True Grit - Charles Portis [28]
“The good Christian does not flinch from difficulties.”
“Neither does he rashly court them. The good Christian is not willful or presumptuous.”
“You think I am wrong.”
“I think you are wrongheaded.”
“We will see.”
“Yes, I am afraid so.”
Stonehill sold me the pony for eighteen dollars. The Negro smith caught him and brought him inside on a halter and filed his hoofs and nailed shoes on him. I brushed the burrs away and rubbed him down. He was frisky and spirited but not hysterical and he submitted to the treatment without biting or kicking us.
I put a bridle on him but I could not lift Papa’s saddle easily and I had the smith saddle him. He offered to ride the pony first. I said I thought I could handle him. I climbed gingerly aboard. Little Blackie did nothing for a minute or so and then he took me by surprise and pitched twice, coming down hard with his forelegs stiff, giving severe jolts to my “tailbone” and neck. I would have been tossed to the ground had I not grabbed the saddle horn and a handful of mane. I could get a purchase on nothing else, the stirrups being far below my feet. The smith laughed but I was little concerned with good form or appearance. I rubbed Blackie’s neck and talked softly to him. He did not pitch again but neither would he move forward.
“He don’t know what to make of a rider so light as you,” said the smith. “He thinks they is a horsefly on his back.”
He took hold of the reins near the pony’s mouth and coaxed him to walk. He led him around inside the big barn for a few minutes, then opened one of the doors and took him outside. I feared the daylight and cold wind would set Blackie off anew, but no, I had made me a “pal.”
The smith let go of the reins and I rode the pony down the muddy street at a walk. He was not very responsive to the reins and he worried his head around over the bit. It took me a while to get him turned around. He had been ridden before but not, I gathered, in a good long time. He soon fell into it. I rode him about town until he was lightly sweating.
When I got back to the barn the smith said, “He ain’t so mean, is he?”
I said, “No, he is a fine pony.”
I adjusted the stirrups up as high as they would go and the smith unsaddled Little Blackie and put him in a stall. I fed him some corn but only a small measured amount as I was afraid he might founder himself on the rich grain. Stonehill had been feeding the ponies largely on hay.
It was growing late in the day. I hurried over to Lee’s store, very proud of my horse and full of excitement at the prospect of tomorrow’s adventure. My neck was sore from being snapped but that was a small enough bother, considering the enterprise that was afoot.
I went in the back door without knocking and found Rooster sitting at the table with the man LaBoeuf. I had forgotten about him.
“What are you doing here?” said I.
“Hidy,” said LaBoeuf. “I am having a conversation with the marshal. He did not go to Little Rock after all. It is a business conversation.”
Rooster was eating candy. He said, “Set down, sis, and have a piece of taffy. This jaybird calls himself LaBoeuf. He claims he is a State Ranger in Texas. He come up here to tell us how the cow eat the cabbage.”
I said, “I know who he is.”
“He says he is on the track of our man. He wants to throw in with us.”
“I know what he wants and I have already told him we are not interested in his help. He has gone behind my back.”
“What is it?” said Rooster. “What is the trouble?”
“There is no trouble, except of his own making,” said I. “He made a proposition and I turned it down. That is all. We don’t need him.”
“Well now, he might come in handy,” said Rooster.
“It will not cost us anything. He has a big-bore Sharps carbine if we are jumped by buffaloes or elephants. He says he knows how to use it. I say let him go. We might run into some lively work.”
“No, we don’t need him,” said I. “I have already told him that. I have got my horse and everything is ready. Have you seen to all your business?”
Rooster said, “Everything is ready but the