irregular, and if the folks back in Fort Smith got wind of it it could easily be made to look bad. After all, old Sam hadn't kept her around just because she could fry a possum in the dark.
The memory of the frying possum crossed his mind, reminding him that he was very hungry. What with the wasp stings on top of the hunger, it was difficult to express himself clearly, or even to think clearly, for that matter.
As if reading his hunger from his expression, the girl quickly moved to strengthen her case. 'I can catch varmints,' she said. 'Bill taught me the trick. Mostly I can outrun 'em. I can fish if you've got a hook.'
'Oh,' Roscoe said, 'I guess you caught that possum then.'
The girl shrugged. 'I can walk faster than possums can run,' she said. 'If we can get to the creek I'll fix them stings.'
The stings were burning like fire. Roscoe decided there would be no impropriety in letting the girl go as far as the creek. He considered offering to let her ride double, but before he could mention it she ran on ahead. Not only could she walk faster than a possum could run, she could walk faster than Memphis could walk. He had to put the horse into a trot to keep up with her. By the time they got to the creek, Roscoe felt lightheaded from the combination of hunger and wasp stings. His vision was swimming again, as it had when he was drunk. A wasp had got him close to one eye; soon the eye swelled shut. His head felt larger than it usually did. It was a very inconvenient life, and, as usual when traveling got bad, he felt resentful of July for having married a woman who would run off.
The girl beat him to the creek and began making mud poultices and spitting in them. She immediately dismantled a couple of crawdad houses to get the kind of mud she required. Fortunately the creek had a high bank, which cast a little shade. Roscoe sat in the shade and allowed the girl to pack the mud poultices over the stings on his face. She even managed to get one on the swelling near his eye.
'You get that shirt off,' she said, startling Roscoe so that he obeyed. The mud felt cool.
'Old Sam et crawdads,' she said, as she sat back to survey her handiwork. 'He can't shoot worth a dern so he had to live off the varmints I could catch.'
'Well, I wish you could catch a fat rabbit,' Roscoe said. 'I'm plumb starved.'
The next moment the girl was gone. She disappeared over the bank. Roscoe felt silly, for of course he had not really meant for her to go catch a rabbit. She might be fast, but rabbits were surely faster.
His feeling of lightheadedness came back and he lay down in the cool shade, thinking a little nap wouldn't hurt. He shut his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them he saw a surprising sight-or two sights, really. One was a dead cottontail lying near him. The other was the girl, who was wading down the edge of the creek, a short stick in her hands. Suddenly a big bullfrog jumped off the bank. While the frog was in the air, the girl hit it with the stick and knocked it far up the bank. She scrambled up after it, and Roscoe stood up to watch, although he had only one eye to watch with. She had knocked the frog into some weeds, which slowed its hopping some. The frog cleared the weeds once, but it couldn't jump far, and the girl was soon on it with her stick. A moment later she came down the bank holding the squashed frog by the legs. Its pink tongue was hanging out.
'Got a rabbit and a frog,' she said. 'You want 'em fried up?'
'I never et no frog,' Roscoe said. 'Who eats frogs?'
'You just eat the legs,' the girl said. 'Gimme your knife.'
Roscoe handed it over. The girl rapidly skinned the cottontail, which was indeed plump. Then she whacked the knife into the frog, threw the top half into the creek and peeled the skin off the legs with her teeth. Roscoe had a few simple utensils in his saddlebag, which she got without a word from him. Roscoe assumed the stings must be affecting him because he felt like he was in a dream. He wasn't asleep, but he felt no inclination to move. The top half of the frog, its dangling guts pale in the water, drifted over to shore. Two gray turtles surfaced and began to nibble at the guts. Roscoe mainly watched the turtles while the girl made a little fire and cooked the rabbit and the frog legs. To his surprise, the frog legs kept hopping out of the pan as if the frog was still alive.
However, when she got them cooked, he ate one and was very pleased with the taste. Then he and the girl divided the rabbit and ate it to the last bite, throwing the bones into the creek. The combination of rabbit and frog innards had caused quite a congregation of turtles to collect.
'Niggers eat turtles,' the girl said, cracking a rabbit bone between her teeth.
'They eat most anything,' Roscoe said. 'I guess they can't be choosy.'
After the meal, Roscoe felt less lightheaded. The girl sat a few feet away, staring into the waters of the creek. She seemed just a child. Her legs were muddy from wading in the creek, her arms still bruised from her troubles with old Sam. Some of the bruises were blue, others had faded to yellow. The cotton-sack dress was torn in several places.
The problem of what to do about her began to weigh on Roscoe's mind. It had been nice of her to feed him, but that didn't answer the question of what was to be done with her. Old Sam had not looked like a man who would take kindly to losing something he regarded as his property. He might be trailing them at that very moment, and since they weren't far from the cabin he might be about to catch up.
'I guess that old man will be coming after you,' Roscoe said, feeling nervous.
'Nope,' the girl said.
'Well, he said you was his,' Roscoe said. 'Why wouldn't he come after you?'
'He's got rheumatism in his knees,' the girl said.
'Don't he have a horse?'
'No, it foundered,' she said. 'Besides, I took the big pan and whacked him across the knees to keep him still a few days.'
'My goodness,' Roscoe said. 'You're a rough customer, I guess.'
The girl shook her head. 'I ain't rough,' she said. 'Old Sam was rough.'
She took the utensils to the creek and washed them before putting them back in the packs.
Roscoe was painfully aware that he had to make a decision. It was near midday and he. had only covered a few miles. The girl was a handy person to have along on a trip, he had to admit. On the other hand, she was a runaway, and it would all be hard to explain to July.
'Don't you have no folks?' he asked, hoping there was a relative somewhere ahead whom he could leave the girl with.
She shook her head. 'They died,' she said. 'I had a brother but the Indians run off with him. Ma died and Pa went crazy and shot himself. I lived with a Dutchman till Bill got me.'
'My lord,' Roscoe said. 'Who was this Bill?'
A look of unhappiness crossed the girl's face. 'Bill was taking me to Fort Worth,' she said. 'Then he run across old Sam up there by Waco and they got drunk and Sam traded for me.'
She never explained who Bill was, but Roscoe let it go. He decided to put off deciding what to do about her for at least a day. His wasp stings were paining him and he didn't feel he could make a competent decision when he could only see out of one eye. Maybe they would hit a settlement and he could find some nice family who needed help. They might take her off his hands.
The only problem was the one horse. It didn't seem right for him to ride and her to walk. Of course, she weighed next to nothing. It wouldn't hurt Memphis to carry them both.
'You best come for a day or two,' he said. 'Maybe we can find you someplace better than where you left. I'd hate for you to have to go back.'
'I ain't going back,' the girl said. 'Old Sam would kill me.'
When Roscoe offered her a stirrup up, she looked at him strangely.
'I don't mind the walk,' she said.
'Well, we got to hurry,' he said. 'July's way ahead. Jump up here.'
The girl did. Memphis looked annoyed, but he was too lazy to put up a fuss. The girl hooked her toes in the girth and held onto the saddle strings.
'It's high, ain't it?' she said. 'I can see over the bushes.'
'You tell me if I go wrong,' Roscoe said, as they splashed across the creek. 'I can't afford to miss that San Antone.'
