Dead Man's Walk

Gus McCrae and Long Bill had walked off from camp a little ways, meaning to relieve themselves. Long Bill was much troubled by constipation, whereas Gus’s bowels tended to run too freely. They had formed the habit of answering nature’s call together— they could converse about various things, while they were at it. One of the things Gus had on his mind was whores; now that he was eating better and not having to walk until he dropped, his sap had risen. A subject of intense speculation between himself and Long Bill was whether Matilda Roberts intended to take up her old profession, now that they were back in Texas—and if so, when? Gus was hoping she would resume it sooner, rather than later. He was of the opinion that anytime would be a good time for Matilda to start being a whore again, even if he and Long Bill were her only customers.

“Well, but Lady Carey might not approve,” Long Bill speculated, as he squatted. “Matty might want to wait until we’re shut of all these English folks.”

“But that won’t be till Galveston,” Gus said. “Galveston’s a far piece yet. I would like a whore a lot sooner than Galveston.”

Long Bill had no comment—he noticed, as he squatted, that there was commotion back at the camp. Woodrow Call and Lady Carey were standing together, looking to the east. Long Bill could see that Call had his rifle. Matty had come back to stand near the others. Long Bill felt a strong nervousness take him—the nervousness clamped his troubled bowels even tighter.

“Something’s happening,” he said, abruptly pulling his pants up. “This ain’t no time for us to be taking a long squat.”

The two hurried back to camp, guns in their hands. It seemed a peaceful morning, but maybe it wasn’t going to be as peaceful as it looked.

“Here’s Gus, he’s got the best eyes,” Call said.

Lady Carey went to her saddlebag, and pulled out a small brass spyglass.“Help me look, Corporal McCrae,” she said. “Corporal Call thinks there’s trouble ahead, and so does my horse.”

Lady Carey looked through her telescope, and Gus did his best to scan the horizons carefully with his eyes, but all he saw was a solitary coyote, trotting south through the thin sage. He, too, had begun to feel nervous—he didn’t fully trust his own eyes. He remembered, again, how completely the Comanches had concealed themselves the day they killed Josh and Zeke.

Emerald walked over, leading her white mule.

“The wild men are here, my lady,” she said, calmly.

“Yes, I believe they are,” Lady Carey said. “I believe I smell them. Only they’re so wild I can’t see them.”

Then they all heard a sound—a high sound of singing. Buffalo Hump, in no hurry, walking his horse, appeared on the distant ridge, the sun just risen above him. He was singing his war song. As the little group watched, the whole raiding party slowly came into view. All the braves were singing their war songs, high pitched and repetitive. Gus counted twenty warriors—then he saw the twenty-first, Kicking Wolf, somewhat to the side. Kicking Wolf was on foot, and he was not singing. His silence seemed more menacing than the war songs of the other braves.

Call looked around for a gully or a ridge that might provide them some cover, but there was nothing—only the few sage bushes. They had camped on the open plain. The Comanches held the high ground, and had the sun behind them, to boot. They were four fighting men against twenty-one, and Wesley Buttons couldn’t shoot. Even if he had been a reliable shot, the Comanches could in any case easily overrun them, if they chose to charge. Four men, four women, and a boy would not look like much opposition to a raiding party, singing for death and torture. Call wondered if the English party knew what Comanches did to captives; he wondered if he ought to tell Lady Carey, and Emerald, and Mrs. Chubb how to shoot themselves fatally, if worse came to worst. Bigfoot’s instructions about putting the pistol to the eyeball came back to him as he watched the Comanches. No doubt Bigfoot had known exactly what he was talking about, but would the English lady, the na

“What do you think, Corporal Call?” she asked. “Can we whip them?”

“Likely not, ma’am,” Call said. “They beat us when we had nearly two hundred men. I don’t know why they wouldn’t beat us now that we’ve only got four.”

“It’s interesting singing, isn’t it?” Lady Carey said. “Not so fine as opera, but interesting, nonetheless. I wonder what it means, that singing?”

“It means death to the whites,” Gus said. “It means they want our hair.”

“Well, they may want it, but they can’t have it,” young Willy said.

“I need my hair, don’t I, Mamma?”

“Of course you do, Willy,” Lady Carey said. “And you shall keep it, too—Mamma will see to that. Corporal Call, will you saddle my horse?”

“I will, but I don’t think we can outrun them, ma’am,” Call said.

“No, we won’t be ru

“Well, but why not, ma’am?” Gus asked—he was puzzled by the whole proceedings.

“Because I intend to disrobe,” Lady Carey said. “I shall disrobe, and I shall sing my best arias—besides that, I shall need my fine snake, Elphinstone. Emerald, could you bring him?”

Calmly, not hurrying, Lady Carey began to sing scales, as she undressed. She let her voice rise higher and higher, moving up an octave and then another, until her high notes were higher than any that came from the Comanches. Emerald took the boa from its basket on the mule, and let it drape about her shoulders as Lady Carey undressed.

“I think, Willy, you should mount your pony,” Lady Carey said. “The rest of you walk. Matilda, would you take my clothes and carry them for me? I shall want them, of course, once we have dispersed these savages. You haven’t saddled my horse yet, Corporal Call. Please cinch him carefully, so he won’t jump—I’ve got to be a regular Lady Godiva this morning, and I don’t want any trouble from this black beast.”

Call saddled the horse and handed the reins to Matilda, along with his pistol. He had no belief that anything they could do would get them through the Comanches. Lady Carey could undress if she wanted—Buffalo Hump would kill them anyway.

He kept his eyes down, as Lady Carey undressed—so did Long Bill, and Wesley Buttons. They had come to like Lady Carey—to revere her, almost—and were determined not to offend her modesty, though they were much confused by the undressing.

Gus, though, could not resist a peep. So normal did she seem that he had almost forgotten that she was a leper, until he caught the first glimpse of black, eroded flesh as she turned to hand a garment to Matilda. Her neck and breasts were black; bags of yellowing skin hung from her shoulders. Gus was so startled that he almost lost his breakfast. He didn’t look at Lady Carey again, though he did notice that her legs, which were very white, did not seem to be affected by the disease, except for a single dark spot on one calf.

“Oh Lord,” he said—but no one else was looking, and no one heard him.

Lady Carey kept on her hat, and the three veils that hid her face. She also kept on her fine black boots. Matilda looked at Lady Carey’s body, and felt bad—the English lady had been nicer to her even than her own mother. To see her young body blackened and yellowish from disease made Matilda feel helpless. Yet, she took the garments, one by one, as Lady Carey handed them to her, and folded them carefully. Mrs. Chubb was calm, as was Emerald— neither of them had seen what Comanches could do, Matilda reflected.