True Grit - Charles Portis [44]
“I don’t like that,” said Rooster. “If there is any shooting before they get in that dugout we are likely to come up with a empty sack. I want Ned too. I want all of them.”
“All right,” said LaBoeuf. “But if they do break I am going for Chelmsford.”
“You are liable to kill him with that big Sharps no matter where you hit him. You go for Ned and I will try to nick this Chaney in the legs.”
“What does Ned look like?”
“He is a little fellow. I don’t know what he will be riding. He will be doing a lot of talking. Just go for the littlest one.”
“What if they hole up in there for a siege? They may figure on staying till dark and then breaking.”
“I don’t think they will,” said Rooster. “Now don’t keep on with this. Get on up there. If something queer turns up you will just have to use your head.”
“How long will we wait?”
“Till daylight anyhow.”
“I don’t think they are coming now.”
“Well, you may be right. Now move. Keep your eyes open and your horse quiet. Don’t go to sleep and don’t get the ‘jimjams.’ ”
Rooster took a cedar bough and brushed around over all our tracks in front of the dugout. Then we took our horses and led them up the hill in a roundabout route along a rocky stream bed. We went over the crest and Rooster posted me there with the horses. He told me to talk to them or give them some oats or put my hand over their nostrils if they started blowing or neighing. He put some corn dodgers in his pocket and left to go for his ambush position.
I said, “I cannot see anything from here.”
He said, “This is where I want you to stay.”
“I am going with you where I can see something.”
“You will do like I tell you.”
“The horses will be all right.”
“You have not seen enough killing tonight?”
“I am not staying here by myself.”
We started back over the ridge together. I said, “Wait, I will go back and get my revolver,” but he grabbed me roughly and pulled me along after him and I left the pistol behind. He found us a place behind a big log that offered a good view of the hollow and the dugout. We kicked the snow back so that we could rest on the leaves underneath. Rooster loaded his rifle from a sack of cartridges and placed the sack on the log where he would have it ready at hand. He got out his revolver and put a cartridge into the one chamber that he kept empty under the hammer. The same shells fit his pistol and rifle alike. I thought you had to have different kinds. I bunched myself up inside the slicker and rested my head against the log. Rooster ate a corn dodger and offered me one.
I said, “Strike a match and let me look at it first.”
“What for?” said he.
“There was blood on some of them.”
“We ain’t striking no matches.”
“I don’t want it then. Let me have some taffy.”
“It is all gone.”
I tried to sleep but it was too cold. I cannot sleep when my feet are cold. I asked Rooster what he had done before he became a Federal marshal.
“I done everything but keep school,” said he.
“What was one thing that you did?” said I.
“I skinned buffalo and killed wolves for bounty out on the Yellow House Creek in Texas. I seen wolves out there that weighed a hundred and fifty pounds.”
“Did you like it?”
“It paid well enough but I didn’t like that open country. Too much wind to suit me. There ain’t but about six trees between there and Canada. Some people like it fine. Everything that grows out there has got stickers on it.”
“Have you ever been to California?”
“I never got out there.”
“My Grandfather Spurling lives in Monterey, California. He owns a store there and he can look out his window any time he wants to and see the blue ocean. He sends me five dollars every Christmas. He has buried two wives and is now married to one called Jenny who is thirty-one years of age. That is one year younger than Mama. Mama will not even say her name.”
“I fooled around in Colorado for a spell but I never got out to California. I freighted supplies for a man named Cook out of Denver.”
“Did you fight in the war?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Papa did too. He was a good soldier.”
“I expect he was.”
“Did you know him?”
“No, where was