Larry McMurtry - Streets Of Laredo

"It was a foolish order," Call said. The Colonel's manner irritated him. Lately, Call had used his voice so seldom that what he said came out raspy.

"What's that? Who are you, sir?" the Colonel asked.

"I'm Woodrow Call," the Captain replied. "Your man's dead. Mrs. Parker brought the body out, at considerable risk to herself.

Mr. Brookshire's at an undertaker's, in Presidio." "Well, his sister's been raising hell, trying to get us to find him--so much hell that I came here myself," the Colonel said. "Did the man do his duty?" "I reckon he did," Pea Eye said.

"I wouldn't be here driving this wagon, if he hadn't bought that big shotgun." "If he did his duty, then his sister will get the pension," the Colonel told them.

"It was a foolish order," Call repeated.

"Brookshire was no fighting man, and he should not have been sent to chase bandits." He looked at the Colonel and noticed a detail that had escaped him at first: the Colonel's empty right sleeve was pinned neatly to his coat.

"Now hold on, Call--I sent Brookshire to keep the accounts," Colonel Terry said. "You were the man sent to catch the bandit, and from the looks of you, you made a botch of it." Pea Eye nearly dropped the reins. Never in his life had he heard anyone speak so bluntly to the Captain.

To his amazement, Captain Call smiled.

"That's accurate," Call said. "I made a botch of it. But Mr. Parker is an able man, and he finished the job for you." "Grateful," Colonel Terry said, glancing up at Pea Eye briefly. His custom did not run to extended compliments.

"If Brookshire did his job, where's the ledgers?" he asked.

Call didn't answer, and Pea Eye wasn't too sure what the Colonel was referring to.

"Oh, them big account books?" he said, finally. "We used them to start fires, back when it was so cold. We was in a country where there wasn't no kindling, and very little brush." Call looked over the side of the wagon at Colonel Terry. He recalled that after Brookshire's first little panic at the Amarillo station, the man had been an uncomplaining companion. He did not intend to let the Colonel abuse him.

"Where'd you lose your arm?" Call asked him.

"First Manassas," Colonel Terry said.

He looked into the wagon and saw that Call had lost not only an arm, but a leg as well. He had been about to rethink the matter of the pension.

An accountant who burned the account books because of a little weather was not doing his job, in the Colonel's view. At least, he wasn't doing it well enough that his family could simply expect to get his pension. But Captain Call was a frosty sort. It was known that he had killed the manburner, Mox Mox, another sizable threat to the security of paying customers.

Colonel Terry seldom paused for anyone; but Captain Call had a distinguished record, and it seemed he felt strongly about Brookshire. It was not the moment to harp on pensions, paid or unpd, the Colonel decided.

"Brookshire's sister lives in Avon, Connecticut," the Colonel told them. He remembered that the Garza menace had been ended, and the primary goal had been accomplished. Perhaps Brookshire had been some help. The pension was a modest one anyway, enough to keep a widow or an old maid sister, if the widow or the old maid was frugal.

"Well, without those ledgers, it will be damn hard to get the books to balance," he said, annoyed as he always was by irregularities in regard to the accounting.

He surveyed the group in the wagon. There was Call, minus an arm and a leg; there was Mr.

Parker and a handsome blond woman--very handsome, he decided upon taking a second look. Then there was a greasy old fellow in buckskins, and a Mexican boy with shaggy hair and eyes somewhat like a sheep's. There was a pretty little girl who appeared to be blind, plus a bit of a menagerie: two goats, three hens, and a rooster.

Colonel Sheridan Terry--"Sherry Terry," as he was known in the military, because of his thirst for sherries and ports--had an abrupt shift of mood. It seemed to him that the people in the wagon had had too much hard travel, and all of them looked dirty and all of them looked tired.

He gave the blond woman the smile that had won Miss Cora's heart, and the hearts of not a few others, too. The blond woman was a beauty. If she had a wash, she might look better than Cora. The truth was, he had begun to grow a little tired of Cora.

"You people look like you need a wash," he said.

"I expect you've come a fair ways, in that old wagon. I'll make my bath available.

Of course, you're welcome to go first, ma'am--you and the young lady." Lorena had not been paying much attention to the palaver. She was too tired. She ached from her heels to her ears, for the jolting had been continuous for almost two hundred miles. The Colonel's speech was brusque, but then, most men's speech was brusque. She had been half asleep when she heard the Colonel offer his bath. Every time the wagon stopped jolting for even five minutes, Lorena was apt to go into a doze.

She had never been in a private railroad car before, much less had a bath in one. From the outside the car looked pretty fancy--she wished Tessie could see it. Pea Eye had taken to calling Teresa Tessie, and soon they all were doing it--the Captain, too. At least Teresa could feel the warm water and enjoy the bath, though.

"My name is Lorena Parker, and the young lady's name is Teresa," Lorena said. "I can't think of anything we'd be more grateful for than a bath." "Come along, then--it's just a step," Colonel Terry said. He reached up a hand, the left one, the one that had been spared. Lorena took it and stepped down. Then she helped Teresa out of the wagon, and the two of them followed the Colonel. His manner had changed, but not his gait. He was soon twenty yards ahead of Lorena and Teresa. The stationmaster walked with the womenfolk, at a more moderate pace.

"You reckon all Yankees walk that fast?" he asked.

Billy Williams loaded the wagon with whiskey and started back for Ojinaga the next day.

"I ain't been gone but a week, and I already miss Old Mex," he said.

"I still wish you'd come home with us and try farming," Pea Eye said.

"Why?" Lorena asked. "You don't even like farming yourself. If you don't like it, why would you think other people ought to do it?" Pea Eye didn't know what had prompted his invitation. He thought it might have had something to do with the fact that Billy Williams was a bachelor.

"He's by himself," he told his wife. "We'd be company for him." "You'd be a bachelor yourself, if I wasn't bold," Lorena reminded him.

Colonel Terry's generous mood lasted several days. He insisted that they all ride back to San Antonio as his guests. He arranged a separate passenger car, just for them and the goats and the chickens. The more he saw of Lorena, the more he realized how tired he was of Cora.

Just as they were leaving for San Antonio, the Colonel changed his mind and took them to Laredo instead. He needed to see the governor of Coahuila, and the errand couldn't wait.

"I think Mexico's the coming place," he told Call. "They've got minerals. All they need is railroads." "Did it take you long to learn to get by without your arm?" Call asked. He didn't have much patience with Terry, but he did have some curiosity about the lost arm. The Colonel seemed to function briskly without it. Of course, he owned a railroad and kept a servant with him, to help him dress. Still, Call suspected the Colonel was the sort who would function briskly, servant or no servant.

"It took me five years," Colonel Terry said. "Fortunately, the War was on, and the War took my mind off it. My orderly did most of the work, but I did all the thinking. You can't worry too much about one arm when there's a war going on." Call said nothing. He didn't feel brisk, and didn't expect to. The detour to Laredo didn't bother him, though it did bother Pea Eye and Lorena. They wanted to get home to their children, but he himself had a little business to attend to, in Laredo. He wanted to find Bolivar, and see if he was well enough to come with them to the Panhandle. He could not simply leave the old man with the Mexican family--they were too poor, and he had promised them he would come back and get Bolivar when he could.