True Grit - Charles Portis [37]
“The Ranger troop!” said Rooster, with some contempt. “I tell you what you do. You go tell John Wesley Hardin about the Ranger troop. Don’t tell me and sis.”
“Anyhow, we know what we are about. That is more than I can say for you political marshals.”
Rooster said, “How long have you boys been mounted on sheep down there?”
LaBoeuf stopped rubbing his shaggy pony. He said, “This horse will be galloping when that big American stud of yours is winded and collapsed. You cannot judge by looks. The most villainous-looking pony is often your gamest performer. What would you guess this pony cost me?”
Rooster said, “If there is anything in what you say I would guess about a thousand dollars.”
“You will have your joke, but he cost me a hundred and ten dollars,” said LaBoeuf. “I would not sell him for that. It is hard to get in the Rangers if you do not own a hundred-dollar horse.”
Rooster set about preparing our supper. Here is what he brought along for “grub”: a sack of salt and a sack of red pepper and a sack of taffy—all this in his jacket pockets—and then some ground coffee beans and a big slab of salt pork and one hundred and seventy corn dodgers. I could scarcely credit it. The “corn dodgers” were balls of what I would call hot-water cornbread. Rooster said the woman who prepared them thought the order was for a wagon party of marshals.
“Well,” said he, “When they get too hard to eat plain we can make mush from them and what we have left we can give to the stock.”
He made some coffee in a can and fried some pork. Then he sliced up some of the dodgers and fried the pieces in grease. Fried bread! That was a new dish to me. He and LaBoeuf made fast work of about a pound of pork and a dozen dodgers. I ate some of my bacon sandwiches and a piece of gingerbread and drank the rusty-tasting water. We had a blazing fire and the wet wood crackled fiercely and sent off showers of sparks. It was cheerful and heartening against the gloomy night.
LaBoeuf said he was not accustomed to such a big fire, that in Texas they frequently had little more than a fire of twigs or buffalo chips with which to warm up their beans. He asked Rooster if it was wise to make our presence known in unsettled country with a big fire. He said it was Ranger policy not to sleep in the same place as where they had cooked their supper. Rooster said nothing and threw more limbs on the fire.
I said, “Would you two like to hear the story of ‘The Midnight Caller’? One of you will have to be ‘The Caller.’ I will tell you what to say. I will do all the other parts myself.”
But they were not interested in hearing ghost stories and I put my slicker on the ground as close to the fire as I dared and proceeded to make my bed with the blankets. My feet were so swollen from the ride that my boots were hard to pull off. Rooster and LaBoeuf drank some whiskey but it did not make them sociable and they sat there without talking. Soon they got out their bed rolls.
Rooster had a nice buffalo robe for a ground sheet. It looked warm and comfortable and I envied him for it. He took a horsehair lariat from his saddle and arranged it in a loop around his bed.
LaBoeuf watched him and grinned. He said, “That is a piece of foolishness. All the snakes are asleep this time of year.”
“They have been known to wake up,” said Rooster.
I said, “Let me have a rope too. I am not fond of snakes.”
“A snake would not bother with you,” said Rooster. “You are too little and bony.”
He put an oak log in the fire and banked coals and ashes against it and turned in for the night. Both the officers snored and one of them made a wet mouth noise along with it. It was disgusting. Exhausted as I was, I had trouble falling asleep. I was warm enough but there were roots and rocks under me and I moved this way and that trying to improve my situation. I was sore and the movement was painful. I finally despaired of ever getting fixed right. I said my prayers but did not mention my