Larry McMurtry - Comanche Moon

Eastward, as the rangers hurried home along the valley of the Brazos, they came upon scene after scene of devastation. Six times they stopped to bury families, some of them so decomposed as to be hardly worth burying. They saw not a single Comanche, though several times a day they crossed the tracks of the retreating war parties. Most of the raiders were driving horses before them--sometimes sizable herds of horses.

"They must have stolen half the horses in south Texas," Augustus said.

"Kilt half the people, too," Long Bill said, in a low tone. Convinced by all the corpses that his wife could not possibly have survived, Long Bill had sunk into a state of dull resignation. He scarcely ate and seldom spoke.

Call grew more and more vexed as the Indian sign multiplied.

"Our main job is to fight Indians and here we rode off and missed the biggest Indian fight in history." "We didn't ride off. We was sent off, Woodrow--sent by the Governor," Augustus reminded him.

"He might have tried to recall us, but if he did, the Commanches probably got the messengers," Call said, grimly.

As they rode into Austin they passed near the cemetery--they could see from the number of crosses that there were many fresh graves. Tears began to stream down Long Bill's face, at the thought of having his conviction about Pearl confirmed. In all there were nearly thirty fresh graves--Long Bill stumbled from cross to cross, but none had "Pearl Coleman" written on them.

"It may mean they took her," Long Bill said, still anxious.

Augustus found two crosses with the name "Forsythe" on them--the sight made him tremble; tears came and he sank to his knees.

"Oh God, I knowed it," he said. "I went away and she's dead." It was Call, looking more closely, who saw that it was her parents, not Clara, who lay buried in the cemetery.

"No, Gus, she ain't dead--it's her father and mother," Call said.

"Well, I swear ... I wonder if she knows," Augustus said, bending closer so he could see the two names more clearly. Though he knew it was a terrible blow to Clara--both her parents dead and her a new bride--he felt a relief so powerful that for a time it made him weak. He stayed on his knees in the cemetery, fingering a clod or two of the fresh dirt, while the others tried to make out who was buried in all the fresh graves.

"They got the blacksmith," Call said.

"Here's the preacher and his wife--got them both." He walked on, stopping over every grave.

"Oh Lord, boys," Call said. "Here's Neely and Finch and Teddy--I guess Ikey must be alive." "My God, Neely," Gus said, coming over to look.

As they rode on into town, past a grove of live oak or two, they saw house after house that showed evidence of burning; and yet most of the houses still stood. Only the church and one saloon seemed to have burned to the ground.

"They didn't kill Governor Pease--there he stands," Augustus said, as they turned into the main street. "I expect he'll be glad to see us back." "We didn't do what we was sent to do--he may fire us," Call said.

"I doubt that," Gus said. "He won't have nobody who can fight at all, if he fires us." The Governor stood in shirtsleeves and black suspenders on the steps of what had been the Forsythe store. He was loading a shotgun when they rode up, and he looked grim.

"Hello, Governor," Call said. "Are the Indians still around?" "No, but the coons are," the Governor said.

"The coyotes got most of my hens, after the raid. The coons don't bother the hens but they're ruining me in the egg department." He sighed, and cast a quick glance at the little troop.

"Lose any men?" he asked.

"No sir, but we didn't find the Captain," Call said. "When we heard about the raid we thought we better just get home." The Governor's buggy stood in the street, but Bingham, who usually drove him, wasn't in it.

"I just came down to get some shotgun shells," the Governor said. "I need to do something about those coons." Governor Pease was usually clean shaven, but now had a white stubble on his cheeks; he looked tired.

"Where's Bingham, Governor?" Augustus asked.

"Dead ... they killed most of our niggers," Governor Pease said. "They stole that yellow girl who worked for Inez Scull--she was down by the springhouse and they took her." Just then Long Bill gave a yell. They all turned and saw why. Pearl, the wife he had given up for dead, was in plain view far up the street, hanging out washing.

"It's my Pearl, she ain't dead!" Long Bill said. The cares of the last weeks fell away from him in an instant--he wheeled his horse and was off in a run.

"That's one happy ending, I guess," Augustus said.

The Governor did not smile. "She's alive but she was outraged," he said, before going to his buggy. He drove off holding his shotgun, his eggs on his mind.

Call saw that the house where Maggie lived was partially burned but still standing, which was a relief. He thought he glimpsed someone at her window but could not be quite positive. Maggie was ever discreet. She would never lean out her window and look down at him--she didn't feel it was right.

He quickly crossed the street and saw her coming down the steps behind the house. She looked so glad to see him that he had to dismount and hug her; when he did she cried so hard that she wet the front of his shirt, just as she had when he was leaving.

"Now hush, I'm back," he said.

He had never before touched her outside her room. After a moment he got nervous, and Maggie did too.

"They didn't get you ... that's good ... and they didn't get Pearl, either ... Bill's been about worried to death," he said.

Maggie's face clouded, for a moment. "They shot four arrows into her, and that ain't all," she said. "But they didn't touch me--I hid where you told me, Woodrow." "I'm glad you hid," Call said. Maggie didn't say more. She still had tears in her eyes.

Call went back to the rangers, who were still in the street, where he had left them. Gus had dismounted and was sitting on the steps in front of the Forsythe store, a dejected look on his face.

"We ought to get the boys settled and see to the horses," Call said. Jake Spoon and Pea Eye Parker both looked as if they might go to sleep in their saddles. Even Deets, who seldom flagged, looked very weary.

"You do it, Woodrow," Gus said. He stood up and handed his bridle reins to Deets as he went by him. Call turned and followed Gus a step or two, curious as to what was the matter.

"I guess you're going drinking," he said.

"By God, you're a genius, Woodrow," Augustus said. "I ain't even close to a saloon, but you figured it out." Call knew it was Clara, or the fact that she was absent, that caused Gus to look so low. It was usually Clara at the bottom of Gus's dark moods.

"She's alive, at least," he said. "You ought to be glad she's alive." "Oh, I am glad she's alive," Gus said. "I'm mighty glad. But the point is, she ain't here. Your girl is here, Billy's wife is alive, but my girl's married and gone to Nebraska." Call didn't argue--there would be no point. He turned back to the rangers, and Augustus McCrae went on across the street.

Ahumado had never had a captive who behaved like the small americano, Captain Scull. Most captives despaired once they realized they were in a place they could never get out of, except by death. In his experience, Americans made poor captives. He had had old Goyeto try to skin several Americans--traders, miners, travellers who happened to travel the wrong road--but they all died before Goyeto had got very far with the skinning.

Even if he only skinned an arm or a leg the Americans usually died. They were weak captives, the whites. Once he had had a small Tarahumara Indian from the north who had stood at the skinning post without making a sound while Goyeto took his whole skin off--t Tarahumara had been an exceptional man.