True Grit - Charles Portis [21]
While he was helping himself to the food he grinned at me across the table and said, “Hidy.”
I nodded and said nothing.
“What is your name?” said he.
“Pudding and tame,” said I.
He said, “I will take a guess and say it is Mattie Ross.”
“How do you know that?”
“My name is LaBoeuf,” he said. He called it LaBeef but spelled it something like LaBoeuf. “I saw your mother just two days ago. She is worried about you.”
“What was your business with her, Mr. LaBoeuf?”
“I will disclose that after I eat. I would like to have a confidential conversation with you.”
“Is she all right? Is anything wrong?”
“No, she is fine. There is nothing wrong. I am looking for someone. We will talk about it after supper. I am very hungry.”
Mrs. Floyd said, “If it is something touching on her father’s death we know all about that. He was murdered in front of this very house. There is still blood on my porch where they carried his body.”
The man LaBoeuf said, “It is about something else.”
Mrs. Floyd described the shooting again and tried to draw him out on his business but he only smiled and went on eating and would not be drawn.
After supper we went to the parlor, to a corner away from the other borders, and LaBoeuf set up two chairs there facing the wall. When we were seated in this curious arrangement he took a small photograph from his corduroy coat and showed it to me. The picture was wrinkled and dim. I studied it. The face of the man was younger and there was no black mark but there was no question but it was the likeness of Tom Chaney. I told LaBoeuf as much.
He said, “Your mother has also identified him. Now I will give you some news. His real name is Theron Chelmsford. He shot and killed a state senator named Bibbs down in Waco, Texas, and I have been on his trail the best part of four months. He dallied in Monroe, Louisiana, and Pine Bluff, Arkansas, before turning up at your father’s place.”
I said, “Why did you not catch him in Monroe, Louisiana, or Pine Bluff, Arkansas?“
“He is a crafty one.”
“I thought him slow-witted myself.”
“That was his act.”
“It was a good one. Are you some kind of law?”
LaBoeuf showed me a letter that identified him as a Sergeant of Texas Rangers, working out of a place called Ysleta near El Paso. He said, “I am on detached service just now. I am working for the family of Senator Bibbs in Waco.”
“How came Chaney to shoot a senator?”
“It was about a dog. Chelmsford shot the senator’s bird dog. Bibbs threatened to whip him over it and Chelmsford shot the old gentleman while he was sitting in a porch swing.”
“Why did he shoot the dog?”
“I don’t know that. Just meanness. Chelmsford is a hard case. He claims the dog barked at him. I don’t know if he did or not.”
“I am looking for him too,” said I, “this man you call Chelmsford.”
“Yes, that is my understanding. I had a conversation with the sheriff today. He informed me that you were staying here and looking for a special detective to go after Chelmsford in the Indian Territory.”
“I have found a man for the job.”
“Who is the man?”
“His name is Cogburn. He is a deputy marshal for the Federal Court. He is the toughest one they have and he is familiar with a band of robbers led by Lucky Ned Pepper. They believe Chaney has tied up with that crowd.”
“Yes, that is the thing to do,” said LaBoeuf. “You need a Federal man. I am thinking along those lines myself. I need someone who knows the ground and can make an arrest out there that will stand up. You cannot tell what the courts will do these days. I might get Chelmsford all the way down to McLennan County, Texas, only to have some corrupt judge say he was kidnaped and turn him loose. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“It would be a letdown.”
“Maybe I will throw in with you and your marshal.”
“You will have to talk to Rooster Cogburn about that.”
“It will be to our mutual advantage. He knows the land and I know Chelmsford.