True Grit - Charles Portis [48]
Lucky Ned Pepper said, “Quincy would not leave a warm fire to go track a rabbit at night. That is no answer at all.”
Haze said, “The snow is all stirred up out here in front. Come and see what you make of it, Ned.”
The man that was with Haze said, “What difference does it make? Let us change horses and get on out of here. We can get something to eat at Ma’s place.”
Lucky Ned Pepper said, “Let me think a minute.”
The man that was with Haze said, “We are wasting time that is better spent riding. We have lost enough time in this snow and left a broad track as well.”
When the man spoke the second time Rooster identified him as a Mexican gambler from Fort Worth, Texas, who called himself The Original Greaser Bob. He did not talk the Mexican language, though I suppose he knew it. I looked hard at the mounted bandits but mere effort was not enough to pierce the shadows and make out faces. Nor could I tell much from their physical attitudes as they were wearing heavy coats and big hats and their horses were ever milling about. I did not recognize Papa’s horse, Judy.
Lucky Ned Pepper pulled one of his revolvers and fired it rapidly three times in the air. The noise rumbled in the hollow and there followed an expectant silence.
In a moment there came a loud report from the opposite ridge and Lucky Ned Pepper’s horse was felled as though from a poleax. Then more shots from the ridge and the bandits were seized with panic and confusion. It was LaBoeuf over there firing his heavy rifle as fast as he could load it.
Rooster cursed and rose to his feet and commenced firing and pumping his Winchester repeating rifle. He shot Haze and The Original Greaser before they could mount their horses. Haze was killed where he stood. The hot cartridge cases from Rooster’s rifle fell on my hand and I jerked it away. When he turned to direct his fire on the other bandits, The Original Greaser, who was only wounded, got to his feet and caught his horse and rode out behind the others. He was clinging to the far side of his horse with one leg thrown over for support. If you had not followed the entire “stunt” from start to finish as I had done, you would have thought the horse was riderless. That is how he escaped Rooster’s attention. I was “mesmerized” and proved to be of no help.
Now I will back up and tell of the others. Lucky Ned Pepper was bowled over with his horse but he quickly crawled from under the dead beast and cut his saddle wallets free with a knife. The other three bandits had already spurred their horses away from the deadly cockpit, as I may call it, and they were firing their rifles and revolvers at LaBoeuf on the run. Rooster and I were behind them and a good deal farther away from them than LaBoeuf. As far as I know, not a shot was fired at us.
Lucky Ned Pepper shouted after the riders and pursued them on foot in a zigzag manner. He carried the saddle wallets over one arm and a revolver in the other hand. Rooster could not hit him. The bandit was well named “Lucky,” and his luck was not through running yet. In all the booming and smoke and confusion, one of his men chanced to hear his cries and he wheeled his horse about and made a dash back to pick up his boss. Just as the man reached Lucky Ned Pepper and leaned over to extend a hand to help him aboard he was knocked clean from the saddle by a well-placed shot from LaBoeuf’s powerful rifle. Lucky Ned Pepper expertly swung aboard in the man’s place without so much as a word or a parting glance at the fallen friend who had dared to come back and save him. He rode low and the trick-riding Mexican gambler followed him out and they were gone. The scrap did not last as long as it has taken me to describe it.
Rooster told me to get the horses. He ran down the hill on foot.
The bandits had left two of their number behind and we had forced the others to continue their flight on jaded ponies, but