Larry McMurtry - Comanche Moon

It was not a circumstance he wanted to be reminded of, on a morning so cold that he couldn't tell up from down--and he particularly resented being reminded of it by Woodrow Call, a man inept with women to such a degree that he had entangled himself with a whore. Maggie Tilton, the whore in question, was plenty pretty enough to marry, though so far, Woodrow had shown no sign of a willingness to marry her.

"You're no man to talk, shut up before I give you a licking," Gus said. It was an intolerable impertinence on the part of Woodrow Call to even mention Clara's name, especially at a time when they were having to struggle hard just to avoid freezing.

Call ignored the threat. Any mention of Clara Forsythe would provoke Augustus into a display of fisticuffso; it always had. Call himself avoided Clara when possible. He only went into the Forsythe store when he needed to buy cartridges or some other necessity. Though certainly pretty well beyond the norm, Clara Forsythe was so forward in speech that a man of good sense would plan his day with a view to avoiding her.

Even when she was only selling Call a box of cartridges or a tool of some sort, Clara would always find a way to direct a few ^ws to him, though--in his view--no ^ws were called for, other than a thank you. Instead of just handing him his change and wrapping up his purchase, Clara would always come out with some statement, seemingly mild, that would nonetheless manage to leave him with the impression that there was something not quite right about his behaviour. He could never figure out quite what he did to annoy Clara, but her tone with him always carried a hint of annoyance; a strong enough hint, in fact, that he tried to time his visits to the afns, when her father usually tended the store.

Maggie Tilton, the whore he liked to see, never gave him the sense that there was anything wrong with his behaviour--if anything, Maggie swung too far in the other direction. She could see no wrong in him at all, which made him feel almost as uncomfortable as Clara's needlegrass criticisms. Maybe the fact that one was a whore and the other respectable had something to do with it--in any case Augustus McCrae was the last person whose opinion he felt he needed to listen to. Gus's mood bobbed up and down like a cork, depending on whether Clara had been sweet to him or sour, soft or sharp, friendly or aloof. In Call's view no man, and particularly not a Texas Ranger, ought to allow himself to be blown back and forth by a woman's opinion. It wasn't right, and that was that.

Long Bill was close enough to hear Gus threaten to give Call a licking, a threat he had heard uttered before.

"What's got him riled?" Long Bill inquired.

"None of your business. Get gone, you fool!" Gus said.

"You must have swallowed a badger, Gus--I swear you're surly," Long Bill said. "I wonder if Famous Shoes has seen any wood we could make into a nice fire, while we're wandering." Before anyone could answer, Inish Scull, their captain, gave a loud yell of rage, wheeled Hector, and spurred him into a great lumbering run toward the west. The sleet spumed up in clouds behind him. Inish Scull didn't wave for the troop to follow him, or give any indication that he cared whether the twelve rangers came with him or not. He just charged away, leaving Famous Shoes standing alone by a large, steaming pile of horse turds which Hector had just deposited on the prairie.

"Well, there goes Captain Scull--I expect he's sighted his prey," Long Bill said, pulling his rifle from its scabbard. "We best whip up or we'll lose him." The troop, with Gus at its head, immediately clattered off after Captain Scull, but Call didn't follow, not at once. He didn't fear losing contact with the Captain while he was riding Hector--an elephant could not leave a much plainer track. He wanted to know what Famous Shoes had said to provoke the charge.

"Is it Kicking Wolf?" he asked the Kickapoo. "Is it going to be a fight?" Famous Shoes was a slight man with a deceptive gait. He never seemed to hurry, yet he had no trouble keeping up with a troop of horsemen. Even if the horsemen charged off, as Inish Scull and the whole troop had just done, Famous Shoes would usually manage to catch up with them by the time a campfire was made and coffee boiling. He moved fast, and yet no one ever saw him moving fast, a thing Call marvelled at. Sometimes he responded to questions and sometimes he didn't--but even if he chose to answer a given question, the answer would usually lay a little sideways to the question as it had been phrased.

At the moment he was looking closely at the smoky green pile of Hector's droppings.

"The Buffalo Horse has been eating prickly pear," he said. "I guess he don't like this icy grass." "Kicking Wolf," Call repeated. "Is it Kicking Wolf they went off after?" Famous Shoes looked at Call with mild surprise, his usual look when responding to direct questions. The look left Call with the feeling that he had missed something--what, he didn't know.

"No, Kicking Wolf is over by the Rio Pecos," Famous Shoes said. "The Captain will have to ride a faster horse if he wants to catch Kicking Wolf. The Buffalo Horse is too slow." That was Call's opinion too, but he didn't say it.

Then Famous Shoes turned away from the dung pile and gestured toward the west.

"Kicking Wolf didn't really want those horses--not the geldings," he said. "He only wanted the three studhorses, to breed to his young mares. Those are good young studhorses. They will make him some fine colts." "If he only kept three, what'd he do with the others?" Call asked.

"He butchered them," Famous Shoes said.

"His tribe took the meat, but the women didn't do a very good job of butchering all those horses. There is plenty of meat left. We can take it if we want to." "If we ain't going to catch Kicking Wolf today, maybe the Captain will let Deets cook up some of the meat," Call said. "We're all hungry." Deets was a young black man, making his second trip with the troop. He had been found sleeping in the stables one morning, covered with dust and hay. He had escaped from a large group of stolen slaves who were being driven into Mexico by the famous chief Wildcat, a Lipan who had perfected the practice of selling stolen slaves to rich Mexican ranchers. Call had been about to chase the boy off, for trespassing on ranger property, but Inish Scull liked Deets's looks and kept him to do the stable work. He was made a cook one day when the Captain happened to taste a stew he had cooked up for some black families who were at work building homes for the legislators.

Famous Shoes didn't reply, when Call mentioned eating. He seemed to live on coffee, rarely taking food with the rangers, though he .was known to have a fondness for potatoes. Often he would slip two or three raw spuds in his pouch, before setting off on a scout. Raw potatoes and a little jerky seemed to be what he lived on.

Call knew that he ought to be hurrying after the troop, but he could not resist lingering for a moment with Famous Shoes, in hopes of learning a little bit about tracking and scouting. Famous Shoes didn't look smart, yet he made his way across the llano as easily as Call would cross a street. Captain Scull was particular about scouts, as he was about everything. He didn't trust anybody--not even his wife, by some reports--yet he allowed Famous Shoes to wander for days at a stretch, even when they were in hostile territory. Call himself knew little about the Kickapoo tribe--they were supposed to be enemies of the Comanches, but what if they weren't?

What if, instead of helping them find the Indians, Famous Shoes was really helping the Indians find them?

Call thought he would try one more query, just to see if Famous Shoes could be persuaded to answer the question he was asked.

"I thought there was plentiful antelope, up here on the plains," he said. "I've et antelope and it's a sight tastier than horsemeat. But we ain't seen an antelope this whole trip.