Dead Man's Walk

While he was thinking about the difficulties that arose when you got wet, a gun went off nearby. Gus’s thought was that it was an Indian—he tried to roll under a bush, but there were no bushes on the river shore. Even though he disliked being wet, he didn’t dislike it as much as he disliked the thought of being taken by an Indian. He started to roll into the water, thinking that he could swim out far enough that the Indians couldn’t find him, when he heard nearby the voices of Joh

“Here, boys—it’s me!” he cried out. “Come fast—I’m right by the bluff.”

A moment later Call and Joh

Though glad to have found Gus alive, Call was still not sure exactly what the situation was. Neither was Joh

Call was exasperated. He had never known a man to be so vague about his own behaviour.

“You shot the gun,” he reminded Joh

“Matilda et that big turtle,” Joh

“That wasn’t tonight, Joh

Joh

“What did you shoot at tonight?” he asked again.

Gus was feeling more and more convinced that he was alive and well—except, of course, for a damaged ankle.

“I hope my ankle ain’t broke—it hurts,” he said. “You might as well let up on Joh

“I’d have to be hungry to eat a dern turtle,” Joh

“Now I’ve got two of you down,” Call said. “This is a damn nuisance.“Gus was too relieved to be alive, to worry very much about his friend’s distemper.

“I wonder if that girl will be in the store tomorrow? he asked, out loud. “I sure would like to see that girl again, although my ankle’s bad.” “Go see her, then,” Call said brusquely. “Maybe she’ll sell you a crutch.”

WHEN CALL HELPED Gus hobble back to camp—Joh

“But you wasn’t going anyway, you were aiming to stay and marry that girl,” Call reminded him.

“No—I aim to go,” Gus said. “If I could collect a little of that silver we could live rich, if I do marry her.”

In fact he was torn. He had a powerful desire to marry Clara; but at the same time, the thought of watching his companions ride off on their great adventure made him moody and sad.

“You reckon Colonel Cobb would leave me, because of this ankle?” he asked.

“Why no, there’s plenty of wagons you could ride in—a sprain’s usually better in a week,” Bigfoot said. “I guess they could put you in that buggy with old Phil Lloyd, unless they mean to transport him in a cart.” “Ride with a general?” Gus asked. “I wouldn’t know what to say to a general.”

“You won’t have to say a word to Phil Lloyd, he’ll be too drunk to talk,” Bigfoot assured him.

The next morning, the sprained ankle was so swollen Gus couldn’t put even a fraction of his weight on it. The matter chagrined him deeply—he had hoped to be at the general store at opening time, in order to help Miss Forsythe with her unpacking. Yet even standing up was painful—needles of pain shot through his ankle.

“I expect they have liniment in that store,” Call told him. “I guess I could walk up there and buy you some liniment.”

“Oh, you would!” Gus said, agitated at the thought that Call would get to see Clara before he did. “I suppose you’ll want to help her unpack dry goods, too.”

“What?” Call said, puzzled by Gus’s a

“Why no—I don’t keep any,” Long Bill said. “Maybe we can scrape a little up, next time we kill a bear.”

“I seen a bear once, eating a horse,” Gus remembered. “I didn’t kill him, though.”

Call grew tired of the aimless conversation and walked on up to the store. The girl was there, quick as ever. She wasn’t unpacking dry goods, though. She was stacking pe

“Be quiet, don’t interrupt me,” she said, throwing Call a merry glance. “I’ll have to do this all over if I lose my count.”

Call waited patiently until she had finished tallying up the pe

“So it’s you and not Mr. McCrae,” she said when she was finished. “I rather expected Mr. McCrae. I guess he ain’t as smitten as I thought.”

“Oh, he’s mighty smitten,” Call assured her. “He meant to be here early, but he fell and hurt his ankle.”

“Just like a man—is it broke?” Clara asked. “I expect he done it dancing with a senorita. He looks to me like he’s the kind of Texas Ranger who visits the serioritas.”

“No, he fell off a bluff,” Call said. “I was with him at the time. He’s got a bad sprain and thought some liniment might help.”

“It might if I rubbed it on myself,” Clara said.

Call was plain embarrassed. He had never heard of a woman rubbing liniment on a man’s foot. It seemed improper to him, although he recognized that standards might be different in Austin.

“If I could buy some and take it to him, I expect he could just rub it on himself,” Call said.

“I see you know nothing of medicine, sir,” Clara said, thinking she had never met such a pompous young fool as Mr. Woodrow Call.

“Well, can I buy some?” Call asked. He found it tiring to do so much talking, particularly since the girl’s ma

“Yes, here—we have the best liniment of any establishment in town,” Clara said. “My father uses this one—I believe it’s made from roots.”

She handed Call a big jar of liniment, charging him twenty cents. Call was dismayed at the price—he hadn’t supposed liniment would cost more than a dime.

“Tell Mr. McCrae I consider it very careless of him, to go falling off a bluff without my permission,” Clara said, as she was wrapping the jar of liniment in brown paper. “He might have been useful to me today, if he hadn’t been so careless.”

“He had no notion that he was so close to the edge, Miss,” Call said, thinking that he ought to try and defend his friend.

“No excuses, tell him I’m very put out,” Clara demanded. “Once I smite a man, I expect more cautious behaviour.”