Dead Man's Walk (11 page)

Gus McCrae rarely did anything except solicit whores; in all likelihood it was a pimp named Redmond Dale, owner of San Antonio's newest saloon, who had talked Gus into doing the painting--no doubt he had offered free services as an inducement. What time Gus didn't spend in the whorehouses he usually spent in jail. With no work to do he had developed a tendency to drink liquor, and drinking liquor made him argumentative. The day seldom passed without Gus getting into a fight, the usual result being that he would whip three or four sober citizens and be hauled off to jail.
Even when he didn't actually fight, he yelled or shot off his pistol or generally disturbed the peace.
"Anyway, we need to join up as soon as we can," Gus said. "I think we have to go up to Austin to enlist. I sure don't want to miss this expedition. Would you take them damn horseshoe nails out of your mouth and talk to me?" Call had four horseshoe nails in his mouth at the time. To humour his friend he took them out and eased the mule's hoof back on the ground for a minute.
"I still don't know where Santa Fe is," Call said. "I don't want to join an expedition unless I know where it's going." "I don't see why not," Gus said, irked by his friend's habit of asking too many questions.
"All the Rangers are going," Gus added.
"Long Bill has already left to sign up, and Bob Bascom's about to leave. Johnny Carthage wants to go bad, but he's gimpy now --I doubt they'll take him." The wound from the Comanche arrow had not healed well. One-eyed Johnny could still walk, but he was not speedy and would be at a severe disadvantage if he had to run.
"I think Santa Fe's out where we were the first time, only farther," Call remarked.
"Well, it could be out that way," Gus allowed.
He was embarrassed to admit that he didn't know much about the place the great expedition was being got up to capture.
"Gus, if it's farther than we went the first time, we'll never get there," Call said. "Even if we do get there, what makes you think we can take it?" "Why, of course we can take it!" Gus said.
"Why are you so damn doubtful?" Call shrugged, and picked up the horse's hoof again.
"It's a Mexican town--it's just defended by Mexicans," Gus insisted. "Of course we'll take it, and take it quick. Caleb Cobb wouldn't let a bunch of Mexicans whip him, I don't guess!" "I might go if I thought there would be somebody with us who could find the place," Call said. "Is Bigfoot going?" "I expect he is--of course he'll go," Gus said, though someone had told him that Bigfoot Wallace was off bear hunting.
"I don't think you know anything," Call informed him. "You just heard some talk and now you want to go fight. Santa Fe could be two thousand miles away, for all you know. I ain't even got a horse that could travel that far." "Oh, they'll furnish the mounts," Gus said.
"They say there's silver and gold piled everywhere in Santa Fe. I expect we can pick up enough just walking around to buy ourselves fifty horses." "You'd believe anything," Call said. "What about Buffalo Hump? If Santa Fe's in his direction, he'll find us and kill us all." "I don't expect he'd care if we took Santa Fe," Gus said, though he knew it was a weak comment. The thought of Buffalo Hump cast a chill on his enthusiasm.
Capturing Santa Fe and picking up gold and silver off the ground were fine prospects, but if it involved crossing the Comancheria, as probably it did, then the whole matter had a side to it that was a good deal less pleasant. Since returning with the troop, he and Call had not been more than a few miles out of town--once or twice they had gone a little distance into the hills to hunt pigs or turkeys, but they did not camp out. The week scarcely passed without the Indians picking off some traveler, often almost in the outskirts of town. When they went out to hunt, they went in a group and took care to be heavily armed. Gus wore two pistols now, unless he was just engaged in light work such as painting saloons. He had not forgotten what happened west of the Pecos--time and time again, in his dreams, he had seen Buffalo Hump. He remembered that Zeke Moody had dropped his pistol and been scalped alive, as a result. He carried two so that if he got nervous and dropped one, he would still have a spare.
One of his friend Woodrow's most annoying traits was that he kept producing information you didn't want.
"I've heard that some of the army's coming on this expedition," he said. "I doubt the Indians would want to interfere with us if we've got the army along." "Buffalo Hump has an army, too," Call reminded his excitable friend. "If he can find ten warriors to ride with him, then he's got an army.
"Besides, he lives there," he added. "He's got his whole people. I expect he'll interfere with us plenty, if we try to cross his country." "Damn it, ain't you coming?" Gus asked, exasperated by his friend's contrariness. "Wouldn't you rather be riding out on an expedition than staying around here shoeing mules?" "I might go if we have enough of a troop," Call said. "I'd like to know more about this man you named --what was he called?" "Caleb Cobb--he's the man who captured Santa Anna," Gus said. He didn't know that Caleb Cobb had done anything of the sort, but he wanted to pile on as many heroics as he could.
Maybe it would get Woodrow Call in the mood to travel.
"They say there's enough gold lying around in Santa Fe to fill two churches," Gus said, piling it on a little more.
"Why would the Mexicans just give us two churches full of gold? It don't sound like any Mexicans I've met," Call said.
Though not unwilling to consider an adventure-- shoeing mules was a long way from being his favorite occupation; it was mainly something he did to help old Jesus, who had been kind to him when he first came to San Antonio--the one Gus McCrae was describing seemed pretty unlikely. He would be trying to reach a town he had never heard of, led by a man he had never heard of, either. Who would command the Rangers, if the Rangers went as a troop, he didn't know, but it wouldn't be Major Randall Chevallie, because Major Chevallie had died of a fever not three weeks after returning from the failed expedition to El Paso. They had got into some wet weather on their return--also, they had traveled hard.
Major Chevallie took to his bed for a day or two, got worse, died, and was buried before anyone had time to think much about it.
"You're too damn contrary," Gus said.
"I've never known a person more apt to take the opposite view than you--you're too damn gripy." "I expect I've spent too much time with mules," Call said. "When would we be to leave, if we go?" "What's wrong with now?" Gus asked. "The expedition's leaving any day--I sure don't want to get left. We'd be rich for life if we could pick up a little of that gold and silver." "I hope we can whip the Mexicans, if we get there," Call said.
"Why wouldn't we, you fool?" Gus asked.
"We didn't whip 'em at the Alamo," Call reminded him. "We might get out there on the plains somewhere and starve--that's another thing to think about. We could barely find grub for twelve men when we were out on the Pecos. How will we feed an army?
"There ain't much water out that way, neither," Call added, before Gus could break in with a few more lies about the gold to be picked up in Santa Fe.
"Why, we'll be going across the plains --it's plenty wet up that way," Gus said.
"You could shoe one of these mules if you don't have anything else to do," Call suggested. "Once we get these mules shoed I might be more interested in capturing Santa Fe." Gus at once rejected the suggestion that he help shoe the mules. He saw that Call was weakening in his opposition to the trip, and his own spirits began to rise at the thought of the great adventure that lay ahead of them.
"I say leave the mules--I want to get started for Austin," Gus said. "Redmond Dale can find someone else to paint his saloon. Of course we might have time for a visit to the whorehouse, if you ever get tired of working." "I can't afford the whorehouse--I'm saving up for a better gun," Call said. "If we're going out there into the Indian country, I need to have a better gun." He had visited the whorehouse, though, with Gus, several times--he didn't scorn it as a pastime. Matilda Roberts was employed there while waiting for passage to the west. She had taken a liking to young Call. Gus too had his likable side, but he was overpersistent, and also a blabber. There were times when Matilda could put up with persistence easier than she could with blab.
Young Call, though, seldom said two words.
He just handed over the coins. Matilda saw something sad in the boy's eyes--it touched her.
She saw after a few visits that her great bulk frightened him, and put him with a young Mexican girl named Rosa, who soon came to like him.
Call often thought of Rosa--she taught him many Spanish words: how to count, words for food.
She was a slim girl who seldom smiled, though once in awhile she smiled at him. Call thought of her most afternoons when he was working in the hot lots behind the blacksmith's shop. He also thought of her at night when he was sleeping on his blanket, near the stable. He would have liked to see Rosa oftener--Gus had not been wrong to recommend whores, but Gus was reckless with his money and Call wasn't. Gus would borrow, or cheat at cards, or make promises he couldn't keep, just to have money for whores.
Call, though, could not bring himself to be so spendthrift. He knew that he wanted to be a Ranger once the troop went out again, which meant that sooner or later he would be fighting Indians. This time, when the fight came, he wanted to be as well equipped as his resources would permit. Neither of the cheap guns he owned was reliable. If he ever had to face the Comanche with the great hump again, he wanted a weapon that wouldn't fail him. Much as he was apt to think of Rosa, he knew that if he wanted to survive as a professional Ranger, he had to put guns first.
Once he felt assured that his friend was going to come with him on the new expedition, Gus relaxed, located a spot of shade under a wagon, stretched out full length, put his hat over his face, and took a long, serene nap while Call labored on with the mules. The last little mule was a biter--Call cuffed him several times, but the mule bared his teeth and demonstrated that he had every intention of using them on Call's flesh if he could. Call was finally forced to rope the mule's jaws shut before he could finish his work.
Gus had a snore like a rasp--Call could hear the snore plainly when he wasn't hammering in a horseshoe nail.
Just as the last shoe was nailed in place, there was a clatter in the street. Call looked up to see Long Bill Coleman, Rip Green, gimpy Johnny Carthage, and Matilda Roberts come loping up. Matilda was mounted on Tom, her large grey gelding.
"Saddle up, Woodrow--it's Santa Fe or bust," Long Bill sang out. He was wearing a fur cap he had found in a closet in the whorehouse.
"Dern, Bill, I thought you'd left town," Call said. "Ain't it a little warm for that hat?" He himself was drenched in sweat from shoeing the four mules.
"That cap's to fool the grizzlies, if we meet any," Long Bill said. "I'm scared of grizzlies, and other kinds of bears as well.
I figure if I wear this fur bonnet they'll think I'm one of the family and let me alone." "That cap belonged to Joe Slaw; they hung the son of a bitch," Matilda said. "I guess he considered himself a mountain man." Gus McCrae, hearing voices, suddenly rose up, forgetting that he was under a wagon. He whonked his head so loudly that everyone in the group laughed.
"Shut up, I think my skull's broke open," Gus said, annoyed at the levity--he had only made a simple mistake. His head had taken a solid crack, though. He wobbled over to the water tank and stuck his head under--the cool water felt good.
While the group was watching Gus dip his head in the water, Blackie Slidell came racing up--he had been with a whore when the others left the saloon. The reason for his rush was that he feared being left, which would mean having to cross the prairies in the direction of Austin all by himself.
"So, are you with us, Woodrow?" Rip Green asked. Although Call was a younger man than himself, Rip considered him dependable and was anxious to have him with the group.
"I thought you was already gone, Bill," Call said.
"Why no, we've been collecting Rangers, but we can't find Bigfoot, and Shadrach prefers to travel alone, mostly," Bill said.
"He's already gone up to Austin. I guess we'll have to leave Bigfoot. I expect he'll catch up." With so many of his companions mounted and ready, Call hesitated no longer. His complaints and criticism had mainly been designed to annoy Gus, anyway. The urge to be adventuring was too strong to be resisted.
"So, who's leading the Rangers?" he asked when he untied the jaw rope and released the biting mule.
"Why, we'll lead ourselves, unless somebody shows up who wants to captain," Long Bill said.
"Whoa--I ain't rangering for Bob Bascom," Gus said. "I don't like his surly tongue--I expect I'll have to whip him before the trip is over." Long Bill looked skeptical at this prediction.
"Take a good club when you go to whip him," he said. "Bob's stout." "Take two clubs," Blackie said.
"Bob's a scrapper." "I didn't expect you'd want to go fight Mexicans, Matty," Call said, surprised to see Matilda with the Rangers.
"I'm needing to get west before I get old," Matilda said. "I've heard there's roads to the west from up around Santa Fe." Call's possessions were few, though he did now have a coat to go with his two shirts.
Gus McCrae, because of his urgent expenditures, had only the clothes on his back and his two pistols. When old Jesus saw that Call was leaving, he sighed. The thought of having to shoe all the horses and mules by himself made him feel a weariness. He had done hard work all his life and was ready to stop, but he couldn't stop.
All his children had left home except one little girl, and his little girl could not shoe mules. Yet he could not blame Call for going--he himself had roved, when he was young. He had left Saltillo and come to the land of the Texans, but now he was weary and his only helper was leaving. There was something about the boy that he liked, too--and he didn't like many of the Texas boys.
"Adios," he said, as Call was tying his blanket and his extra shirt onto his saddle.
"Adios, Jesus," Call said--he liked the old man. They had not exchanged a cross word in all the time Call had worked for him.
"Let's ride, boys," Long Bill said.
"Austin's a far piece up the road." "We'll ride, but I ain't a boy," Matilda said, as they rode out of San Antonio. Gus McCrae had a headache, from rising up too quickly after his nap.