unsettle a delicate stomach.”
“Or they might run a stick up your fundament and set it on fire ?that way your guts would done be cooked when they pull them out,” Bigfoot explained.
“What’s a fundament?” Call asked. He had had only one year of schooling, and had not encountered the word in his speller. He kept the speller with him in his saddlebag, and referred to it now and then when in doubt about a letter or a word.Bob Bascom snorted, amused by the youngster’s ignorance.
“It’s a hole in your body and it ain’t your nose or your mouth or your goddamn ear,” Bob said. “I’d have that little mare broke by now, if it was me doing it.”
Call smarted at the rebuke?he knew they had been lax with the mare, who had now effectively snubbed herself to the little tree. She was trembling, but she couldn’t move far, so he quickly swung the saddle in place and held it there while she crow-hopped a time or two.
Matilda Roberts sweated over her task, but she didn’t give up. The first gusts of the norther scattered the ashes of the campfire. Major Chevallie had just squatted to refill his cup?his coffee soon had a goodly sprinkling of sand. When the turtle’s head finally came off, Matilda casually pitched it in the direction of Long Bill, who jumped up as if she’d thrown him a live rattler.
The turtle’s angry eyes were still open, and its jaws continued to snap with a sharp click.
“It ain’t even dead with its head off,” Long Bill said, annoyed.
Shadrach, the oldest Ranger, a tall, grizzled specimen with a cloudy past, walked over to the turtle’s head and squatted down to study it. Shadrach rarely spoke, but he was by far the most accurate rifle shot in the troop. He owned a fine Kentucky rifle, with a cherry-wood stock, and was contemptuous of the bulky carbines most of the troop had adopted.
Shadrach found a little mesquite stick and held it in front of the turtle’s head. The turtle’s beak immediately snapped onto the stick, but the stick didn’t break. Shadrach picked up the little stick with the turtle’s head attached to it and dropped it in the pocket of his old black coat.
Josh Corn was astonished.
“Why would you keep a thing like that?” he asked Shadrach, but the old man took no interest in the question.
“Why would he keep a smelly old turtle’s head?” Josh asked Bigfoot Wallace.
“Why would Gomez raid with Buffalo Hump?” Bigfoot asked. “That’s a better question.”
Matilda, by this time, had hacked through the turtle shell with her hatchet and was cutting the turtle meat into strips. Watching her slice the green meat caused Long Bill Coleman to get the queasy feeling again. Young Call, though nicked by a rear hoof, had succeeded in cinching the saddle onto the Mexican mare.
Major Chevallie was sipping his ashy coffee. Already the new wind from the north had begun to cut. He hadn’t been paying much attention to the half-drunken campfire palaver, but between one sip of coffee and the next, Bigfoot’s question brought him out of his reverie.
“What did you say about Buffalo Hump?” he asked. “I wouldn’t suppose that scoundrel is anywhere around.”
“Well, he might be,” Bigfoot said.
“But what was that you said, just now?” the Major asked. “It’s hard to concentrate, with Matilda cutting up this ugly turtle.”
“I had a dern dream,” Bigfoot admitted. “In my dream Gomez was raiding with Buffalo Hump.”
“Nonsense, Gomez is Apache,” the Major said.
Bigfoot didn’t answer. He knew that Gomez was Apache, and that Apache didn’t ride with Comanche?that was not the normal order of things. Still, he had dreamed what he dreamed. If Major Chevallie didn’t enjoy hearing about it, he could sip his coffee and keep quiet.
The whole troop fell silent for a moment. Just hearing the names of the two terrible warriors was enough to make the Rangers reflect on the uncertainties of their calling, which were considerable.
“I don’t like that part about the guts,” Long Bill said. “I aim to keep my own guts inside me, if nobody minds.”
Shadrach was saddling his horse?he felt free to leave the troop at will, and his absences were apt to last a day or two.
“Shad, are you leaving?” Bigfoot asked.
“We’re all leaving,” Shadrach said. “There’s Indians to the north. I smell ‘em.”
“I thought I still gave the orders around here,” Major Chevallie said. “I don’t know why you would have such a dream, Wallace. Why would those two devils raid together?”
“I’ve dreamt prophecy before,” Bigfoot said. “Shad’s right about the Indians. I smell ‘em too.”
“What’s this?where are they?” Major Chevallie asked, just as the norther hit with its full force. There was a general scramble for guns and cover. Long Bill Coleman found the anxiety too much for his overburdened stomach. He grabbed his rifle, but then had to bend and puke before he could seek cover.
The cold wind swirled white dust through the camp. Most of the Rangers had taken cover behind little hummocks of sand, or chaparral bushes. Only Matilda was unaffected; she continued to lay strips of greenish turtle meat onto the campfire. The first cuts were already dripping and crackling.
Old Shadrach mounted and went galloping north, his long rifle across his saddle. Bigfoot Wallace grabbed a rifle and vanished into the sage.
“What do we do with this mare, Gus?” Call asked. He had only been a Ranger six weeks?his one problem with the work was that it was almost impossible to get precise instructions in a time of crisis. Now he finally had the Mexican mare saddled, but everyone in camp was lying behind sandhills with their rifles ready. Even Gus had grabbed his old gun and taken cover.
Major Chevallie was attempting to unhobble his horse, but he had no dexterity and was making a slow job of it.
“You boys, come help me!” he yelled?from the precipitate behaviour of Shadrach and Bigfoot, the most experienced men in the troop, he assumed that the camp was in danger of being overrun.
Gus and Call ran to the Major’s aid. The wind was so cold that Gus even thought it prudent to button the top button of his flannel shirt.
“Goddamn this wind!” the Major said. During breakfast he had been rereading a letter from his dear wife, Jane. He had read the letter at least twenty times, but it was the only letter he had with him and he did love his winsome Jane. When the business about Gomez and Buffalo Hump came up he had casually stuffed the letter in his coat pocket, but he didn’t get it in securely, and now the whistling wind had snatched it. It was a long .letter?his dear Jane was lavish with detail of circumstances back in Virginia?and now several pages of it were blowing away, in the general direction of Mexico.
“Here, boys, fetch my letter!” the Major said. “I can’t afford to lose my letter. I’ll finish saddling this horse.”
Call and Gus left the Major to finish cinching his saddle on his big sorrel and began to chase the letter, some of which had sailedquite a distance downwind. Both of them kept looking over their shoulders, expecting to see the Indians charging.
Call had not had time to fetch his rifle?his only weapon was a pistol.
Thanks to his efforts with the mare, the talk of torture and suicide had been hard to follow. Call liked to do things correctly, but was in doubt as to the correct way to dispatch himself, should he suddenly be surrounded by Comanches.
“What was it Bigfoot said about shooting out your brains?” he asked Gus, his lanky pal.
Gus had run down four pages of the Major’s lengthy letter. Call had three pages. Gus didn’t seem to be particularly concerned about the prospect of Comanche capture?his nonchalant approach to life could be irksome in times of conflict.
“I’d go help Matty clean her turtle if I thought she’d give me a poke,” Gus said.
“Gus, there’s Indians coming,” Call said. “Just tell me what Bigfoot said about shooting out your brains.
“That whore don’t need no help with that turtle,” he added.
“Oh, you’re supposed to shoot through the eyeball,” Gus said. “I’ll be damned if I would, though. I need both eyes to look at whores.”
“I should have kept my rifle handier,” Call said, annoyed with himself for having neglected sound procedure.
