Larry McMurtry - Comanche Moon

Outside, the war cries came closer. She heard horses go right by the smokehouse. Three Indians went into the smokehouse, just above her-- she heard them knocking over crocks and carrying off some of the meat that hung there. Something that smelled like vinegar dripped onto her through a fine crack in the floor.

But the Comanches didn't find her. Two braves stood not far from the hog wallow for a moment, but then mounted and loped off, probably to seek more victims. They didn't fire the smokehouse but they fired the rooming house. She could smell the smoke and hear the crackle of flames. She was afraid the rooming house might fall onto the smokehouse and set it on fire, but didn't dare come out. The Comanches were still there-- she could hear their victims screaming. Horses dashed by and several more Comanches came into the smokehouse. Maggie kept her face down and waited; she was determined to hide all day if need be.

Then she heard a scream she recognized: it was Pearl Coleman screaming. Pearl screamed and screamed. The sound made Maggie want to stop her ears, and turn off her mind. She didn't want to think about what might be happening to Pearl, out in the street. At least Clara Forsythe was safe--married and gone to Galveston only five days before.

Maggie concentrated on keeping her head down; and she waited. Woodrow had warned her specifically not to be too quick to come out, in the event of a raid. Some of the Comanches would hold back after the main party left, hoping to snatch women or children who were brought out of hiding.

Maggie waited. One more Indian did come into the smokehouse, perhaps to snatch a ham or something, but he was there only moments. Maggie peeked briefly and saw the warrior's horse spill out turds, right in front of her.

The warrior left and Maggie waited for a long time. When she finally began to inch out, she thought it must be noon, at least. When she finally did come out, so did the snake that had buzzed at her earlier. The snake glided through a crack in the lower board and was soon under a bush.

Many of the buildings along the main street were burning; the saloon had burned to the ground.

Maggie inched around the building, but soon decided there were no Indians still in the town.

Several men lay dead in the street, scalped, castrated, split open. She heard sobbing from up the street and saw Pearl Coleman, completely naked andwith four arrows sticking out of her, walking around in circles, sobbing.

Maggie hurried to her and tried to get her to stop weaving around, but Pearl was beyond listening. Her large body was streaked with blood from the four arrows.

"Oh, Mag," Pearl said. "They got me down before I could run. They got me down. My Bill, he won't want me now ... if he gets back alive he'll be ashamed of me and put me out." "No, Pearl, that ain't true," Maggie said. "Bill won't put you out." She said it to cheer Pearl up a little, but in fact there was no predicting what Long Bill would do when he heard of his wife's defilement.

She liked Long Bill Coleman but there was no knowing how a man would react to such news.

At that moment, through the drifting smoke, they saw three men with rifles coming cautiously up the street. The sight of them brought home to Pearl the fact that she was unclothed.

"Oh Lord, I'm naked, Maggie .

what'll I do?" Pearl asked, trying to cover herself with her bloody hands. It it was only when she saw the blood on her own hands that she noticed an arrow in her hip. She put her hand on the arrow, which was only hanging by its tip, and, to her surprise, it came out.

"You got three more in your back, Pearl," Maggie said. "I'll get them out once I get you inside." "Why, I'm stuck like a pincushion," Pearl said, trying to cover herself with her hands.

"Just turn around ... those men don't see us yet," Maggie said. "I'll run in the Forsythe store and borrow a blanket for you to cover with." Pearl turned around and hunched over, trying to make herself as small as possible.

Maggie ran across the street but slowed a little as she came up the steps to the Forsythe store. The windows had all been smashed--a barrel of nails had been heaved through one of them. The barrel had burst when it hit, scattering nails everywhere.

Maggie, barefoot, had to pick her way carefully through the nails.

As soon as she stepped into the store she felt something sticky on one foot and assumed she must have cut herself on a nail; but when she looked down she saw that the blood on her foot was not hers. There was a large puddle of it just inside the door of the store. The display cases had all been smashed and flour was everywhere.

Horse blankets, harness, ladies' hats, men's shoes had been thrown everywhere. The brown Pennsylvania crockery that Clara had been so proud of had been smashed to shards.

Maggie knew she had stepped in a puddle of blood, but it was dim in the store. She didn't know whose blood it was until she picked her way through the smashed crockery and scattered merchandise and then suddenly saw Mr. Forsythe, dead on the floor, his head split open as if it had been a cantaloupe.

Beyond him a few steps lay Mrs. Forsythe, naked and half covered with the white flour that had spilled out of the barrels. Three arrows had been driven into her chest, so hard that they had gone through her, pinning her to the floor.

Maggie felt such a shock at the sight that she grew weak. She had to steady herself against the counter.

For a moment she thought her stomach might come up.

Seeing the naked, spraddled woman with the arrows in her chest made her realize how lucky she was; and how lucky Pearl was, and Clara herself, and all the women who were still alive.

She herself wasn't even injured--she had to help those who were. It was no time to be weak.

Maggie picked her way back to where the blankets were--instead of taking one blanket she took three. One she carefully put over Mrs. Forsythe--the three arrows stuck up, but there was nothing she could do about that. The blanket didn't cover her well--it left the poor old woman's thin legs exposed, which seemed wrong.

She went back, took another blanket, and used it to cover Mrs. Forsythe's legs. The men would have to deal with the arrows when they came to remove the bodies.

Then she put a nice blanket over Mr.

Forsythe's split head and went outside to help her friend. One of the men with rifles was standing on the porch when she came out.

"How about the Forsythes?" he asked, peering in one of the smashed windows.

"They're both dead," Maggie told him.

"She's got three arrows shot clear through her." Then she opened the other blanket, picked her way through the nails, and wrapped the blanket around Pearl, who was still hunched down in the street. The three arrows were still in her back, but at least she was covered decently as Maggie walked her home.

As soon as Inish Scull saw the horse in the distance he hid under a little shelf of rock and waited. The horse, still a long way off, seemed to be alone. Scull took out his binoculars and waited for the horse to come round a little closer, for the animal did not seem to be moving or grazing naturally. It moved slowly, and looked back over its shoulder frequently, odd behaviour for a lone horse in empty country.

More than an hour passed before the horse was close enough for Scull to see that it was dragging a man behind it, an unconscious man and an Indian, securely tied at wrists and ankles and attached to the horse by a rawhide rope.

There was nothing to see on the vast spare desert except the one horse, walking slowly, dragging the man. Somebody had obviously wanted the horse to drag the man to death; that somebody, in Scull's view, was probably Ahumado.

Famous Shoes had talked much about Ahumado's cruelty to captives. Being dragged to death by a horse was about as mild a punishment as Ahumado allowed anyone, if Famous Shoes was to be believed.