buffalo Horse was doing a foolish thing, or else he was playing a trick.