Comanche Moon

by Larry McMurtry

  He knew what Maggie thought about her, but what Madame Scull did was none of his business.

  He had no intention of gossiping about her with Captain Richard King.

  "I scarcely know her," Call said. "I believe the Governor introduced us once. I suppose she's anxious to have her husband back." "Possibly," Captain King said, eyeing Call closely. "Possibly not. As long as she has lads to peel she might not care. You're a circumspect man, ain't you, Captain?" Call was not familiar with the ^w.

  "Means you don't gossip about your superiors, Captain--t's a rare trait," Captain King said. "I wish you'd quit the rangers and work for me. I need a circumspect man with ability, and I believe you have ability to go with your circumspection." Call was surprised by the statement. He knew little about Captain King just that he owned a vast stretch of land, south along the coast. The two of them had met scarcely an hour ago. Why would the man try to hire him on such short acquaintance?

  Captain King, though, did not seem to expect a reply, much less an acceptance. The trail narrowed, as it entered the thick mesquite. The two of them had been riding side by side, but that soon ceased to be possible. Call fell in behind the Captain, who kept a brisk pace, ducking under the larger limbs and brushing aside the smaller. Call, less experienced in brush, twice had his hat knocked off. He had to dismount to retrieve it and in the process fell some ways behind Captain King. Fortunately the trail was well worn. He pressed on, as fast as he could, but, despite his best efforts, could not draw in sight of the Captain, or hear him, either. He was beginning to feel anxious about it--perh the trail had forked and he had missed the fork. Then he heard shouts from his left. Suddenly a large form came crashing at him, through the brush.

  His horse reared and threw him against the base of a mesquite tree just as Solomon, Captain King's great brown bull, passed in front of them with a snort. Call just managed to hang on to his rein and stop his horse from bolting up the trail. As he fell a thorn had caught his shirt and ripped it almost off him, leaving a cut down one side. The cut didn't worry him but it was a nuisance about the shirt because he only had one other with him. The shirt was so badly torn he didn't think it could be mended, even though Deets was adept with needle and thread.

  The great bull had passed on, its head up, its testicles swinging. The trees over the trail were so low that Call didn't immediately remount. He walked, leading his horse. Then he heard a sound and turned in time to see the old vaquero Captain King had put in charge of the bull slipping through the brush, in close pursuit of the great animal.

  It was all puzzling to him: why would anyone try to raise cattle in a place where you could scarcely see twenty feet? Even if you owned ten thousand cattle, what good would it do if you couldn't find them? He wondered why Texas had bothered taking such brushy country back from Mexico. In his years of rangering he had become competent, or at least adequate, in several environments. He could ranger on the plains, or in the hills, or even in the desert; but now he had been thrust into yet another environment, one he was not competent in at all.

  Captain King could move through the brush, the vaqueros could move through it, Solomon, the great bull, could move through it, but so far all he had done was get lost and ruin his shirt. He would have done better to have stayed with Gus and got drunk.

  Just as Call was beginning to wonder if he should try to retrace his steps and at least get back to Lonesome Dove, he heard voices ahead of him. He went toward the voices and soon came into a sizable clearing. Captain King was there, talking to four black men who were sitting on the thick lower limb of a big live oak, their feet dangling.

  "Why, there you are, Captain, what happened to your shirt?" Captain King asked.

  "Thorns," Call said. "Are these the lost carpenters?" "Yes, Solomon kindly treed them for me," Captain King said. "They're not eager to come down while Solomon's in the vicinity. They don't think the treeing was kindly meant." "I don't blame them," Call said. "He nearly treed me." "Nonsense, that bull is gentle as a kitten most of the time," Captain King said. "I expect it was those Mexican heifers that stirred him up.

  Anyway, Juan is taking him home. It's unfortunate about your shirt, Captain." The black men did not seem at all inclined to leave their limb. While they watched, Solomon trotted quickly through the clearing, with the old vaquero, Juan, right behind him. The bull did not look their way.

  "See there, men, Juan's taking Solomon home," Captain King said. "He won't chouse you no more. It's perfectly safe to come down." The black men listened respectfully, but didn't move.

  "Now, this is vexing, I don't know if Lonesome Dove will ever get built, though there's a fine river crossing there to be taken advantage of," Captain King said. "Between the bull and the French witch, these men are badly spooked. I don't suppose I could persuade you to lead them back to Lonesome Dove, could I, Captain?" "Well, I guess I could take them back, if they ever decide to come down," Call said.

  "But what about the cattle to ransom Captain Scull?" Captain King simply ignored the question.

  "I've decided to proceed to my headquarters," he said. "I'd be obliged if you'd take these men back. They've got a saloon to build, and then a house.

  Th@er@ese Wanz will not be wanting to bivouac in Napoleon's tent forever." The black men, evidently feeling that the bull was now gone, began to edge off the limb.

  Call was hoping that Captain King would at least make some proposal regarding the cattle. After all, the Governor had asked, even if his letter did get a little wet. It was annoying that Captain King felt he could simply disregard it. He seemed far more interested in the carpenters than in the fate of Captain Scull.

  One by one the carpenters edged down the bole of the live oak tree. They were all elderly men, each carrying a small sack of possessions--not much.

  "Captain Scull is my captain," Call said. "I'm obliged to try and rescue him if I can." Captain King only looked at him the more severely.

  "I'm a blunt man, Captain," he said.

  "I know Scull's rank and I know your mission.

  In my opinion you and those tipplers back in Lonesome Dove could no more drive a thousand head of cattle to the Sierra Perdida than you could a thousand jackrabbits. I won't give you a cow, and besides that, I'm in the midst of the branding season and can't spare my vaqueros, either. [ that not enough, I happen to know that the state of Texas is broke, and I am not the sort of man who enjoys giving away livestock." "Well, Mr. Fogg said as much," Call told him.

  "Oh, Denton Fogg, that gloomy fool," Captain King said. "He'll starve out in another year or two and have to take those spavined women back east." "You won't sell us any cattle, then, Captain?" Call asked.

  Captain King, whose mind seemed to be elsewhere, swung his severe gaze back to Call.

  "You're a persistent man, I see, Captain," he said. "Do you like Inish Scull?" "What, sir?" Call asked, surprised by the question.

  "It's a simple question, Captain," Richard King said. "Do you like Inish Scull?" Call resented the question so much that it was all he could do to keep from simply riding off with the black carpenters. He didn't like Inish Scull, as it happened: the man had been rude to him too often. But that was his business, not Captain King's.

  "The Governor gave us orders," he said.

  "I mean to carry them out, if I can. I'd appreciate your help, but if I can't get it I've still got my orders to carry out." "I should have asked McCrae," Captain King said. "I expect I would have got an answer from McCrae. You do like McCrae, don't you, Captain? Will you admit that much?" "I had better take these men and head back to Lonesome Dove, Captain," Call said. "I don't want to get caught in this brush after dark." "I'm glad you didn't take me up on that job offer, Captain Call," Richard King said. "I fear we'd quarrel." "We would if you asked about things that are none of your business," Call said.

  Captain King's look grew dark.

  "Everything that happens in Texas is my business, Captain Call," he said.

  "Everything! I trust you'll remember
that." Without another ^w or look he turned his horse and left, disappearing into the brush at the point where the bull and the old vaquero had been.

  Call found himself no wiser in the matter of the ransom than he had been when he left Austin.

  They had no cattle, and could find no one who would let them have any. Yet another mission was tending toward failure.

  Besides that, he was in the midst of the south Texas brush country, with four elderly black men who did not seem happy to have been left with him. He suddenly realized that he had failed to ask Captain King whether the men were slave or free.

  If they were free he had no right to insist that they go back to Lonesome Dove with him. He decided just to ask them if they would come.

  "I'm ready to go, men--are you coming with me?" he asked.

  All the men nodded--they clearly didn't want to be caught in the brush after dark either.

  "Missus Th@er@ese gonna whip us, though," the oldest of the men said.

  "Oh, does she whip you, then?" Call asked. To his surprise the four men all smiled broadly.

  "She get after us with the buggy whip," one said.

  "Mister Xavier too, though," another commented.

  "She get after Mister Xavier worse." "Her husband, you mean," Call asked.

  The old black man nodded; the others looked suddenly fearful, as if they might have said too much.

  Call didn't question them further--it would only embarrass them. As he rode back down the narrow trail he recalled that Madame Scull was said to go after the Captain with a bullwhip, when in a temper. Now here was another wife who whipped her husband--it struck him as strange. Though he and Maggie were not married, he could not imagine her behaving so.

  "Well, at least it's just a buggy whip," he said.

  None of the black men said anything.

  "Get up, Monsieur. Make the liquors. The customer is here!" Th@er@ese Wanz said, flinging each ^w at her husband as if it were a small stone. Xavier Wanz, her husband, seemed to be thinking thoughts of his own; he continued to sit at the table with the white tablecloth, staring at his glass.

  Th@er@ese, in only a few moments in her tent, had managed to sweep her abundant brown hair up on her head in an appealing mound; the gown she wore did not quite conceal her plump shoulders. Augustus McCrae, who had not expected to see a woman, much less an attractive woman, for several years, if ever, found that the sight of Th@er@ese brought an immediate improvement in his mood.

  She stood in the middle of the barroom floor, hands on her hips, looking at the rangers cheerfully.

  "See, already the customers," she said to Xavier. "Vite! Vite! Make the liquors." Xavier Wanz compressed his lips, and then, as if propelled by a spasm of fury, jumped from his chair and strode over to the tent, beside which a sizable mound of goods was covered by a large wagon sheet.

  Xavier dove under the sheet like a rat seeking cover; for a moment, only his rump was visible, but, in the space of a minute, he emerged with two bottles of whiskey and several glasses. He hurried to the bar, set the bottles and glasses on it, and paused to straighten his cuffso.

  "Messieurs," he said, bowing slightly, "the pleasures are mine." "If the bar's open I expect a few of those pleasures might be ours, too," Gus said.

  Pea Eye declined the liquor and Deets wasn't offered any, but in a few minutes the other rangers, including young Jake Spoon, were all seated around the table where Xavier had sat.

  At Th@er@ese's strident urging Xavier had applied himself again to the mound under the wagon seat and come out with several chairs.

  "These glasses are clean," Gus said, in astonishment. "You could spend a week in the saloons of Austin and never encounter a clean glass." As soon as each glass was emptied, a process that didn't take long, Xavier appeared with a bottle, poured, and bowed.

  "Monsieur," he said, invariably.

  Ikey Ripple, who had passed easily and quickly into a state of profound inebriation, found himself a little put off by the bowing.

  "Why's he bowing to us?" Ikey asked.

  "To be polite--why shouldn't he bow?" Augustus asked.

  "That's right, a bartender ought to bow," Lee Hitch said--alth, so far as he could remember, none of the bartenders of his acquaintance had ever bothered to bow to him before.

  "I say it's a goddamn trick," Ikey declared. "I think he means to get us drunk and steal all our money." "Ikey, if you've got cash money on you, you don't need to wait for a Frenchman to steal it," Gus said. "Loan it to me and I'll invest it for you." "Invest it in whores--t's all you know about, Gus," Ikey said.

  "Well, that way you wouldn't have to be anxious about it," Gus told him.

  Th@er@ese Wanz, a smile on her lips, seemed to be studying the rangers closely. Pea Eye had elected to help Deets with the horses, but Jake Spoon had boldly taken his place at the table and was drinking whiskey as if he had a right to, a fact that annoyed Gus McCrae a good deal. Even more annoying was the fact that the Frenchwoman was looking at Jake with interest.

  "Jake, you ought to be helping with the horses," Gus said, in an irritable tone.

  Jake knew well that when Gus was out of temper it was better to walk small. He saw the Frenchwoman watching him, but didn't connect it with Gus's angry tone. After all, the woman's husband was standing right behind her.

  Th@er@ese decided right away that she liked Monsieur McCrae, but she saw nothing wrong with flirting a little with the curly-headed boy.

  Opportunities to flirt were limited in Lonesome Dove.

  Opportunities to make money were no less rare, and Th@er@ese liked money. Captain and Th@er@ese liked money. Captain King assured her there would soon be a brisk trade in the town--he seemed to think that merchants would rush to Lonesome Dove in order to take advantage of the fine river crossing, but, so far, very few merchants had appeared, a fact which frustrated Th@er@ese's commercial instincts severely.

  Now, at the sight of the tired, dusty, unshaven men, Th@er@ese began to think in terms of money.

  She quickly decided that the first task would be to barber them--they could all use shaves and two or three of them needed haircuts as well.

  "Xavier! The woods, monsieur!" she said crisply, with a glance at her husband. "I want to shave these men and give them the hair-offs." Xavier Wanz, severely depressed as he was by the many differences between Texas and France, walked over to a campfire that smouldered in front of the tent. He would have preferred, himself, to sit at the table all day, enjoying the seemliness of his clean tablecloth, and perhaps drinking just enough liquor to blind himself to the ugliness of the mesquite trees that surrounded the clearing where, if Captain King was to be believed, a town would one day exist.

  Th@er@ese, of course, had her own ideas; every day Lonesome Dove presented some new challenge to her energies, and her energies were not small. Every day, in this new land, Th@er@ese arose, impatient; every day Xavier was the man who bore the brunt of her impatience. Yesterday, Th@er@ese's impatience had overflowed and scared away the carpenters; today, at least, there were these men to occupy her, these rangers. If she wanted to barber them it was fine with him.

  With his foot he nudged a few more sticks of firewood into the fire, before returning to his bar.

  "Hair-offs--hair-offs!" Th@er@ese said, coming to the table. "You first, monsieur," she said, tapping Augustus on the shoulder.

  "All right, I'll volunteer--d I get a shave too?" Gus said.

  Th@er@ese didn't answer--she had already marched off to her tent. When she emerged, carrying a razor, a razor strop, and several other tools of the barbering trade, she pulled another chair from under the wagon sheet and insisted that Gus sit on it.

  The rangers, most of them now drunk, watched with interest as Th@er@ese vigorously stropped her razor.

  "I'm shaggier than Gus, she ought to have barbered me first," Stove Jones complained.

  "What you complaining about? I'll be lucky to even get a shave," Lee Hitch said, well aware that his bald head offered little incentive to a
barber.

  Jake Spoon gulped down what was left of the whiskey and went off to sit with Pea Eye and Deets. It .was vexing that Gus McCrae seemed to get the first attentions, if a woman was around. Now the woman was wrapping Gus in a sheet and cooing over him as if he were something special. The sight put Jake in such a hot mood that he picked up three clods and threw them at the blue sow, who had consumed the bull snake and had flopped down under a small bush to rest. The clods missed but Xavier Wanz noticed and immediately walked over to Jake.

  "Monsieur!" he said sternly. "Do not disturb the pig." "That's right, it ain't your pig, don't be chunking it," Gus said, from his barber chair. "That pig's the pride of the community--it needs its rest." His pride stung, Jake walked straight past Pea Eye and on toward the river. He had merely thrown three clods at a sow. What right had Gus to speak to him in such a tone? He felt like quitting the rangers on the spot. He could hammer and saw; maybe the French couple would hire him to carpenter. With Gus gone the Frenchwoman might even come to like his curly hair, as Madame Scull once had.