"Sorry to disturb you, I just wondered if Clara was sick--I had the fear that she might have taken ill while we were gone," Gus said.
"Oh no, Clara's healthy as a horse," Mr. Forsythe said. "Clara's never been sick a day in her life." Where is she, then, you old fool? Gus thought, but he held his tongue.
"Is she out? I'd like to greet her," he said.
"We travelled nearly to the North Pole and back since I was here." "No, she's not here," Mr. Forsythe said, glancing at the back of the store, as if he feared Clara might pop out from behind a pile of dry goods. Then he went back to counting shoes.
Augustus was taken aback--Mr. Forsythe had always been friendly to him, and had seemed to encourage his suit. Why was he so standoffish suddenly?
"I expect she's just making deliveries," Gus said. "I hope you'll tell her I stopped in." "Yes sir, I'll tell her," Mr.
Forsythe said.
Augustus turned toward the door, feeling close to panic. What could have happened to make George Forsythe so closemouthed with him?
Then, just as Gus was about to go out the door, Mr.
Forsythe put down a pair of shoes and turned to him with a question.
"Lose any men, this trip?" he asked.
"Just Jimmy Watson," Gus said.
"Jimmy had fatal bad luck. We brought back three captives, though. One of them's a woman who's out of her mind." Jake Spoon was waiting in the street, eager to tag along with him like a puppy dog, but Augustus was in no mood to be tagged--not then.
"Hello, Mr. McCrae, did you kill any Indians?" Jake asked, an eager look on his young face.
"Two. Now don't tag me, Jake, I have to report to the Governor," Gus said. "Neely will tell you all about the Indian fighting." "Oh," Jake said, his face falling. Mr.
McCrae had always been friendly with him; never before had he been so brusque.
Augustus felt guilty for being short with young Jake, but the fact was he could think of nothing but Clara--not at the moment. They had been gone for weeks: perhaps she had married. The thought stirred his mind to such a frenzy that the last thing he needed was to have to be gabbing about rangering with a green boy.
"Woodrow Call and me got made captains," he said, trying to soothe the boy's feelings a little. "Being a captain is just one duty after another, which is why I have to go see the Governor right now. He wants a report." "Yes, we all want one," Jake said.
"You may want it, but he's the governor and you ain't," Gus said, as he prepared to mount. His mind was in such an agitated state that--z young Jake watched in astonishment--he put the wrong foot in the stirrup and mounted the horse facing backward.
It was only when Gus leaned forward to pick up his bridle reins and saw that in fact he was looking at his horse's rump that he realized what he had done. To make matters worse, most of the rangers, having stabled their horses, were walking toward the saloon, to join Long Bill, and saw him do it. They immediately started laughing and pointing, assuming Gus was so happy to be home that he had decided to ride his horse backward, as some sort of prank.
Augustus was so stunned by what he had done that for a moment he was paralyzed. "Well, I swear," he said, unable to believe that he had accidentally done such an absurd thing. He was about to swing down and try to pretend it only had been a prank when he happened to look up the road that led into Austin, down a long slope.
There was a buggy coming, a buggy with two people in it--it seemed to him that the two people were holding hands, though he couldn't be sure. The woman in the buggy was Clara Forsythe, and the man looked from a distance like Bob Allen, the Nebraska horse trader.
One look was all it took to propel Gus off the horse. He didn't intend to be sitting in front of the Forsythe store, looking backward off a horse, when Clara arrived with big dumb Bob.
He swung to the ground so quickly that he almost kicked young Jake Spoon in the face with his boot.
"Go put this horse in the stable," he said, handing Jake the reins. "If Captain Call needs me, tell him I'll be in the saloon. And if he wants me to visit that governor, he better come quick." "Why, are you leaving again?" Jake asked, surprised.
"That's right, leaving--I'll be departing from my right mind," Augustus told him. Then he hurried across the street and strode into the saloon so fast that he almost knocked over a customer who stood a little too close to the swinging door.
"Why, hello, Captain," Long Bill said, when Gus burst in and strode to the bar. Without a ^w to anyone, including the bartender, Augustus reached for a full bottle of whiskey and immediately yanked out the cork. Then he threw his hat at the hat rack, but missed. His hat landed behind the bar.
"Don't call me "Captainea"' I'm plain Gus McCrae," he said. He raised the whiskey bottle to his mouth and--ffthe astonishment of the patrons--drank nearly a third of it straight off.
Long Bill, perceiving that his old compa@nero, now his captain, was a little disturbed, said nothing. In times of disturbance, silence seemed to him the best policy. The other rangers began to file into the saloon just then, all of them eager to wet their whistles.
"You better grab your liquor if you want any, boys," Long Bill said. "Gus means to drink the place dry and he's off to a fine start." Augustus ignored the tedious palaver that ensued. All he could think about was Clara--he had by then convinced himself that she had unquestionably been holding hands with dull Bob. Instead of getting the homecoming kiss he had yearned for for several days, what did he see but the love of his life holding hands with another man! No disappointment had ever been as keen. It was worse than disappointment, it was agony, and all he could do was dull it a little with the whiskey. He took another long draw, scarcely feeling the fire of the liquor in his belly.
Quietly the rangers took their seats; quietly they ordered their own drinks.
"Gus, why did you get on your horse backward?" Neely Dickens asked. "Did you just happen to put your off foot in the stirrup, or what?" Augustus ignored the question. He decided to refuse all discussion, of the horse incident or anything. The boys, Neely especially, would have to make of it what they could.
"It's bad table manners to drink out of the bottle," Neely observed. "The polite thing is to drink out of a glass." Long Bill could scarcely believe his ears.
Why would Neely Dickens care what Gus drank out of, and, even if he did care, why bring it up when Gus was clearly more than drunk?
"Now, Neely, I've seen men drink liquor out of saucers--there ain't just one right way," he said, nervous about what Augustus might do.
"I would not be caught dead drinking no whiskey out of a saucer," Neely said firmly. "Coffee I might drink out of a saucer, if it was too hot to sip from a cup." Augustus got up, went behind the bar, took the largest glass he could find back to his table, filled the glass, and drank it.
"Does that suit you?" he asked, looking at Neely.
"Yes, but you never told me why you got on your horse backward," Neely said. "I don't sleep good when people won't answer my questions." Just then Call stepped into the saloon. He saw that the whiskey bottle in front of him was half empty.
"Let's go before you get any drunker," he said. "The Governor sent his buggy for us." "I see," Augustus said. "Did the buggy just come by itself, or is somebody driving it?" "His man Bingham is driving it," Call said. "Bingham always drives it. Hurry up." "I wish you'd just let me be, Woodrow," Augustus said. "I ain't in the mood for a governor today, even if he did send Bingham to fetch us." Bingham was a very large black man who rarely spoke--he saw to it that the Governor came to no bodily harm.
"Your mood don't matter," Call said.
"We're captains now, and we're due at the Governor's." "Captaining's the wrong business for me, I expect," Augustus said. "I think I'll resign right now." "What?" Call said. "You've been talking about being a captain for years. Why would you resign now?" Without a ^w Augustus corked the whiskey bottle, retrieved his hat, and went outside.
"I may resign and I may not," he said.
The bugg
y he had seen Clara riding in was parked by the Forsythe store, with no one in it, and the Governor's buggy, with Bingham in it, stood beside it.
"Dern, Bingham, you're nearly as wide as this buggy," Augustus observed. "The man who rides behind you won't have much of a view." "No sir," Bingham said. "Mostly get a view of me." "I'm surprised you'd drink like that before you say hello to Clara," Call said.
"Why would I say hello to her?" Gus asked. "I saw her taking a buggy ride with that dumb horse trader." "No she wasn't, that was her uncle," Call told him. "Her ma's poorly and he's come for a visit." Augustus, who had just climbed in the buggy, was so startled he nearly fell out. It had not occurred to him that Clara could be with a relative, when he saw her come down the hill.
"Oh Lord--y mean she's in the store?" he asked.
"Why, yes, I suppose so," Call said.
"Were you so drunk you got on your horse backward? That's what the boys are saying." Augustus ignored the inquiry.
"Hold this buggy, Binghamffwas he demanded.
"I've got to pay a short visit--then I'll report to the Governor until he's sick of listening." "But the Governor's waiting," Call protested.
"It don't take long to kiss a girl," Gus said, jumping out of the buggy and running into the store.
Clara had her back to him when he rushed in-- he had her in his arms before she even got a good look at him. But the color came up in her cheeks and the happy light into her eyes.
"Why, it's my ranger," she said, and gave him the kiss he had been yearning for.
"Yep, I'm a captain now, Clara-- Woodrow's one too. We're off to see the Governor on urgent business." "The Governor? My goodness," Clara said.
"Yes, and I'll have to hurry or Bingham might lose his job," Gus said. "The Governor expects us to report." Clara didn't try to stop him but she followed him out the door and watched him as he vaulted into the Governor's buggy and straightened his hat.
Clara felt an old confusion, the feelings that had so often filled her when Gus came: relief that he was safe, excitement when he kissed her, joy that he still rushed in to see her first, disappointment that he left before she could even take a good look at him.
Just a kiss and then he's gone--t's my ranger, she thought. Just a kiss and then he's gone.
Governor e. m. Pease, whose campaign slogan had been "Pease and Prosperity," did not like surprises. With surprises came disorder, and he hated disorder. His firm belief was that good administration, like human happiness itself, depended on planning that was careful, intelligent, and firm. Of course, as an experienced man, he had long since been forced to recognize that life, like the state of Texas, was never going to be perfectly manageable, despite the most thorough planning. People dropped dead, fires broke out, storms flooded the land, foolish marriages were made, and the criminal element would never be entirely subdued or eliminated. Nonetheless the duty of honest men and competent state officials was to plan and plan seriously, so as to keep the element of surprise to a workable minimum.
Now two dusty young rangers stood in his office with news that he found to be nearly incredible: Inish Scull, the brilliant hero of the Mexican War, the most experienced military man in the state, had left his command and walked away on foot, merely to reclaim a stolen horse.
The Governor had a map of the western regions spread out on his desk and was attempting to get the young rangers to pinpoint the area where Captain Scull had left the troop, but it was fast becoming apparent to him that they couldn't.
"We were east of the Pecos and some ways north of the Red River," Call said.
"Way north of the Red," Augustus said.
"We were several days getting down to the Red." The Governor, whose spectacles had been unaccountably mislaid, had to squint to make out many details; but when he did squint he discovered what he already suspected, which was that there was no way of deducing where Inish Scull might be.
"Why, there's nothing there, not even a creek," the Governor said. "Inish has lost himself, and over a goddamn horse." "Well, it was his warhorse, Governor," Gus remarked. "He held that horse in high regard." "Yes, and what about his duty to the state of Texas?" Governor Pease said. "Did he hold that in high regard, sir?" Call and Gus had no idea what to say.
They had never met a governor before. Call thought they ought to talk as little as possible, but Augustus, as usual, found it hard to keep quiet.
"He made us both captains, before he went," he said. "I guess he thought we could get the boys home safe, and we done it, and recovered those captives too." "Yes, though I doubt the woman will recover --they rarely do," the Governor said. "I'll endorse your promotions--the state can use a pair of competent young captains like yourselves. What stumps me is Inish. How did he expect to catch up with Kicking Wolf on foot when he had already failed to catch him horseback?" The Governor went to the window and looked out.
Far to the west huge white thunderheads floated like warships across a blue sky.
"Inish Scull is a rich man," he said.
"He's always been a rich man. He could buy and sell me ten times over, and I'm no pauper.
He don't need the job. He was only rangering because it interested him, and now it's stopped interesting him, I guess.
"So away he went," he added, turning back to the young men. "Away he went. He might be off to California to prospect for gold, for all we know. Meanwhile we've still got several thousand hostile Indians to contend with, and a whole nation to the south that don't like us one bit. It's a poor performance, I say." "At least he was with Famous Shoes," Gus pointed out. "I expect Famous Shoes will guide him home." Governor Pease was staring out the window at the Scull mansion, its strange turrets just visible above the trees along Shoal Creek.
"I'm the governor, but the rich Yankee son-of-a-bitch has never answered to me, that I recall," the Governor said. "Every time I call him in for a report, that Yankee nose of his goes up--but that ain't the worst of it. The worst is that he's left us Inez. I expect we can hold our own with the Comanches and I believe we can whip back the Mexicans, but the heavens are going to ring when Inez Scull finds out that her husband didn't care to come home." Neither Call nor Augustus knew what to say about that.
"She's richer than Inish, you know," Governor Pease said. "They're quite a couple, the Sculls. A Yankee snob and a Southern slut. They're hell to manage, both of them." The Governor stared glumly out the window for a while. The fact that the two young rangers were still in his office seemed to slip his mind. Below him he could see Bingham sitting in the buggy, waiting to take someone somewhere; but it was not until his reverie ended and he saw the two dusty young rangers standing by his desk that he realized Bingham was waiting for them.
"Why, gentlemen, excuse me--y'll think I'm daft," Governor Pease said. "Inish Scull used good judgment in making you captains, and I'll second it. You've both got a bright future, if you can keep your hair." He had given the young rangers a careful looking over. They were polite in deportment, unlike their commander, the wild millionaire soldier who had just marched off into the wilderness for reasons of his own. Governor Pease was suddenly moved to emotion, at the sight of such sturdy, upright young fellows.
"You're the future of Texas, fine young men like yourselves," he said. "Why, either of you could wind up governor, before you're done, if you apply yourselves diligently and keep to the straight and narrow." He patted them both on the shoulder and gave them a warm handshake before sending them away-- Augustus claimed the man had even had tears in his eyes.
"I didn't see any tears," Call said, when they were in the buggy again, heading back down the hill toward the ranger corrals. "Why would he cry if he likes us so much?" "I don't know and it don't matter --we're captains now, Woodrow," Augustus said. "You heard the Governor. He said we're the future of Texas." "I heard him," Call said. "I just don't know what he meant." "Why, it means we're fine fellows," Augustus said.
"How would he know that?" Call asked. "He's never even seen us before today." "Now, Woodrow--
don't be contrary," Gus said. "He's the governor, and a governor can figure things out quicker than other folks. If he says we're the future of Texas, then I expect it's so." "I ain't being contrary," Call said. "But I still don't know what he meant."
When Slipping Weasel came racing into camp with the news that Kicking Wolf had stolen the Buffalo Horse, there was an uproar at what a big joke it was on the Texans. Old Slow Tree was still there, talking to anyone who would listen about how the time for war with the Texans was over, how it was time for the People to grow corn, how the buffalo would soon disappear, so that the People would starve if they did not soon learn the ways of the whites and plant and reap.
Buffalo Hump had started avoiding the old chief whenever he could do so without giving offense.
When Slipping Weasel came into camp Buffalo Hump was boiling a buffalo skull in a big pot he had taken from a white farm on the Trinity River.
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