True Grit - Charles Portis [55]
On hearing the news Rooster did not appear angry or in any way perturbed, but only amused. You may wonder why. He had his reasons and among them were these, that Wharton now stood no chance of winning a commutation from President R. B. Hayes, and also that the escape would cause Lawyer Goudy a certain amount of chagrin in Washington city and would no doubt result in a big expense loss for him, as clients who resolve their own problems are apt to be slow in paying due bills from a lawyer.
Captain Finch said, “I thought you had better know about this.”
Rooster said, “I appreciate it, Boots. I appreciate you riding out here.”
“Wharton will be looking for you.”
“If he is not careful he will find me.”
Captain Finch looked LaBoeuf over, then said to Rooster, “Is this the man who shot Ned’s horse from under him?”
Rooster said, “Yes, this is the famous horse killer from El Paso, Texas. His idea is to put everybody on foot. He says it will limit their mischief.”
LaBoeuf’s fair-complected face became congested with angry blood. He said, “There was very little light and I was firing off-hand. I did not have the time to find a rest.”
Captain Finch said, “There is no need to apologize for that shot. A good many more people have missed Ned than have hit him.”
“I was not apologizing,” said LaBoeuf. “I was only explaining the circumstances.”
“Rooster here has missed Ned a few times himself, horse and all,” said the captain. “I reckon he is on his way now to missing him again.”
Rooster was holding a bottle with a little whiskey in it. He said, “You keep on thinking that.” He drained off the whiskey in about three swallows and tapped the cork back in and tossed the bottle up in the air. He pulled his revolver and fired at it twice and missed. The bottle fell and rolled and Rooster shot at it two or three more times and broke it on the ground. He got out his sack of cartridges and reloaded the pistol. He said, “The Chinaman is running them cheap shells in on me again.”
LaBoeuf said, “I thought maybe the sun was in your eyes. That is to say, your eye.”
Rooster swung the cylinder back in his revolver and said, “Eyes, is it? I’ll show you eyes!” He jerked the sack of corn dodgers free from his saddle baggage. He got one of the dodgers out and flung it in the air and fired at it and missed. Then he flung another one up and he hit it. The corn dodger exploded. He was pleased with himself and he got a fresh bottle of whiskey from his baggage and treated himself to a drink.
LaBoeuf pulled one of his revolvers and got two dodgers out of the sack and tossed them both up. He fired very rapidly but he only hit one. Captain Finch tried it with two and missed both of them. Then he tried with one and made a successful shot. Rooster shot at two and hit one. They drank whiskey and used up about sixty corn dodgers like that. None of them ever hit two at one throw with a revolver but Captain Finch finally did it with his Winchester repeating rifle, with somebody else throwing. It was entertaining for a while but there was nothing educational about it. I grew more and more impatient with them.
I said, “Come on, I have had my bait of this. I am ready to go. Shooting cornbread out here on this prairie is not taking us anywhere.”
By then Rooster was using his rifle and the captain was throwing for him. “Chunk high and not so far out this time,” said he.
At length, Captain Finch took his leave and went back the way he came. We continued our journey eastward, with the Winding Stair Mountains as our destination. We lost a good half-hour with that shooting foolishness, but, worse than that, it started Rooster to drinking.
He drank even as he rode, which looked difficult. I cannot say it slowed him down any but it did make him silly. Why do people wish to be silly? We kept up our fast pace, riding hard for forty or fifty minutes and then going on foot for a piece. I believe those walks were a more welcome rest for me than for the horses. I have never claimed to be a cowboy!