True Grit
by Charles Portis

When I reached the bottom of the hill with the horses he was cursing the Texan to his face. I am certain the two must have come to blows if LaBoeuf had not been distracted from a painful wound. A ball had struck his rifle stock and splinters of wood and lead had torn the soft flesh of his upper arm. He said he had not been able to see well from his position and was moving to a better place when he heard the three signal shots fired by Lucky Ned Pepper. He thought the fight was joined and he stood up from a crouch and threw a quick shot down at the man he had rightly sized up as the bandit chieftain.

Rooster called it a likely story and charged that LaBoeuf had fallen asleep and had started shooting from panic when the signal shots awakened him. I thought it was in LaBoeuf’s favor that his first shot had struck and killed Lucky Ned Pepper’s horse. If he had been shooting from panic would he have come so near to hitting the bandit chieftain with his first shot? On the other hand, he claimed to be an experienced officer and rifleman, and if he had been alert and had taken a deliberate shot would he not have hit his mark? Only LaBoeuf knew the truth of the matter. I grew impatient with their wrangling over the point. I think Rooster was angry because the play had been taken away from him and because Lucky Ned Pepper had beaten him once again.

The two officers made no move to give pursuit to the robber band and I suggested that we had better make such a move. Rooster said he knew where they were going to earth and he did not wish to risk riding into an ambush along the way. LaBoeuf made the point that our horses were fresh and theirs jaded. He said we could track them easily and overtake them in short order. But Rooster wanted to take the stolen horses and the dead bandits down to McAlester’s and establish a prior claim to any reward the M. K. & T. Railroad might offer. Scores of marshals and railroad detectives and informers would soon be in on the game, said he.

LaBoeuf was rubbing snow on the torn places of his arm to check the bleeding. He took off his neck cloth for use as a bandage but he could not manage it with one hand and I helped him.

Rooster watched me minister to the Texan’s arm and he said, “That is nothing to do with you. Go inside and make some coffee.”

I said, “This will not take long.”

He said, “Let it go and make the coffee.”

I said, “Why are you being so silly?”

He walked away and I finished binding up the arm. I heated up the sofky and picked the trash from it and boiled some coffee in the fireplace. LaBoeuf joined Rooster in the stock cave and they strung the six horses together with halters and a long manila rope and lashed the four dead bodies across their backs like sacks of corn. The dun horse belonging to Moon bolted and bared his teeth and would not permit his dead master to be placed on his back. A less sensitive horse was found to serve.

Rooster could not identify the man who had returned to rescue Lucky Ned Pepper. I say “man.” He was really only a boy, not much older than I. His mouth was open and I could not bear to look at him. The man Haze was old with a sallow wrinkled face. They had a hard time breaking the revolver free from his “death grip.”

The two officers found Haze’s horse in the woods nearby. He was not injured. Right behind the saddle the horse was carrying two tow-sacks, and in these sacks were about thirty-five watches, some ladies’ rings, some pistols and around six hundred dollars in notes and coin. Loot from the passengers of the Katy Flyer! While searching over the ground where the bandits had made their fight, LaBoeuf turned up some copper cartridge cases. He showed them to Rooster.

I said, “What are they?”

Rooster said, “This one is a forty-four rim-fire from a Henry rifle.”

Thus we had another clue. But we did not have Chaney. We had not even set eyes on him to know it. We took a hasty breakfast of the Indian hominy dish and departed the place.

It was only an hour’s ride to the Texas Road. We made quite a caravan. If you had chanced to be riding up the Texas Road on that bright December morning you would have met two red-eyed peace officers and a sleepy youth from near Dardanelle, Arkansas, riding south at a walk and leading seven horses. Had you looked closely you would have seen that four of those horses were draped over with the corpses of armed robbers and stock thieves. We did in fact meet several travelers and they marveled and wondered at our grisly cargo.

Some of them had already heard news of the train robbery. One man, an Indian, told us that the robbers had realized $17,000 in cash from the express car. Two men in a buggy told us their information put the figure at $70,000. A great difference!

The accounts did agree roughly on the circumstances of the robbery. Here is what happened. The bandits broke the switch lock at Wagoner’s Switch and forced the train onto a cattle siding. There they took the engineer and the fireman as hostages and threatened to kill them if the express clerk did not open the doors of his car. The clerk had spunk and refused to open the doors. The robbers killed the fireman. But the clerk still held fast. The robbers then blasted the door open with dynamite and the clerk was killed in the explosion. More dynamite was used to open the safe. While this was going on two bandits were walking through the coaches with cocked revolvers gathering up “booty” from the passengers. One man in a sleeping car protested the outrage and was assaulted and cut on the head with a pistol barrel. He was the only one they bothered except for the fireman and the express clerk. The bandits wore their hats low and had handkerchiefs tied over their faces but Lucky Ned Pepper was recognized by way of his small size and commanding manner. None of the others was identified. And that is how they robbed the Katy Flyer at Wagoner’s Switch.

The riding was easy on the Texas Road. It was broad and had a good packed surface as Rooster had described it. The sun was out and the snow melted fast under the warm and welcome rays of “Old Sol.”

As we rode along LaBoeuf commenced whistling tunes, perhaps to take his mind off his sore arm. Rooster said, “God damn a man that whistles!” It was the wrong thing to say if he wished it to stop. LaBoeuf then had to keep it up to show that he cared little for Rooster’s opinion. After a while he took a Jew’s harp from his pocket. He began to thump and twang upon it. He played fiddle tunes. He would announce, “Soldier’s Joy,” and play that. Then, “Johnny in the Low Ground,” and play that. Then, “The Eighth of January,” and play that. They all sounded pretty much like the same song. LaBoeuf said, “Is there anything you would particularly like to hear, Cogburn?” He was trying to get his “goat.” Rooster gave no answer. LaBoeuf then played a few minstrel tunes and put the peculiar instrument away.

In a few minutes he asked Rooster this question, indicating the big revolvers in the saddle scabbards: “Did you carry those in the war?”

Rooster said, “I have had them a good long time.”

LaBoeuf said, “I suppose you were with the cavalry.”

Rooster said, “I forget just what they called it.”

“I wanted to be cavalryman,” said LaBoeuf, “but I was too young and didn’t own a horse. I have always regretted it. I went in the army on my fifteenth birthday and saw the last six months of the war. My mother cried because my brothers had not been home in three years. They were off at the first tap of a drum. The army put me in the supply department and I counted beeves and sacked oats for General Kirby-Smith at Shreveport. It was no work for a soldier. I wanted to get out of the Trans-Mississippi Department and go east. I wanted to see some real fighting. Right toward the last I got an opportunity to travel up there with a commissary officer, Major Burks, who was being transferred to the Department of Virginia. There were twenty-five in our party and we got there in time for Five Forks and Petersburg and then it was all over. I have always regretted that I did not get to ride with Stuart or Forrest or some of the others. Shelby and Early.”

Rooster said nothing.

I said, “It looks like six months would be enough for you.”

LaBoeuf said, “No, it sounds boastful and foolish but it was not. I was almost sick when I heard of the surrender.”

I said, “My father said he sure was glad to get home. He nearly died on the way.”

LaBoeuf then said to Rooster, “It is hard to believe a man cannot remember where he served in the war. Do you not even remember your regiment?”

Rooster said, “I think they called it the bullet department. I was in it four years.”

“You do not think much of me, do you, Cogburn?”

“I don’t think about you at all when your mouth is closed.”

“You are making a mistake about me.”

“I don’t like this kind of talk. It is like women talking.”

“I was told in Fort Smith that you rode with Quantrill and that border gang.”

Rooster made no reply.

LaBoeuf said, “I have heard they were not soldiers at all but murdering thieves.”

Rooster said, “I have heard the same thing.”

“I heard they murdered women and children at Lawrence, Kansas.”

“I have heard that too. It is a damned lie.”

“Were you there?”

“Where?”

“The Lawrence raid.”

“There has been a lot of lies told about that.”

“Do you deny they shot down soldiers and civilians alike and burned the town?”

“We missed Jim Lane. What army was you in, mister?”

“I was at Shreveport first with Kirby-Smith—”

“Yes, I heard about all them departments. What side was you on?”

“I was in the Army of Northern Virginia, Cogburn, and I don’t have to hang my head when I say it. Now make another joke about it. You are only trying to put on a show for this girl Mattie with what you must think is a keen tongue.”

“This is like women talking.”

“Yes, that is the way. Make me out foolish in this girl’s eyes.”

“I think she has got you pretty well figured.”

“You are making a mistake about me, Cogburn, and I do not appreciate the way you make conversation.”

“That is nothing for you to worry about. That nor Captain Quantrill either.”

“Captain Quantrill!”

“You had best let this go, LaBoeuf.”

“Captain of what?”

“If you are looking for a fight I will accommodate you. If you are not you will let this alone.”

“Captain Quantrill indeed!”

I rode up between them and said, “I have been thinking about something. Listen to this. There were six bandits and two stock thieves and yet only six horses at the dugout. What is the answer to that?”

Rooster said, “Six horses was all they needed.”

I said, “Yes, but that six includes the horses belonging to Moon and Quincy. There were only four stolen horses.”

Rooster said, “They would have taken them other two as well and exchanged them later. They have done it before.”

“Then what would Moon and Quincy do for mounts?”

“They would have the six tired horses.”

“Oh. I had forgotten about them.”

“It was only a swap for a few days.”

“I was thinking that Lucky Ned Pepper might have been planning to murder the two stock thieves. It would have been a treacherous scheme but then they could not inform against him. What do you think?”

“No, Ned would not do that.”

“Why not? He and his desperate band killed a fireman and an express clerk on the Katy Flyer last night.”

“Ned does not go around killing people if he has no good reason. If he has a good reason he kills them.”

“You can think what you want to,” said I. “I think betrayal was part of his scheme.”

We reached J. J. McAlester’s store about 10 o’clock that morning. The people of the settlement turned out to see the dead bodies and there were gasps and murmurs over the spectacle of horror, made the worse by way of the winter morning being so sunny and cheerful. It must have been a trading day for there were several wagons and horses tied up about the store. The railroad tracks ran behind it. There was little more to the place than the store building and a few smaller frame and log structures of poor description, and yet if I am not mistaken this was at that time one of the best towns in the Choctaw Nation. The store is now part of the modern little city of McAlester, Oklahoma, where for a long time “coal was king.” McAlester is also the international headquarters of the Order of the Rainbow for Girls.

There was no real doctor there at that time but there was a young Indian who had some medical training and was competent to set broken bones and dress gunshot wounds. LaBoeuf sought him out for treatment.

I went with Rooster, who searched out an Indian policeman of his acquaintance, a Captain Boots Finch of the Choctaw Light Horse. These police handled Indian crimes only, and where white men were involved the Light Horse had no authority. We found the captain in a small log house. He was sitting on a box by a stove getting his hair cut. He was a slender man about of an age with Rooster. He and the Indian barber were ignorant of the stir our arrival had caused.

Rooster came up behind the captain and goosed him in the ribs with both hands and said, “How is the people’s health, Boots?”

The captain gave a start and reached for his pistol, and then he saw who it was. He said, “Well, I declare, Rooster. What brings you to town so early?”

“Is this town? I was thinking I was out of town.”

Captain Finch laughed at the gibe. He said, “You must have traveled fast if you are here on that Wagoner’s Switch business.”

“That is the business right enough.”

“It was little Ned Pepper and five others. I suppose you know that.”

“Yes. How much did they get?”

“Mr. Smallwood says they got $17,000 cash and a packet of registered mail from the safe. He has not got a total on the passenger claims. I am afraid you are on a cold trail here.”

“When did you last see Ned?”

“I am told he passed through here two days ago. He and Haze and a Mexican on a round-bellied calico pony. I didn’t see them myself. They won’t be coming back this way.”

Rooster said, “That Mexican was Greaser Bob.”

“Is that the young one?”

“No, it’s the old one, the Original Bob from Fort Worth.”

“I heard he was badly shot in Denison and had given up his reckless ways.”

“Bob is hard to kill. He won’t stay shot. I am looking for another man. I think he is with Ned. He is short and has a black mark on his face and he carries a Henry rifle.”

Captain Finch thought about it. He said, “No, the way I got it, there was only the three here. Haze and the Mexican and Ned. We are watching his woman’s house. It is a waste of time and none of my business but I have sent a man out there.”

Rooster said, “It is a waste of time all right. I know about where Ned is.”

“Yes, I know too but it will take a hundred marshals to smoke him out of there.”

“It won’t take that many.”

“It wouldn’t take that many Choctaws. How many were in that marshals’ party in August? Forty?”

“It was closer to fifty,” said Rooster. “Joe Schmidt was running that game, or misrunning it. I am running this one.”

“I am surprised the chief marshal would turn you loose on a hunt like this without supervision.”

“He can’t help himself this time.”

Captain Finch said, “I could take you in there, Rooster, and show you how to bring Ned out.”

“Could you now? Well, a Indian makes too much noise to suit me. Don’t you find it so, Gaspargoo?”

That was the barber’s name. He laughed and put his hand over his mouth. Gaspargoo is also the name of a fish that makes fair eating.

I said to the captain, “Perhaps you are wondering who I am.”

“Yes, I was wondering that,” said he. “I thought you were a walking hat.”

“My name is Mattie Ross,” said I. “The man with the black mark goes by the name of Tom Chaney. He shot my father to death in Fort Smith and robbed him. Chaney was drunk and my father was not armed at the time.”

“That is a shame,” said the captain.

“When we find him we are going to club him with sticks and put him under arrest and take him back to Fort Smith,” said I.

“I wish you luck. We don’t want him down here.”

Rooster said, “Boots, I need a little help. I have got Haze and some youngster out there, along with Emmett Quincy and Moon Garrett. I am after being in a hurry and I wanted to see if you would not bury them boys for me.”

“They are dead?”

“All dead,” said Rooster. “What is it the judge says? Their depredations is now come to a fitting end.”

Captain Finch pulled the barber’s cloth from his neck. He and the barber went with us back to where the horses were tied. Rooster told them about our scrap at the dugout.

The captain grasped each dead man by the hair of the head and when he recognized a face he grunted and spoke the name. The man Haze had no hair to speak of and Captain Finch lifted his head by the ears. We learned that the boy was called Billy. His father ran a steam sawmill on the South Canadian River, the captain told us, and there was a large family at home. Billy was one of the eldest children and he had helped his father cut timber. The boy was not known to have been in any devilment before this. As for the other three, the captain did not know if they had any people who would want to claim the bodies.

Rooster said, “All right, you hold Billy for the family and bury these others. I will post their names in Fort Smith and if anybody wants them they can come dig them up.” Then he went along behind the horses slapping their rumps. He said, “These four horses was taken from Mr. Burlingame. These three right here belong to Haze and Quincy and Moon. You get what you can for them, Boots, and sell the saddles and guns and coats and I will split it with you. Is that fair enough?”

I said, “You told Moon you would send his brother the money owing to him from his traps.”

Rooster said, “I forgot where he said to send it.”

I said, “It is the district superintendent of the Methodist Church in Austin, Texas. His brother is a preacher named George Garrett.”

“Was it Austin or Dallas?”

“Austin.”

“Let’s get it straight.”

“It was Austin.”