“I am not simple, I am just old. I have handled horses for fifty years.”
“Then you should do a good job. Do you have any business in the office tonight?”
“I cannot think of any.”
“If you do have, take care of it now.”
“There is nothing I need in there.”
“That’s fine. I will close the door and I do not want a lot of coming and going while I am trying to sleep.”
I slept well enough wrapped in the quilt. The fire in the office stove had been banked but the little room was not so cold as to be very uncomfortable. The watchman Toby was true to his word and he woke me in the chill darkness before dawn. I was up and buttoning my boots in a moment. While Toby saddled the horse I washed myself, using some of his hot coffee water to take the sting out of a bucket of cold water.
It came to me that I should have left one of the bacon sandwiches out of the bundle for breakfast, but you can never think of everything. I did not want to open it up now. Toby gave me a portion of his grits that he had warmed up.
“Do you not have any butter to put on it?” I asked him.
“No,” said he, and I had to eat it plain. I tied my roll behind the saddle as I had seen Papa do and I made doubly sure it was secure.
I could see no good place to carry the pistol. I wanted the piece ready at hand but the belt was too big around for my waist and the pistol itself was far too big and heavy to stick in the waist of my jeans. I finally tied the neck of the gun sack to the saddle horn with a good knot about the size of a turkey egg.
I led Little Blackie from his stall and mounted him. He was a little nervous and jumpy but he did not pitch. Toby tightened the girth again after I was aboard.
He said, “Have you got everything?”
“Yes, I believe I am ready. Open the door, Toby, and wish me luck. I am off for the Choctaw Nation.”
It was still dark outside and bitter cold although mercifully there was little wind. Why is it calm in the early morning? You will notice that lakes are usually still and smooth before daybreak. The frozen, rutted mud of the streets made uncertain going for Little Blackie in his new shoes. He snorted and snapped his head from time to time as though to look at me. I talked to him, saying silly things.
Only four or five people were to be seen as I rode down Garrison Avenue, and they scurrying from one warm place to another. I could see lamps coming on through windows as the good people of Fort Smith began to stir for the new day.
When I reached the ferry slip on the river I dismounted and waited. I had to move and dance about to keep from getting stiff. I removed the paper wadding from inside the hatband and pulled the hat down over my ears. I had no gloves and I rolled Papa’s coat sleeves down so that my hands might be covered.
There were two men running the ferry. When it reached my side and discharged a horseman, one of the ferrymen hailed me.
“Air you going acrost?” said he.
“I am waiting for someone,” said I. “What is the fare?”
“Ten cents for a horse and rider.”
“Have you seen Marshal Cogburn this morning?”
“Is that Rooster Cogburn?”
“That is the man.”
“We have not seen him.”
There were few passengers at that hour but as soon as one or two turned up the ferry would depart. It seemed to have no schedule except as business demanded, but then the crossing was not a long one. As gray dawn came I could make out chunks of ice bobbing along out in the current of the river.
The boat made at least two circuits before Rooster and LaBoeuf appeared and came riding down the incline to the slip. I had begun to worry that I might have missed them. Rooster was mounted on a big bay stallion that stood at about sixteen hands, and LaBoeuf on a shaggy cow pony not much bigger than mine.
Well, they were a sight to see with all their arms. They were both wearing their belt guns around their outside coats and LaBoeuf cut a splendid figure with his white-handled pistols and Mexican spurs. Rooster was wearing a deerskin jacket over his black suit coat. He carried only one revolver on his belt, an ordinary-looking piece with grips of cedar or some reddish wood. On the other side, the right side, he wore a dirk knife. His gun belt was not fancy like LaBoeuf’s but only a plain and narrow belt with no cartridge loops. He carried his cartridges in a sack in his pocket. But he also had two more revolvers in saddle scabbards at his thighs. They were big pistols like mine. The two officers also packed saddle guns, Rooster a Winchester repeating rifle and LaBoeuf a gun called a Sharps rifle, a kind I had never seen. My thought was this: Chaney, look out!
They dismounted and led their horses aboard the ferry in a clatter and I followed at a short distance. I said nothing. I was not trying to hide but neither did I do anything to call attention to myself. It was a minute or so before Rooster recognized me.
“Sure enough, we have got company,” said he.
LaBoeuf was very angry. “Can you not get anything through your head?” he said to me. “Get off this boat. Did you suppose you were going with us?”
I replied, “This ferry is open to the public. I have paid my fare.”
LaBoeuf reached in his pocket and brought out a gold dollar. He handed it to one of the ferrymen and said, “Slim, take this girl to town and present her to the sheriff. She is a runaway. Her people are worried nearly to death about her. There is a fifty-dollar reward for her return.”
“That is a story,” said I.
“Let us ask the marshal,” said LaBoeuf. “What about it, marshal?”
Rooster said, “Yes, you had best take her away. She is a runaway all right. Her name is Ross and she came up from Yell County. The sheriff has a notice on her.”
“They are in this story together,” said I. “I have business across the river and if you interfere with me, Slim, you may find yourself in court where you don’t want to be. I have a good lawyer.”
But the tall river rat would pay no heed to my protests. He led my pony back on to the slip and the boat pulled away without me. I said, “I am not going to walk up the hill.” I mounted Little Blackie and the river rat led us up the hill. When we reached the top I said, “Wait, stop a minute.” He said, “What is it?” I said, “There is something wrong with my hat.” He stopped and turned around. “Your hat?” said he. I took it off and slapped him in the face with it two or three times and made him drop the reins. I recovered them and wheeled Little Blackie about and rode him down the bank for all he was worth. I had no spurs or switch but I used my hat on his flank to good effect.
About fifty yards below the ferry slip the river narrowed and I aimed for the place, going like blazes across a sandbar. I popped Blackie all the way with my hat as I was afraid he might shy at the water and I did not want to give him a chance to think about it. We hit the river running and Blackie snorted and arched his back against the icy water, but once he was in he swam as though he was raised to it. I drew up my legs behind me and held to the saddle horn and gave Blackie his head with loose reins. I was considerably splashed.
The crossing was badly chosen because the narrow place of a river is the deepest and it is there that the current is swiftest and the banks steepest, but these things did not occur to me at the time; shortest looked best. We came out some little ways down the river and, as I say, the bank was steep and Blackie had some trouble climbing it.
When we were up and free I reined in and Little Blackie gave himself a good shaking. Rooster and LaBoeuf and the ferryman were looking at us from the boat. We had beaten them across. I stayed where I was. When they got off the boat LaBoeuf hailed me, saying, “Go back, I say!” I made no reply. He and Rooster had a parley.