Mcmurtry Larry - Dead Man's Walk стр 6.

I wonder how we can get some money—I sure do need a poke, Gus said. He had turned his back to the wind and was casually reading the Majors letter, an action that shocked Call.

Thats the Majors letter, he pointed out. You got no business reading it.

Well, it dont say much anyway, Gus said, handing the pages to Call. I thought it might be racy, but it aint.

If I ever write a letter, I dont want to catch you reading it, Call said. I think Shads coming back. His eyes were stinging, from staring into the dust.

There seemed to be figures approaching camp from the north. Call couldnt make them out clearly, and Gus didnt seem to be particularly interested. Once he began to think about whores he had a hard time pulling his mind off the subject.

If we could catch a Mexican we could steal his money—he might have enough that we could buy quite a few pokes, Gus said, as they strolled back to camp.

Major Chevallie waited on his sorrel, watching. Two figures seemed to be walking. Then Bigfoot fell in with them. Shadrach appeared on his horse, a few steps behind the figures.

All around the camp Rangers began to stand up and dust the sand off their clothes. Matilda, unaffected by the crisis, was still cooking her turtle. The bloody shell lay by the campfire. Call smelled

the sizzling meat and realized he was hungry.

Why, its just an old woman and a boy, he said when he finally got a clear view of the two figures trudging through the sandstorm, flanked on one side by Shadrach and on the other by Bigfoot Wallace.

Shoot, I doubt either one of them has got a cent on them, Gus said. I think we ought to sneak off across the river and catch a Mexican while its still early.

Just wait, Call said. He was anxious to see the captives, if they were captives.

I swear, Long Bill said. I think that old womans blind. That boys leading her.

Long Bill was right. A boy of about ten, who looked more Mexican than Indian, walked slowly toward the campfire, leading an old white-haired Indian woman—Call had never seen anyone who looked as old as the old woman.

When they came close enough to the fire to smell the sizzling meat, the boy began to make a strange sound. It wasnt speech, exactly—it was more like a moan.

Whats he wanting? Matilda asked—she was unnerved by the sound.

Why, a slice or two of your turtle meat, I expect, Bigfoot said. More than likely hes hungry. Then why dont he ask? Matilda said.

He cant ask, Matilda, Bigfoot said.

Why not, aint he got a tongue? Matilda asked.

Nope—no tongue, Bigfoot said. Somebody cut it out.

THE NORTH WIND BLEW harder, hurling the sands and soils of the great plain of Texas toward Mexico. It soon obliterated vision. Shadrach and Major Chevallie, mounted, could not see the ground. Men could not see across the campfire. Call found his rifle, but when he tried to sight, discovered that he could not see to the end of the barrel. The sand peppered them like fine shot, and it rode a cold wind. The horses could only turn their backs to it; so did the men. Most put their saddles over their heads, and their saddle blankets too. Matildas bloody turtle shell soon filled with sand. The campfire was almost smothered. Men formed a human wall to the north of it, to keep it from guttering out. Bigfoot and Shadrach tied bandanas around their faces—Long Bill had a bandana but it blew away and was never found. Matilda gave up cooking and sat with her back to the wind, her head bent between her knees. The boy with no tongue reached into the guttering campfire and took two slices of the sizzling turtle meat. One he gave to the old blind woman—although the meat was tough and scalding, he gulped his portion in only three bites.

Kirker and Glanton, the scalp hunters, sat together with their backs to the wind. They stared through the fog of sand, appraising the boy and the old woman. Kirker took out his scalping knife and a small whetstone. He tried to spit on the whetstone, but the wind took the spit away; Kirker began to sharpen the knife anyway. The old woman turned her sightless eyes toward the sound—she spoke to the boy, in a language Call had never heard. But the boy had no tongue, and couldnt answer.

Even through the howling of the wind, Call could hear the grinding sound, as Kirker whetted his scalping knife. Gus heard it too, but his mind had not moved very far from his favorite subject, whores.

Be hard to poke in a wind like this, he surmised. Your whore would fill up with sand—unless you went careful, youd scrape yourself raw.

Call ignored this comment, thinking it foolish.

Kirker and Glanton aint Rangers—I dont know why the Major lets em ride with the troop, he said.

Its a free country, how could he stop them? Gus asked, though he had to admit that the scalp hunters were unsavory company. Their gear smelled of blood, and they never washed. Gus agreed with Matilda that it was good to keep clean. He splashed himself regularly, if there was water available.

He could shoot em—Id shoot em, if I was in command, Call said. Theyre low killers, in my opinion.