It depressed her a little that she was left to depend on Gus’s courtesy from the very outset. He took her over to the cook fire and saw that she got a good helping of food, talking casually all the while, mainly about the qualities of the Pumphrey mare. Jake followed and got some grub but he was silent when he did it.
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“I would not have thought Mary would give up her mare,” he said.
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He recognized the brown mare Lorie rode as having belonged to Mary Pumphrey, the young widow.
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“Hell, I don’t need all this,” he said. “There ain’t a horse in town worth fifty dollars, unless it’s that mare of Call’s, and she ain’t for sale.” But he took the money, thinking it a fine joke on Gus that the money from his poke would buy Lorie a mount to ride to Montana, or however far they went. He had known perfectly well Gus would try something of the sort, for Gus would never let him have a woman to himself. Gus liked to be a rival more than anything else, Jake figured. And as for Lorie going through with it—well, it relieved him of a certain level of responsibility for her. If she was going to keep that much independence, so would he.
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AUGUSTUS RODE BACK to camp a little after sunset, thinking the work would have stopped by then. The cattle were being held in a long valley near the river, some five miles from town. Every night Call went across the river with five or six hands and came back with two or three hundred Mexican cattle—longhorns mostly, skinny as rails and wild as deer. Whatever they got they branded the next day, with the part of the crew that had rested doing the hard end of the work. Only Call worked both shifts. If he slept, it was an hour or two before breakfast or after supper. The rest of the time he worked, and so far as anyone could tell the pace agreed with him. He had taken to riding the Hell Bitch two days out of three, and the mare seemed no more affected by the work than he was.
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Gus himself often joked about it. “If you got killed I might work harder,” he said. “I might get in a righteous frame of mind if I had that stimulation. But you ain’t kilt, so what’s the point?” Call wasted no time getting back, wishing all the way that he had the mare. She had spoiled him—made him too aware of the limitations of his other mounts. The fact that she was dangerous made him like her the more. She made him extra watchful, which was good.
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“They’re with Mr. McCrae,” Call said. “He travels at his own pace.” “Talks at it, too,” Wilbarger said. “I don’t think we’ll wait. Keep them two horses for your trouble.” “We brought in some nice stock,” Call said. “You’re welcome to look it over, if you’re still short.” “Not interested,” Wilbarger said. “You won’t rent pigs and you won’t trade that mare, so I might as well be on my way.” Then he turned to Dish Boggett. “Want a job, son?” he asked. “You look all right to me.” “I got a job,” Dish said.
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“I won’t trade this mare,” Call said. “And that ain’t an opinion.” “No, it’s more like a damn hard fact,” Wilbarger said. “I live on a horse and yet I ain’t had but good ones my whole life.” “This is my third,” Call said.
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“Is that your last word on the subject?” Wilbarger asked. “I’m offering thirty-eight for one. You won’t get a chance like that every day of your life.” Dish snorted. He fancied the gray mare himself. “It’d be like tradin’ a fifty-dollar gold piece for thirty-eight nickels,” he said. He was in a foul temper anyway. The minute they had the horses penned, Jake Spoon had unsaddled and walked straight to the Dry Bean, as if that were where he lived.
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“You mean you’d give up all them horses for the chance of having a hunk bit out of you?” he asked. He knew men fancied the Captain’s mare, but that anyone would fancy her to that extent was almost more than he could credit.
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Call was not quite ready to rest the mare. When Wilbarger finished his sorting and came over to the fence, it was her, not the Captain, that he had his eye on.
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They sat together silently as the top half of the sun shot long ribbons of light across the brown river and the drinking horses, some of whom lay down in the shallows and rolled themselves in the cooling mud. When the herd began to move in twos and threes up the north bank, Call touched the mare and he and the boy moved out into the water. Call loosened his rein and let the mare drink. He was as pleased with her as he was with the catch. She was surefooted as a cat, and far from used up, though the boy’s mount was so done in he would be worthless for a week. Pea’s big bay was not much better. Call let the mare drink all she wanted before gathering his rein. Most of the horses had moved to the north bank, and the sun had finished lifting itself clear of the horizon.
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In a few minutes more, as the herd neared the river, the darkness loosened and began to gray. The red on the eastern horizon was no longer a line but spread upward like an opened fan. Soon Newt could see the horses moving through the first faint gray light—a lot of horses. Then, just as he thought he had brought the flood within himself under control, the darkness loosened its hold yet more and the first sunlight streamed across the plain, filtering through the cloud of dust to touch the coats of the tired horses, most of whom had slowed to a rapid trot. Ahead, waiting on the bank of the river, was Captain Call, the big Henry in the crook of his arm. The Hell Bitch was lathered with sweat, but her head was up and she slung it restlessly as she watched the herd approach-even pointing her keen ears at Mouse for a moment. Neither the Captain nor the gray mare looked in the least affected by the long night or the hard ride, yet Newt found himself so moved by the mere sight of them sitting there that he had to brush away yet another tear and smudge his dusty cheek even worse.
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“I guess that’s one of the pigs you don’t rent,” Wilbarger said. “If I’d been riding my mare she’d have kicked it so far you’d have had to hunt to find your bacon.” “Well, that pig had been asleep,” Augustus said. “I guess it didn’t expect a horse to be standing there when it woke up.” “Which are you, Call or McCrae?” Wilbarger asked, tired of discussing pigs.
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“I do fancy that mare,” Dish said, watching the Captain unsaddle her.
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“Hello, boys,” he said. “Ain’t the water flowing yet?” “It’s flowin’,” Dish said. “A gallon or two of it flowed outa me.” “Be thankful you’re healthy,” Call said. “A man that couldn’t sweat would die in this heat.” “I don’t suppose you’d trade for that mare,” Dish asked. “I like her looks.” “You ain’t the first that’s liked them,” Call said. “I’ll keep her, I believe. But you boys can stop work now and catch a little rest. We have to go to Mexico tonight.” They all went over and sat in the alleyway of the barn—it had a little shade in it. The minute they sat down Deets began to patch his pants. He kept a big needle and some heavy thread in a cigar box in the saddle shed—given any chance he would get out his needle and start patching. He was woolly-headed and his wool was just getting gray.
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They were going at it hard when the Captain came riding back, having lathered the mare good by loping her along the river for about twenty miles. He rode her right up to the well.
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“As to the ranch,” he said, “the boy could run it. He’s nearly grown.” Augustus puzzled over that for a moment, as if it had never occurred to him. “Well, maybe so, Call,” he said. “I guess he could run it if he was a mind to, and if you would let him.” “I don’t know why he wouldn’t be a mind to,” Call said, and walked over to the mare.
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Then you won’t know what to do with yourself, no more than you have these last ten years.” “I ain’t a boy,” Call said. “I’ll be dead before all that happens. Anyhow, I ain’t going there to law. I’m going there to run cattle. Jake said it was a cattleman’s paradise.” “You ain’t a cattleman, Call,” Augustus said. “No more than I am. If we was to get a ranch I don’t know who would run it.” It seemed to Call the mare had probably stood on three legs long enough, and he had surely jawed with Gus long enough.
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“Catching a nap,” Augustus said. “I reckon the anxiety wore him out.” “He ain’t changed a bit,” Call said. “Not a dern bit.” Augustus laughed. “You’re one to talk,” he said. “When’s the last time you changed? It must have been before we met, and that was thirty years ago.” “Look at her watch us,” Call said. The mare was watching them—even had her ears pointed at them.
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“I don’t,” Call said. “Not from you.” “Call, you ain’t never learned,” Augustus said. “There’s plenty of gentle horses in this world. Why would a man with your responsibilities want to waste time with a filly that’s got to be hobbled and blindfolded before you can even keep a saddle on her?” Call ignored him. In a moment the mare tentatively lifted the near hind foot with the thought of kicking whatever might be in range. When she did he caught the foot with the rawhide rope and took a hitch around the snubbing post. It left the mare standing on three legs, so she could not kick again without throwing herself. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, trembling a little with indignation, but she accepted the saddle.“Why don’t you trade her to Jake?” Augustus said. “If they don’t hang him, maybe he could teach her to pace.” Call left the mare saddled, snubbed, and on three legs, and came to the fence to have a smoke and let the mare have a moment to consider the situation.
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“Remember that horse that bit off all that old boy’s toes—all the ones on the left foot, I mean?” Augustus said. “That old boy’s name was Harwell. He went to the war and got killed at Vicksburg. He never was much of a hand after he lost his toes. Of course, the horse that bit ’em off had a head the size of a punkin. I don’t suppose a little mare like that could take off five toes in one bite.” Call eased the saddle on her, and the minute the stirrups slapped against her belly the mare went as high as she could get, and the saddle flew off and landed twenty feet away. Augustus got a big laugh out of it. Call went to the barn and returned with a short rawhide rope.
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Call got her to accept the blanket and picked up his saddle. Snubbed as she was, she couldn’t bite him, but her hind legs weren’t snubbed. He kept close to her shoulder as he prepared to ease on the saddle. The mare let go with her near hind foot. It didn’t get him but it got the saddle and nearly knocked it out of his hand. He kept close to her shoulder and got the saddle in position again.
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“I ought to kick you down this hole,” Dish said. “If you hadn’t loaned me that money I’d be halfway to the Matagorda by now.” Augustus walked over to the fence to watch Call work the mare. He was about to throw the saddle on her. He had her snubbed close, but she still had her eye turned so she could watch him in case he got careless.
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That got Augustus’s attention. “Give him work doing what?” he asked. “Dish here’s a top hand. He don’t cotton to work that requires walking, do you, Dish?” “I don’t, for a fact,” Dish said, looking at the Captain but seeing Lorena. “I’ve done a mess of it though. What did you have in mind?” “Well, we’re going down to Mexico tonight,” Call said. “Going to see what we can raise. We might make up a herd ourselves, if you wanted to wait a day or two while we look it over.” “That mare bite’s drove you crazy,” Augustus said. “Make up a herd and do what with it?” “Drive it,” Call said.
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