Larry McMurtry - Comanche Moon

"Didn't you hear me?" she asked.

"Handsome as you are, I know you'd make a fine preacher. The town needs one, too. One of the deacons has been holding church, but he can't talk plain and he's boresome to have to listen to." Long Bill felt a good deal of exasperation.

In the first place, Pearl had no business being up so late; now she had caused him to break their chair, and all because of a notion so foolish that if he had been in a better mood he would have laughed.

"Pearl, I can't read," he pointed out.

"I've heard some of the Bible read out, but that was a long time ago. The only verse I can recall is that one about the green pastures, and even that one's a little cloudy in my mind." Long Bill paused, noticing that his wife was on the verge of tears; Pearl did not cry thimblefuls, either. Once she got started crying it was wise to have a bucket handy, or at least a good-sized rag.

"I do not know how you got such a notion, honey," he said, in the gentlest tone he could manage. "If I was to put myself up to be a preacher, I expect the boys would laugh me out of town." Pearl Coleman wasn't ready to give up her God-sent vision, though. Faith was supposed to move mountains--it was just a question of convincing Bill that faith and his handsome looks was all he would need to start out on a preaching career.

"I can read, Billy," she said. "I can read just fine. I could read you the text in the morning before church and then you could preach on it." Long Bill just shook his head. He felt a weariness so deep he thought he might go to sleep right in the chair.

"Would you help me off with my boots, Pearl?" he asked, stretching out a leg. "I'm tired to the bone." Pearl helped her husband off with his boots.

Later, in bed, as silently as possible, she had her cry. Then she got up, went out into the street, and managed to locate the chair rung Long Bill had flung out the window. There was no telling how long it would be before the store opened again, and, meanwhile, they had to have their chair.

Old Ben Mickelson had been so badly frightened during the great Comanche raid that, as soon as it was clear that he had survived it, he attempted to give notice and leave.

"Leave and go where?" Inez Scull asked him, a moment or two before she took the long black bullwhip to him.

In the Scull mansion, of course, there was little room to employ a bullwhip properly, and old Ben, when it became a question of his hide, proved surprisingly nimble, darting through the halls and managing to keep the heavy furniture between himself and his enraged mistress. The best Inez managed was to strike the old butler a few times across the shoulders with the coiled whip before driving him outside, where she cornered him on the high porch.

"Leave and go where, you scabby old fool?" Inez said, waving the whip back and forth.

"Why, back to Brooklyn, madame," Ben Mickelson said; he was calculating the risk of jumping off the porch--it wasn't that high but neither was it that low, and he had no desire to break an ankle or any other limb.

"There's no red Indians in Brooklyn," he added. "A man needn't fear mutiliation, not in honest Brooklyn." "You'll get worse than mutiliation if you think you can give notice on me," Inez hissed at him. "Where do you suppose I can get another butler, in these wilds? If you leave, who do you suppose will serve the brandy and the port?" She swung the whip, but clumsily--mostly she employed the bullwhip more as a club than a whip, in her fights with Inish. Old Ben Mickelson deflected the blow and leapt off the porch. He failed to make a clean landing, though; one ankle twisted beneath him so painfully that when Inez Scull followed him and attempted to apply a sound lashing Ben Mickelson was forced to crawl away.

That was the sight that greeted Augustus McCrae as he came trotting up from the town.

Old Ben Mickelson was crawling down the long slope toward the springhouse, while Inez Scull followed, attempting to whack him with the bullwhip. Nothing that happened at the Scull mansion surprised Augustus very much; the one thing that was obvious in the present encounter was that Madame Scull could have done the old butler more damage if she'd used a quirt and not a bullwhip. He arrived just in time to hear her deliver a final comment.

"If you attempt to leave me again, Ben, I'll put it out that you stole my emeralds," she said. "You won't have to worry about red Indians if I do that, because the sheriff will haul you off and hang you." "All right! Let me be! I'll stay and serve your damned port," old Ben said, standing up but favoring his ankle.

Inez promptly whacked him again.

"Damned port, indeed," she said. "Don't you presume to swear at your mistress!" Augustus watched with amusement. Lately he and Ben Mickleson had become allies in crime. Before going upstairs to engage in what Inez Scull described as a good trot, he and old Ben would often sneak in and raid the cabinet where Captain Scull kept his fine whiskeys and brandies. At first he had underestimated the potency of the brandy to such an extent that he represented himself poorly, once he got to the boudoir, a fact which never failed to draw a stinging reproach from Madame Scull.

"It looks as if you've crippled Ben," he said to the lady, watching the old butler limp away.

"The scabby old beast attempted to quit, just because a few Comanches chased through town," she said.

"I won't have desertion--y should bear that in mind yourself, Captain McCrae." Her face was fiery red and she flung him a look of contempt.

"I detest contrary servants," she said.

"Ben Mickelson has too much damned gall to think he could just walk in and quit." Augustus got off his horse, a nervous filly. He thought it best to walk along with Madame Scull until she calmed down.

Sometimes a jumpy horse would start bucking even if it only heard a voice it didn't like.

Woodrow Call had some skill with bucking horses, but he himself had none. Three jumps and he usually went flying; better to dismount and walk when Inez Scull was waving her bullwhip around.

"Your husband's in Mexico--t's the news," he told her. "Or at least that's the rumour." "Not interested in rumours and not especially interested in where Inish is," Inez said.

"Anyway, I doubt he's that close. Inish usually goes farther afield when he strays--I expected him to be in Egypt, at least. Who says he's in Mexico?" "It's a thirdhand rumour," Augustus said.

"A miner heard it from a Mexican, and the Governor heard it from the miner." "Does the news disturb you, Gussie?" she asked, smiling at him suddenly and taking his arm as they walked. Then she lifted his hand and gave his finger a hard bite; she set her teeth into it and looked at him as she bit.

"I suppose we'll have to leave off trotting if Inish shows up," she said. "He's a very jealous man. I have no doubt he'd find a reason to hang you if he knew we'd been doing all this fine trotting." "Well, but who would tell him?" Augustus asked. He had never known quite such a devilish woman. Clara Forsythe could be extremely vexing, but her contrariness was done mostly in play, whereas Inez Scull's devilment had anger in it, and defiance, and even lust; it wasn't a thing done in play, as Clara's was. Inez had just bitten his finger so hard there was blood on her front teeth. He wiped his finger on his pants leg and walked on with her toward the big house.

"I might tell him myself if you displease me," Inez said. "I do rather like to be the center of attention when I choose a man, and I can't say you're lavish with your attention. My Jakie was much more attentive, while he lasted." "Jake Spoon, that pup!" Gus said.

"Why, he is barely dry behind the ears." "I wasn't interested in his ears, Captain," Mrs. Scull said. "I've a notion that you're not sorry that Inish is returning." "Ma'am, I didn't say he was returning," Gus said. "I just said he's in Mexico--y didn't let me finish my report." "Why wouldn't he return, if he's in Mexico?" Inez asked. "I hardly think those brown whores would interest him for long." "We heard he was a captive," Gus told her. "We think the Black Vaquero caught him." "Oh well, no one keeps Inish a captive long, he's too troublesome," Inez said. "You don't really like me, do you, Gussie?" "Ma'am, I'm walking along with you--ain't that a sign that I like you?" Augustus asked. He wanted to curse her, though, for being so bold as to ask such a question. The fact was, he didn't like her; it was just that he had an emptiness in him, an emptiness that hadn't been there until Clara left. It was the emptiness that brought him up the hill to Madame Scull. Being with her invariably left a bad taste in his mouth, yet he kept coming.