True Grit - "With No Lodestar In Sight", Mattie/LaBoeuf, T
Title: With No Lodestar In Sight - 7/12
Author: lindentree
Rating: T
Character(s): Mattie Ross/LaBoeuf, Rooster Cogburn
Word Count: 7,091
Summary: Five years after her adventure in the Choctaw Nation, Mattie Ross runs afoul of a fugitive. She soon finds herself in familiar company, if not familiar territory.
an unsentimental view of the thing
Naturally, Rooster’s bout of temperance did not last. Mattie and LaBoeuf agreed to tolerate him and carry on as they had done, sharing the duties of making and breaking camp between themselves. Rooster did not seem to notice that he contributed little more than stories as they made their way toward Texarkana. Even his provisions were of no help to them - he had only tobacco and spirits, and a little bag of salt that he guarded jealously and said was “for trading only.”
He typically rode in front, drinking and singing and telling his stories. He did not care whether Mattie or LaBoeuf paid him any mind. As it was, they listened to him about half the time. The other half they hung back and rode in silence, or else talked of where they thought Cunningham might be.
They neared Texarkana on the fifth afternoon after their departure from the Cunninghams’ in Arkadelphia. The country became less wild and more settled as they rode west towards the Arkansas portion of Texarkana. The land was well cultivated and flat, as though someone had pressed it with a great iron. It was a cool, grey day, and the wind chapped their hands and faces.
“Have you ever been to Texarkana?” Mattie asked LaBoeuf. They were once again riding together behind Rooster, who was about thirty yards ahead of them. Mattie eyed him dubiously as he reeled in his saddle. Whiskey Jack took a few steps off course, wary of his rider.
“I have,” LaBoeuf replied, “many times. It is an interesting place, filled with travellers and business-minded folks, owing I suppose to its location and the confluence of railroads there. It is not a place I would choose to settle and raise a family, however.”
Mattie considered this, and it led her thoughts to LaBoeuf’s earlier admission that he would one day soon like to “settle down,” as he said, and have a wife and some children.
“Do you have a sweetheart back home in Texas?” Mattie asked. LaBoeuf looked at her sharply, and Mattie raised her eyebrows in what she hoped was an expression of idle curiosity.
“Ah. No, I do not have a sweetheart in Texas,” he replied. “Or anywhere, for that matter.”
“You said that you hoped to one day settle, and have a house and a wife, which is why I ask,” Mattie elaborated.
LaBoeuf regarded her, and then cleared his throat. “I reckon if I want that for myself, I had better start the search for a good companion.”
“I would not know anything about that, but I am sure you are right.”
“You would not? Here I thought the business of courting and marriage was the primary domain of all respectable young ladies.”
“Some respectable young ladies, perhaps,” Mattie said.
“So you do not count yourself among their ranks?”
“I do not concern myself with things which are irrelevant to me,” Mattie replied. “I doubt I shall ever marry.”
LaBoeuf seemed to have no response to this, and all was quiet between them for some time. Mattie thought the subject abandoned, but suddenly he spoke again. “Perhaps you have not yet encountered the man who would make a suitable mate for you.”
“I do not think that is the trouble,” Mattie replied.
“What then do you think is the trouble?”
“The trouble is that I have long held the opinion that men will live like billy goats if they are permitted,” Mattie said. “If a woman wants to take it upon herself to marry a fellow and keep him from living in a low and slovenly way, then that is her business. As for myself, I am not interested in that occupation.”
“That is an unsentimental view of the thing,” LaBoeuf said. “What if you made the acquaintance of a man who was not a ‘billy goat’ in need of a shepherdess, but was a decent and respectable man who wished to marry you out of a fondness for your company?”
“This hypothetical scenario of yours is very interesting,” Mattie replied, “but it is rather like asking how many angels can fit on the head of a pin. I am sure you find it great fun to ponder, but it has precious little practical value.”
“You mean to say you do not think such a man exists?”
“It is arrogant to say as much, for I do not know all there is to know, but I have seen just enough of this world that no, I do not think such a man exists,” Mattie said.
LaBoeuf regarded her in silence for several moments before looking away. “Well, then,” he said, in a voice so low Mattie almost did not hear him.
Mattie turned her gaze straight ahead, and frowned to see that Rooster had stopped and was waiting for them.
They rode up to him and stopped their horses. Mattie dropped her reins almost to their ends and sat her weight up in the saddle so that Alma could stretch her back. The horse reached her nose down to the ground and gave a soft nickering sound before letting out a heavy sigh.
“We are nearly at our destination,” Rooster said. He gestured to the west, and Mattie could see the gathering of dark smoke in the distant sky, indicating the town beneath it. “What say you, LaBoeuf? Will we find our man in a tavern or a brothel? It is early yet, but perhaps the whores in Texarkana keep store hours.”
“Cogburn,” LaBoeuf said, frowning at him. “I realise this sort of talk is more for the benefit of my offence than Miss Ross’s, here, but you ought to mind what you say in the presence of a young woman.”
“Some of the foulest mouths I’ve known have belonged to young women,” Rooster replied.
“I have no doubt that is true,” LaBoeuf sighed. “Let us proceed. We will enter the first tavern we find and start our search there. We will be able to cover some ground before we need to find lodging for the night.”
They chirruped to their horses and set off once more. In an hour, they had arrived in the outskirts of Texarkana. They stopped once they were in the centre of the town, nearly at the Texas state line. By the train tracks they found a livery, and decided to board the horses and let them rest a spell.
“This task will go faster if we split up,” LaBoeuf said once they had seen the horses settled.
“Hm,” said Rooster. “I suppose you mean for me to take one side of the street and you and the girl to take the other.”
“That is what I was going to suggest, yes,” LaBoeuf replied. “Miss Ross and I can try what hotels and boarding houses we come across, and you can try the taverns and other such places.”
“That is what you were going to suggest,” Rooster repeated. He coughed and spat on the ground, and then continued speaking in a peevish tone. “I am not sure she will be any safer alone with you than she would be following me into rough places, but I guess that is how you figure it, LaBoeuf.”
LaBoeuf said nothing to this, but glared fiercely at Rooster. Mattie looked between the two of them, puzzled as to the source of their vexation, beyond their continued general dislike of one another.
“I am gravelled,” she said. “It does not matter who goes with whom so long as we find our way back together here, in an hour or thereabouts, hopefully with some good information regarding Cunningham. Let us not cavil - we are only wasting time.”
“I agree. I reckon you can judge well enough your own path. Go with whomever you choose,” LaBoeuf said to her. He turned then and began to walk away up the street.
Rooster watched him go, a scowl on his face. He glanced at Mattie.
“You heard the man, sis. Do as you like,” he said. He turned and went also, only in the opposite direction.
Mattie stood there in the muddy livery yard, watching the two of them stalk off. Her thought was that she would like to have but one day on this errand wherein her two companions did not chafe one another.
She watched Rooster walk down a ways, and then cross the street to a tavern which stood on the other side. He went inside. She turned her back on him and walked in the direction LaBoeuf had gone.
It took her only a minute of brisk walking to catch up to LaBoeuf down the street, outside of a hotel. He was standing on the front stoop, an expression of frustration on his face.
“Hallo,” Mattie greeted him as she approached. LaBoeuf looked up, and seemed surprised to see her. She came to a stop before him. “What is your plan, Mr. LaBoeuf?”
“Well,” he said, “I propose we query the hotels along this row and see what we can find. Failing that I suggest we make contact with the local law and see whether they have heard aught of our man.”
“I agree,” Mattie replied. “Marshall Cogburn has gone to ‘query’ a tavern down the other end of this street, so I do not know when we will see him sober next.”
LaBoeuf’s brows drew together in a frown as he regarded her. “Are you making sport of Cogburn?”
“Only somewhat,” Mattie replied with a shrug of her shoulders. “For the most part I think I speak the truth. Shall we begin?”
“Yes, let us go.”
They continued down the street, stopping at two more hotels and a dry goods store. They discovered nothing, and were treated warily by the people they met. Mattie supposed it was due to LaBoeuf’s high-handed ways and the unusual dress they both wore, but that was no excuse for poor manners, in her opinion.
As they were leaving the second hotel, two men entered the lobby, talking loudly and blustering about as though the place belonged to them alone.
“- no surprise in that,” one of them was saying. “These western towns are scarcely more civilized than the territories.”
“They will not even catch the man who done it, I warrant,” replied the other.
“Of course they will not! He has fled and is likely already over the state line. No one will give chase.”
LaBoeuf gave Mattie a weighty look, and then stepped forward and stopped the men. “Pardon me, sirs, but what is this that you speak of?”
The men both stared at LaBoeuf a moment before transferring their baffled looks to Mattie.
“Why, there has been a murder, of course,” the first one said after a moment, in a pompous tone.
“You have not heard?” the other added, incredulous.
“Where has this murder taken place?” LaBoeuf asked. “Quickly, now - I am a Texas Ranger in pursuit of a dangerous criminal and cannot afford to waste time on palaver.”
The first man blanched. “The thing happened at a hotel very near to here, on Beech Street. I will give you directions.”
The two men proceeded to detail a series of directions wherein they contradicted one another repeatedly and fell to quarrelling over it more than once. Mattie did not see how it could be so difficult to find a place in a frontier town with broad, western-style streets laid out in an orderly way, and so she simply listened for the street names and ignored the rest of their nonsense.
Mattie and LaBoeuf left as soon as they could break away from the two men, and headed back in the direction they had come. Sure enough they found their own way without any trouble, and when they turned the corner onto Beech Street, the large crowd gathered in front of a rundown boarding house was enough to indicate that they had arrived in the right place.
They approached the crowd, which was populated with people of all sorts, hoping, Mattie supposed, to get a glimpse of whatever grisly scene lay within the boarding house.
LaBoeuf craned to see over the heads of the people before them, and then turned to her. “The law is here already. I will see if I can be of any assistance,” he said, and disappeared into the crowd.
Mattie turned away. She walked down the board sidewalk, out of the crush of onlookers. Admittedly she was curious, but the local authorities hardly needed yet another person gawking and getting underfoot. She sat down on an empty upturned crate around the side of the building where there was no one, and waited.
Mattie considered the trail of mayhem the man had left behind him as he fled west. Things had gone in such a way thus far that she assumed Cunningham was responsible for whatever violence had transpired here. She wished that she had had the wherewithal to take her father’s pistol and finish the job of killing him when the opportunity had presented itself back in Yell County. Cunningham’s subsequent crimes would have been prevented, and Mattie would now be at home with her family, enjoying the hard work and plenty of the harvest season.
Her only regret in such a circumstance would be not having had these times with LaBoeuf and with Rooster which, although each man was tiresome in his own way, had yielded a kind of high-spirited adventure she had not enjoyed since the last time they were together, and which, in private moments, she could admit to herself that she coveted.
Mattie reckoned it was a sin to call running away from home in the pursuit of a criminal a high-spirited adventure, but that was the truth. She missed her home and her family, but sleeping under the stars, riding and tracking, camping, and fishing all agreed very well with her. Even Rooster’s meandering stories and LaBoeuf’s tall ones held their own peculiar charms.
She guessed their adventure was almost at its conclusion. They had nearly caught up to Cunningham now, and soon she would be headed back home. She supposed it would be best to put herself and Alma on a train; certainly LaBoeuf and Rooster would be eager to head back to Texas for their respective rewards. They would not be willing or able to accompany her home.
“There you are.” Mattie looked up to see LaBoeuf standing at the corner of the building, watching her.
“I am not one for a large crowd,” Mattie said. “I thought I would do myself and everyone else a good turn by waiting here, out of the way.”
LaBoeuf came and sat down on the crate beside her, the big rowels on his spurs ringing against the sidewalk boards. He removed his hat and ran a hand over his hair before replacing the ostentatious thing on his head. Mattie glanced down and saw that his knee was touching hers. She eased her limb away from his and placed her hand in her lap.
“Were you able to gather any useful information?”
“A woman was killed here, only an hour or so ago,” LaBoeuf said, frowning. He was troubled. “No one knows the name of the man who was with her and who later quit this place, but judging by the descriptions given by those who saw him, I reckon we have caught up to Cunningham at last.”
“A woman? What woman?”
“Ah,” LaBoeuf said hesitantly, glancing at her. “Well... She was a lady of the evening.”
“Oh,” Mattie replied. “What happened?”
LaBoeuf’s cheeks reddened, and he cleared his throat. “Cunningham was ah, keeping company with this lady, and the Sheriff reckons they quarrelled about some matter, and Cunningham strangled her and pushed her body under the bed before fleeing. He stole a horse also, and it is believed he headed west into Texas.”
Mattie frowned down at the toes of her boots, silently remonstrating herself for her earlier musings. “High-spirited adventures” indeed.
“What, have you nothing to say about this being the just punishment for her sins?” LaBoeuf asked.
Mattie looked at him. “Surely you cannot think me so heartless as all that.”
LaBoeuf regarded her for a long moment, and then shook his head. “No, I do not think you so heartless as all that.”
“Perhaps this woman lived a life of sin, but to have it taken in violence by a man like Cunningham is hardly ‘an eye for an eye,’” Mattie said.
“I agree.” LaBoeuf was silent for a moment, and then said quietly, “I do not think she had the opportunity to do much sinning at all. She was very young.”
Mattie had nothing to say to this, and they sat listening to the sound of the crowd murmuring and gossiping around the corner. Mattie thought about all the harm Cunningham had done during his flight from justice.
“More with each day that passes I regret that I did not kill him when the opportunity presented itself,” she said finally.
“Do you?” LaBoeuf replied. “Well, I regret that I did not catch him before he got anywhere near you.”
Mattie turned to him. He was looking at her with great sincerity; there was no bluster about him at that moment. But he appeared deflated somehow, older and more tired than usual, frustrated with something over which he held no sway.
“We ought to go find Rooster,” Mattie said.
LaBoeuf sighed. “Yes, we ought to. There is no use in sitting here. If we are quick, I think we can catch Cunningham before he gets too far into the wilderness.”
“Let us go then.”
They walked back to the livery, where they found Alma and Sal contentedly eating their hay in two stalls next to each other. Whiskey Jack was in a third, dozing with his great chestnut head hung low.
LaBoeuf went into Sal’s stall, running his hand along her dark brown and white rump and her side so she would not startle. He checked her hooves, and then stood and gave her a pat on her neck.
“I am glad we can pursue Cunningham immediately upon Cogburn’s return, but I own that I would have liked for the horses to have a proper rest. Poor gal. I am wearing her ragged, I fear,” he said, almost to himself.
“Yet she would keep on until she could go no further, if you asked it of her,” Mattie replied, standing by the pine post at the entrance to the stall. “That is a good horse to have.”
“She is a fine mare, sound and steady, and she has seen me through our share of scrapes withal,” he said. “Perhaps it is about time for her to retire from this game of tracking criminals in the wilderness.” He paused, his hand resting on Sal’s neck. “Perhaps it is about time I did the same.”
“But Mr. LaBoeuf, you cannot possibly think to quit our search now!” Mattie exclaimed. “We have come so far, and we are right on Cunningham’s heels, I am sure of it!”
LaBoeuf came and stood beside her. “Come now, I have no plans to abandon our work and leave you in Texarkana with only Cogburn to assist you. I am speaking of my future life when I return to Ysleta. I am getting too old for this life, and I do not wish to have what time is left to me cut short by a bullet, either.”
“You speak as though you are an old man, which is hardly the truth,” Mattie replied, perplexed by him. “And I have not known you to shy away from danger. Indeed you have sought it out.”
“I have,” LaBoeuf agreed, his brows drawing together in a crease. “Since running away to join up in the war I have wanted only to be where the fire is hottest, so to speak. I hardly knew then what that truly meant. But now I find I grow weary of the violence. I long for some peace, a place of my own. Do you understand that?”
Mattie was struck with an image of the lovely September afternoon when Cunningham came into her life. She thought of the freshly harvested cotton fields, of the hay in the mow, of the horses and the little milk cow Jessie in the pasture. She thought of how pleased she had been at the good season they had enjoyed, and how she looked forward to seeing Mama, Little Frank, and Victoria, of meeting them at the train station and hearing about what fun they had had in Little Rock, of delighting in what gifts they brought her no matter how many times she insisted they not waste their pennies.
“I understand,” Mattie replied.
LaBoeuf looked at her, and his eyes spoke of peace and of quiet, of soft green places and the warmth of sunlight. All words died in her throat. Mattie wondered how he might look without all his gaudy trappings, in a parlour at dusk after a long day of work, his eyes warm and tired, and his hand on hers.
“I reckon you know there has been a murder, or you are more incompetent as a lawman than I have guessed, LaBoeuf.”
Mattie turned to see Rooster standing in the wide stable doorway, silhouetted by the late afternoon sunlight.
“Yes, we know there has been a murder, and we suspect Cunningham is to blame,” LaBoeuf replied tiredly. “What else do you have to say about it?”
“I have nothing else to say about it,” Rooster said. “I only wonder what you are doing jawing Mattie’s ear when we are nearly at the pinch of the game. I plan to pursue Cunningham even if you do not.”
“I plan to pursue him, all right.” LaBoeuf reached for his saddle on the wall between Sal’s stall and Alma’s. Mattie went into Alma’s stall and began to tack her up as well.
“There is no need to be acrimonious, Marshall Cogburn,” Mattie scolded as she worked. “Mr. LaBoeuf and I were just making ready to depart. We planned to pursue Cunningham the moment you returned, did we not, Mr. LaBoeuf?”
LaBoeuf did not reply. Mattie could see only the very top of his downturned head as he fastened Sal’s girth.
“It seems our man was sighted heading west out of town,” Rooster said. “I guess he aims to go to the woods for cover, and we had best start there and see if we can pick up his trail.”
“That is all right with me,” LaBoeuf grumbled. “Let us be off as quickly as we can and get this business over with.”
They mounted up and started off towards the west once again, and Mattie felt that they were completely at the mercy of providence, for they had little to guide their course now.
Once they had crossed the state line and the streets and buildings of Texarkana thinned and receded into the distance, Mattie paused to take a look around at the “great state of Texas.”
In the strictest geographical sense, there was not much to distinguish it from Arkansas, as far as Mattie could see. Whether the people were any different, it was not yet possible to say, for they did not encounter anyone as they traversed a stretch of plains, heading for a thick stand of piney woods crouching on the horizon.
The sun crept across the sky, headed in the same direction as their path took them. The sky cast over with snowy-looking, low grey clouds, and they rode in a single line with Rooster in front, then LaBoeuf, and Mattie in the rear. The wind sharpened, and they did not speak.
It was twilight by the time they reached the edge of the woods. A glow of light and the smell of smoke on the wind announced the presence of some living being, and by and by they came upon a tiny log cabin with a thatched roof. A man sat smoking a pipe on the little stoop, with was made of a smooth split log. He wore a threadbare coat whose sleeves were too short for his lanky arms, and a tall hat made from dusty, moth-eaten beaver felt.
They brought their horses to a halt in what passed for his yard. The man leaned against the door behind him, and although he regarded them, he did not stand or offer a greeting.
“What say there?” Rooster called. “You see a man pass through here, recent-like, on a horse? He woulda been in a mighty big hurry.”
The man did not answer immediately. Instead he continued to stare at them, and to smoke. Mattie glanced to her side to see what LaBoeuf thought of this, but his eyes were fixed on the man.
“Might have,” he said finally.
Rooster waited for the man to continue, but he did not. Rooster cleared his throat. “Which way was he headed?”
“Can’t say,” the man replied.
Mattie looked over and saw that Rooster had gone very still. “Now, can you not say because you do not know, or because this man has paid for your silence?”
Mattie heard LaBoeuf’s saddle creak as he turned to look at Rooster. Hardly a sound broke the silence.
“Well?” Rooster prodded, his voice patient and untroubled. “Which is it?”
There was another beat of silence, and then the man was on his feet and turning to scurry into his cabin. But Rooster moved with a speed which took Mattie aback, and thumped to the forest floor and grabbed the man by the back of his coat before he could escape.
Rooster threw the man to the ground, face up, and pinned him there with one foot planted squarely on his chest. His Colt Single Action was in his hand before Mattie had seen him reach for it. He cocked the piece and pointed it in the man’s face.
“You’re at a fork in the road, friend,” Rooster said. “You got yourself two paths to choose from: you get right with me, or you get right with your Lord. Which is it gonna be?”
The man was either obstinately foolish or stunned into silence, for he did not answer. Rooster leaned over and pressed the muzzle of his revolver into the flesh of the man’s cheek. The fellow squirmed and wheezed, clutching at Rooster’s leg.
Abruptly, Rooster eased off of him and the man rolled over, coughing. He hissed something at Rooster, who leaned down again.
“What’s that?” he barked.
The man choked out some words which were indistinguishable from where Mattie and LaBoeuf sat. Rooster cursed and kicked the man sharply in the ribs in reply.
“Marshall Cogburn!” Mattie protested, as the man cried out. It did not seem right to torment the wretch with violence, in spite of their aim.
The man said something finally which seemed to satisfy Rooster, who spat on the ground and holstered his revolver. He returned to Whiskey Jack’s side and mounted in one smooth motion.
“Cunningham asked for directions, and this fella told him to head southwest, through these woods, where he will eventually find a lake,” Rooster said. He urged his horse on, and Mattie and LaBoeuf followed. Mattie pulled up alongside him.
“What did the man say to incite you to treat him so viciously?” she asked.
“Said he’d tell me all I wanted to know if I beat Cunningham’s price,” Rooster replied. “Don’t know what cards he thought he was holding. I knew he would start barking once I put an ounce of pressure on him.”
Mattie turned to look at LaBoeuf, who had remained silent throughout this entire exchange. His face bore an unreadable expression, and Mattie turned back around in her saddle.
They rode through the woods, putting distance between themselves and the log cabin. The darkness was becoming impenetrable as the forest grew denser and the night more absolute. They did not speak as they rode abreast, picking their way slowly through the maze of slender pine trunks.
Mattie did not like this dark feeling which had descended on the three of them. As if to underscore her anxiety, an owl hooted nearby. The next time LaBoeuf wound through a stand of trees and was close to her side, Mattie cleared her throat and undertook a bright tone.
“If this is a taste of what I might expect in Texas, I believe I have a greater understanding of how you came to be the sort of man you are,” she said.
“Oh, indeed? And what sort of man am I?” LaBoeuf asked.
Mattie swallowed, her teasing mood abandoning her as quickly as it had taken hold of her. She spoke before she could think better of it. “The best sort,” she said. She looked away, feeling strangely bashful, and glad that darkness surrounded them. “Do not take offence. I am only ‘yanking your chain’ because you are so easily affronted.”
LaBoeuf did not seem to have a reply to this, and did not have time to think of one, for Sal stumbled then, nearly unseating him. He cursed, and dismounted to see whether she had been injured. Mattie and Rooster stopped, waiting as LaBoeuf bent down to examine the horse’s legs.
“She is not lame,” he announced eventually, standing up. It was too dark to even make out his face, and Mattie had to guess where he stood by the sound of his voice, which held a great deal of frustration. “It is too dark to press on. I do not like it any more than you will, Cogburn, but I suggest we stop and make camp here.”
“Hm,” Rooster replied. “No, I do not like it, but you are right, pard. We are more likely to hobble our horses in these woods than to find Cunningham.”
Mattie’s heart sunk in disappointment, but she saw the reason in it. It would do them no good in their endeavour if they found themselves without horses, especially now that Cunningham was mounted.
They found a small clearing in the trees nearby, just large enough to build a campfire and throw down their bedrolls, and to string a line for the horses.
As Rooster and LaBoeuf got the horses settled, Mattie walked off between the trees to gather firewood. She did not take a light of any kind with her, for she guessed it would be easier going to simply allow her eyes to adjust to what little light there was from the moon.
She did not walk far, only deep enough to gather an armful of sticks, and never so far that she could not hear the sound of Rooster and LaBoeuf speaking to one another in low voices. It was so dark, and had become so still in the woods, that she could see the glow of Rooster’s cigarette when she turned to look back at them.
Mattie tripped on something, a root she thought, and half fell to her knees, dropping the sticks all around her.
“Blast,” she cursed, groping in the darkness. Slowly she began to gather up her sticks once again. She had recovered about half of them when she reached her hand and touched something that caused her to draw back. Her fingers had touched something wet and warm which stuck to her skin. She put her hand under her nose and sniffed.
It was blood.
“Mattie?” It was LaBoeuf, and he was close.
“I am here,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even as she rose to her feet. “Bring a light, there is something -”
“Hell,” he swore, appearing beside her with a lit knot of pine in his hand. He held it out, and the light revealed the body of a horse. Mattie held her hand up - it was slick with dark, congealing blood.
The light moved away from her as LaBoeuf leaned over to examine the animal more closely.
“The animal has been shot,” he said. “I reckon it is the horse Cunningham stole, for it is only just dead. Perhaps it went lame. Or perhaps he simply shot it for no reason. I do not know.”
The sight was grisly indeed. Mattie turned her face away. The poor dumb beast had done nothing to deserve such an ugly fate, to die frightened and injured away from all that was familiar to it. The sight of the pitiful creature reminded her too much of Little Blackie, only it was much worse. This horse had not been shot out of compassion for its suffering and sacrifice. It had probably not been shot for any merciful reason at all.
LaBoeuf sighed. “Come away,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We can do nothing for the poor beast now.”
Mattie gathered the bundle of sticks close to her chest and they returned to the place where the horses were tethered. Rooster had cleared a spot for the fire, and was waiting there, smoking a cigarette.
“Mattie stumbled upon Cunningham’s horse,” LaBoeuf said to him. “It seems he shot the animal for one reason or another. Either way it is recently dead. He cannot have gotten far, although he will have had a better time on foot than on horseback in these dense woods.”
“If only we did not have to wait here for the night to pass,” Mattie said. “We cannot apprehend Cunningham soon enough for me.”
“Cool your heels, sis,” Rooster replied. “We’ll get him yet.”
“You ought not to encourage her,” LaBoeuf muttered.
“Encourage me?” Mattie asked, turning to stare at him. His expression was dark, and he seemed vexed beyond the merits of their circumstances. She did not understand him.
“Yes, encourage you, that is what I said,” LaBoeuf replied. “Neither of us ought to. We are both fools. Mattie, you should not be here. It is too dangerous.”
“Too dangerous? Why, I have come this far all right, have I not? Not to mention our previous sojourn.”
“You paid dearly enough for that one act of vengeance,” LaBoeuf countered. “Why do you take on another?”
“This is not an act of vengeance. I simply want my one hundred dollars back,” Mattie replied.
“I think we both know that is not the whole truth of it. You told me yourself that you doubt you shall see that money again. No, you want to see Cunningham dead for what he did to you. Not for the danger he poses to others, not for your one hundred dollars. For what he did to you.”
Mattie met his gaze. “And if I do?”
“I fear your desire for vengeance makes you foolhardy,” LaBoeuf replied.
“And it does not have the same effect on you?”
“I have no desire for vengeance. Mattie, this is merely a duty of my occupation. I am pursuing Cunningham because if I am successful, there is money in it for me. That is all.” He paused then and looked to Rooster with an entreating expression. “Do you have nothing to say, Cogburn? Do not pretend you think she ought to be here, with a man like Cunningham on the loose.”
“You are the one who brought her along, pard,” Rooster replied.
LaBoeuf shot Rooster a thoroughly exasperated look. Rooster returned it. He threw his cigarette to the ground and cleared his throat.
“Reckon I might go see a man about a horse,” he said. “You two holler when you’re through with your squabbling.” With that, he turned and ambled off into the woods and out of sight but not, Mattie supposed, out of earshot.
LaBoeuf turned back to her, his expression sombre. “Please, Mattie. See reason. We are well past the point of ridiculousness. It is not safe for you, here.”
“I do not see why this continues to be a sticking point between us,” Mattie replied. “I am here and I am staying. You swore to me that we would be together when we bring this business to its close. Is there no honour in your word at all, then?”
“There is honour in my word, all right. Only my honour is not anywhere near so dear to me as your safety. I fear...” He paused here and frowned, looking away from her. “I fear that something will befall you, and there will be nothing Rooster or I can do to protect you.”
“You are the one who is being ridiculous,” Mattie replied. “I am as safe as I have always been.”
“What, do you think you are safe from violence because you are virtuous, and that only those like that girl in Texarkana are in harm’s way?”
Mattie glowered at him. “You forget how I came to be involved in this business. I know full well that one has little to do with the other, and what danger I face in pursuing the man.”
“I am not sure that you do, Mattie. I think if you knew what danger you faced, you would be at home, where you ought to be.”
“It is not for you to say where I ought to be,” she replied.
“This time, it is. This is enough, now. It is enough. We are returning to Texarkana and you are boarding the next train back to Dardanelle.”
“What, turn back now when we are right on Cunningham’s heels? You will do no such thing!” Mattie snapped.
“You cannot always have your way,” LaBoeuf replied.
“Nor can you,” she returned.
“You have had your way plenty on this journey, and now I must put my foot down and refuse you. Do not be unreasonable, Mattie. You have had your adventure. Now you must listen to good counsel and do as I say.”
“It is not your place to refuse or forbid me anything!” Mattie replied, needled. “Why are you forever trying to soldier me here and there, protect me from this and that? I do not need your protection.”
“But you should want it! You should want to be protected,” he said fiercely. “It is unnatural that you do not want it.”
“Unnatural? Unnatural indeed! How dare you?”
“By God, Mattie, I tell you I have had enough!” LaBoeuf said, glowering down at her. “If you do not return to Texarkana and put yourself on the next train to Dardanelle, I will have no choice but to put you there myself by any means necessary. Do not try my patience further, girl.”
"You are very free with your threatening remarks for someone who so rarely sees them through," Mattie replied.
LaBoeuf scowled at her. "I see them through. Or is your memory so short that you have forgotten the striping I gave your leg on the bank of the Arkansas River, in the Choctaw Nation?"
That he had the audacity to bring that mortifying episode up at this moment, Mattie could scarcely believe. His pride was unforgivable. He did not care what humiliation he wrought so long as he defended his ill-founded belief that he was always in the right.
"You are a rude, awful lout, and I have no regard for you," Mattie said. "And I think it is you who suffers from a short memory. You gave me a thrashing, but you never did manage to steal a kiss from me. You never shall, either. You could not steal a kiss from a corpse, or a toad on a log. You could not steal a kiss if they were being given away, free of charge!"
LaBoeuf continued to glare at her for a moment longer, and then suddenly he moved and Mattie found herself pulled roughly to him. He kissed her right on the mouth, his whiskers scratching her skin. Stunned, she froze in place as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her close to his body and bending her to him.
He released her as abruptly as he had pulled her to him, and Mattie swayed back on her feet. His eyes were bright as he looked at her, that smug expression returning to his face. Mattie felt her face burn, feeling that she had been bested.
“There,” he said. “Now what do you have to say about how I see my threats through?”
Stung, Mattie reached out her hand and slapped him across his face. It throbbed sharply where her burned palm connected with his jaw. She could not think of a thing to say, and she had no desire to look at him a moment longer, and so she turned on her heel and stomped into the bush, heedless of the darkness.
LaBoeuf did not follow her.
Mattie’s face blazed with humiliation, and anger choked at her chest. The very tar of him, to treat her that way after everything that had passed between them! She did not know why she was so shocked at his behaviour; after all, he had done little since their meeting except doubt her abilities and try to rid himself of her.
Her steps slowed as she ducked around the fallen trunk of a tree. Some sharp sensation tugged in her chest as she thought of LaBoeuf’s eagerness to be shot of her. It was not only her pride which was hurting, she realised.
She stopped walking. She was being silly, tearing off into the woods to sulk like a child. This sort of behaviour was well beneath her, and it would not do. She would simply return to their little camp and behave as though no quarrel had taken place. There was nothing for it.
A shriek suddenly pierced the air, so high in pitch that it alarmed the ears to hear it. It continued, rising and falling through the trees like the screech of some unholy banshee. Mattie shuddered as a chill ran up her spine. It was the scream of a rabbit caught in the clutches of some other beast. She could not tell which direction the horrible noises came from.
It ceased as abruptly as it had begun, and the woods fell silent. Pulling her coat tighter around her, Mattie turned and began to walk in the direction she had come. She walked for quite some time, her legs growing tired as she picked her way through the dark brush. Eventually she saw a firelight glimmering through the trees. She walked towards it, nearly stumbling over the uneven ground. She came through the trees, expecting to see LaBoeuf and Rooster, but she did not.
Instead, sitting by his meagre fire, slowly pulling a dead rabbit’s pelt from its body, was Albert Cunningham.
Chapter 8
Author: lindentree
Rating: T
Character(s): Mattie Ross/LaBoeuf, Rooster Cogburn
Word Count: 7,091
Summary: Five years after her adventure in the Choctaw Nation, Mattie Ross runs afoul of a fugitive. She soon finds herself in familiar company, if not familiar territory.
an unsentimental view of the thing
Naturally, Rooster’s bout of temperance did not last. Mattie and LaBoeuf agreed to tolerate him and carry on as they had done, sharing the duties of making and breaking camp between themselves. Rooster did not seem to notice that he contributed little more than stories as they made their way toward Texarkana. Even his provisions were of no help to them - he had only tobacco and spirits, and a little bag of salt that he guarded jealously and said was “for trading only.”
He typically rode in front, drinking and singing and telling his stories. He did not care whether Mattie or LaBoeuf paid him any mind. As it was, they listened to him about half the time. The other half they hung back and rode in silence, or else talked of where they thought Cunningham might be.
They neared Texarkana on the fifth afternoon after their departure from the Cunninghams’ in Arkadelphia. The country became less wild and more settled as they rode west towards the Arkansas portion of Texarkana. The land was well cultivated and flat, as though someone had pressed it with a great iron. It was a cool, grey day, and the wind chapped their hands and faces.
“Have you ever been to Texarkana?” Mattie asked LaBoeuf. They were once again riding together behind Rooster, who was about thirty yards ahead of them. Mattie eyed him dubiously as he reeled in his saddle. Whiskey Jack took a few steps off course, wary of his rider.
“I have,” LaBoeuf replied, “many times. It is an interesting place, filled with travellers and business-minded folks, owing I suppose to its location and the confluence of railroads there. It is not a place I would choose to settle and raise a family, however.”
Mattie considered this, and it led her thoughts to LaBoeuf’s earlier admission that he would one day soon like to “settle down,” as he said, and have a wife and some children.
“Do you have a sweetheart back home in Texas?” Mattie asked. LaBoeuf looked at her sharply, and Mattie raised her eyebrows in what she hoped was an expression of idle curiosity.
“Ah. No, I do not have a sweetheart in Texas,” he replied. “Or anywhere, for that matter.”
“You said that you hoped to one day settle, and have a house and a wife, which is why I ask,” Mattie elaborated.
LaBoeuf regarded her, and then cleared his throat. “I reckon if I want that for myself, I had better start the search for a good companion.”
“I would not know anything about that, but I am sure you are right.”
“You would not? Here I thought the business of courting and marriage was the primary domain of all respectable young ladies.”
“Some respectable young ladies, perhaps,” Mattie said.
“So you do not count yourself among their ranks?”
“I do not concern myself with things which are irrelevant to me,” Mattie replied. “I doubt I shall ever marry.”
LaBoeuf seemed to have no response to this, and all was quiet between them for some time. Mattie thought the subject abandoned, but suddenly he spoke again. “Perhaps you have not yet encountered the man who would make a suitable mate for you.”
“I do not think that is the trouble,” Mattie replied.
“What then do you think is the trouble?”
“The trouble is that I have long held the opinion that men will live like billy goats if they are permitted,” Mattie said. “If a woman wants to take it upon herself to marry a fellow and keep him from living in a low and slovenly way, then that is her business. As for myself, I am not interested in that occupation.”
“That is an unsentimental view of the thing,” LaBoeuf said. “What if you made the acquaintance of a man who was not a ‘billy goat’ in need of a shepherdess, but was a decent and respectable man who wished to marry you out of a fondness for your company?”
“This hypothetical scenario of yours is very interesting,” Mattie replied, “but it is rather like asking how many angels can fit on the head of a pin. I am sure you find it great fun to ponder, but it has precious little practical value.”
“You mean to say you do not think such a man exists?”
“It is arrogant to say as much, for I do not know all there is to know, but I have seen just enough of this world that no, I do not think such a man exists,” Mattie said.
LaBoeuf regarded her in silence for several moments before looking away. “Well, then,” he said, in a voice so low Mattie almost did not hear him.
Mattie turned her gaze straight ahead, and frowned to see that Rooster had stopped and was waiting for them.
They rode up to him and stopped their horses. Mattie dropped her reins almost to their ends and sat her weight up in the saddle so that Alma could stretch her back. The horse reached her nose down to the ground and gave a soft nickering sound before letting out a heavy sigh.
“We are nearly at our destination,” Rooster said. He gestured to the west, and Mattie could see the gathering of dark smoke in the distant sky, indicating the town beneath it. “What say you, LaBoeuf? Will we find our man in a tavern or a brothel? It is early yet, but perhaps the whores in Texarkana keep store hours.”
“Cogburn,” LaBoeuf said, frowning at him. “I realise this sort of talk is more for the benefit of my offence than Miss Ross’s, here, but you ought to mind what you say in the presence of a young woman.”
“Some of the foulest mouths I’ve known have belonged to young women,” Rooster replied.
“I have no doubt that is true,” LaBoeuf sighed. “Let us proceed. We will enter the first tavern we find and start our search there. We will be able to cover some ground before we need to find lodging for the night.”
They chirruped to their horses and set off once more. In an hour, they had arrived in the outskirts of Texarkana. They stopped once they were in the centre of the town, nearly at the Texas state line. By the train tracks they found a livery, and decided to board the horses and let them rest a spell.
“This task will go faster if we split up,” LaBoeuf said once they had seen the horses settled.
“Hm,” said Rooster. “I suppose you mean for me to take one side of the street and you and the girl to take the other.”
“That is what I was going to suggest, yes,” LaBoeuf replied. “Miss Ross and I can try what hotels and boarding houses we come across, and you can try the taverns and other such places.”
“That is what you were going to suggest,” Rooster repeated. He coughed and spat on the ground, and then continued speaking in a peevish tone. “I am not sure she will be any safer alone with you than she would be following me into rough places, but I guess that is how you figure it, LaBoeuf.”
LaBoeuf said nothing to this, but glared fiercely at Rooster. Mattie looked between the two of them, puzzled as to the source of their vexation, beyond their continued general dislike of one another.
“I am gravelled,” she said. “It does not matter who goes with whom so long as we find our way back together here, in an hour or thereabouts, hopefully with some good information regarding Cunningham. Let us not cavil - we are only wasting time.”
“I agree. I reckon you can judge well enough your own path. Go with whomever you choose,” LaBoeuf said to her. He turned then and began to walk away up the street.
Rooster watched him go, a scowl on his face. He glanced at Mattie.
“You heard the man, sis. Do as you like,” he said. He turned and went also, only in the opposite direction.
Mattie stood there in the muddy livery yard, watching the two of them stalk off. Her thought was that she would like to have but one day on this errand wherein her two companions did not chafe one another.
She watched Rooster walk down a ways, and then cross the street to a tavern which stood on the other side. He went inside. She turned her back on him and walked in the direction LaBoeuf had gone.
It took her only a minute of brisk walking to catch up to LaBoeuf down the street, outside of a hotel. He was standing on the front stoop, an expression of frustration on his face.
“Hallo,” Mattie greeted him as she approached. LaBoeuf looked up, and seemed surprised to see her. She came to a stop before him. “What is your plan, Mr. LaBoeuf?”
“Well,” he said, “I propose we query the hotels along this row and see what we can find. Failing that I suggest we make contact with the local law and see whether they have heard aught of our man.”
“I agree,” Mattie replied. “Marshall Cogburn has gone to ‘query’ a tavern down the other end of this street, so I do not know when we will see him sober next.”
LaBoeuf’s brows drew together in a frown as he regarded her. “Are you making sport of Cogburn?”
“Only somewhat,” Mattie replied with a shrug of her shoulders. “For the most part I think I speak the truth. Shall we begin?”
“Yes, let us go.”
They continued down the street, stopping at two more hotels and a dry goods store. They discovered nothing, and were treated warily by the people they met. Mattie supposed it was due to LaBoeuf’s high-handed ways and the unusual dress they both wore, but that was no excuse for poor manners, in her opinion.
As they were leaving the second hotel, two men entered the lobby, talking loudly and blustering about as though the place belonged to them alone.
“- no surprise in that,” one of them was saying. “These western towns are scarcely more civilized than the territories.”
“They will not even catch the man who done it, I warrant,” replied the other.
“Of course they will not! He has fled and is likely already over the state line. No one will give chase.”
LaBoeuf gave Mattie a weighty look, and then stepped forward and stopped the men. “Pardon me, sirs, but what is this that you speak of?”
The men both stared at LaBoeuf a moment before transferring their baffled looks to Mattie.
“Why, there has been a murder, of course,” the first one said after a moment, in a pompous tone.
“You have not heard?” the other added, incredulous.
“Where has this murder taken place?” LaBoeuf asked. “Quickly, now - I am a Texas Ranger in pursuit of a dangerous criminal and cannot afford to waste time on palaver.”
The first man blanched. “The thing happened at a hotel very near to here, on Beech Street. I will give you directions.”
The two men proceeded to detail a series of directions wherein they contradicted one another repeatedly and fell to quarrelling over it more than once. Mattie did not see how it could be so difficult to find a place in a frontier town with broad, western-style streets laid out in an orderly way, and so she simply listened for the street names and ignored the rest of their nonsense.
Mattie and LaBoeuf left as soon as they could break away from the two men, and headed back in the direction they had come. Sure enough they found their own way without any trouble, and when they turned the corner onto Beech Street, the large crowd gathered in front of a rundown boarding house was enough to indicate that they had arrived in the right place.
They approached the crowd, which was populated with people of all sorts, hoping, Mattie supposed, to get a glimpse of whatever grisly scene lay within the boarding house.
LaBoeuf craned to see over the heads of the people before them, and then turned to her. “The law is here already. I will see if I can be of any assistance,” he said, and disappeared into the crowd.
Mattie turned away. She walked down the board sidewalk, out of the crush of onlookers. Admittedly she was curious, but the local authorities hardly needed yet another person gawking and getting underfoot. She sat down on an empty upturned crate around the side of the building where there was no one, and waited.
Mattie considered the trail of mayhem the man had left behind him as he fled west. Things had gone in such a way thus far that she assumed Cunningham was responsible for whatever violence had transpired here. She wished that she had had the wherewithal to take her father’s pistol and finish the job of killing him when the opportunity had presented itself back in Yell County. Cunningham’s subsequent crimes would have been prevented, and Mattie would now be at home with her family, enjoying the hard work and plenty of the harvest season.
Her only regret in such a circumstance would be not having had these times with LaBoeuf and with Rooster which, although each man was tiresome in his own way, had yielded a kind of high-spirited adventure she had not enjoyed since the last time they were together, and which, in private moments, she could admit to herself that she coveted.
Mattie reckoned it was a sin to call running away from home in the pursuit of a criminal a high-spirited adventure, but that was the truth. She missed her home and her family, but sleeping under the stars, riding and tracking, camping, and fishing all agreed very well with her. Even Rooster’s meandering stories and LaBoeuf’s tall ones held their own peculiar charms.
She guessed their adventure was almost at its conclusion. They had nearly caught up to Cunningham now, and soon she would be headed back home. She supposed it would be best to put herself and Alma on a train; certainly LaBoeuf and Rooster would be eager to head back to Texas for their respective rewards. They would not be willing or able to accompany her home.
“There you are.” Mattie looked up to see LaBoeuf standing at the corner of the building, watching her.
“I am not one for a large crowd,” Mattie said. “I thought I would do myself and everyone else a good turn by waiting here, out of the way.”
LaBoeuf came and sat down on the crate beside her, the big rowels on his spurs ringing against the sidewalk boards. He removed his hat and ran a hand over his hair before replacing the ostentatious thing on his head. Mattie glanced down and saw that his knee was touching hers. She eased her limb away from his and placed her hand in her lap.
“Were you able to gather any useful information?”
“A woman was killed here, only an hour or so ago,” LaBoeuf said, frowning. He was troubled. “No one knows the name of the man who was with her and who later quit this place, but judging by the descriptions given by those who saw him, I reckon we have caught up to Cunningham at last.”
“A woman? What woman?”
“Ah,” LaBoeuf said hesitantly, glancing at her. “Well... She was a lady of the evening.”
“Oh,” Mattie replied. “What happened?”
LaBoeuf’s cheeks reddened, and he cleared his throat. “Cunningham was ah, keeping company with this lady, and the Sheriff reckons they quarrelled about some matter, and Cunningham strangled her and pushed her body under the bed before fleeing. He stole a horse also, and it is believed he headed west into Texas.”
Mattie frowned down at the toes of her boots, silently remonstrating herself for her earlier musings. “High-spirited adventures” indeed.
“What, have you nothing to say about this being the just punishment for her sins?” LaBoeuf asked.
Mattie looked at him. “Surely you cannot think me so heartless as all that.”
LaBoeuf regarded her for a long moment, and then shook his head. “No, I do not think you so heartless as all that.”
“Perhaps this woman lived a life of sin, but to have it taken in violence by a man like Cunningham is hardly ‘an eye for an eye,’” Mattie said.
“I agree.” LaBoeuf was silent for a moment, and then said quietly, “I do not think she had the opportunity to do much sinning at all. She was very young.”
Mattie had nothing to say to this, and they sat listening to the sound of the crowd murmuring and gossiping around the corner. Mattie thought about all the harm Cunningham had done during his flight from justice.
“More with each day that passes I regret that I did not kill him when the opportunity presented itself,” she said finally.
“Do you?” LaBoeuf replied. “Well, I regret that I did not catch him before he got anywhere near you.”
Mattie turned to him. He was looking at her with great sincerity; there was no bluster about him at that moment. But he appeared deflated somehow, older and more tired than usual, frustrated with something over which he held no sway.
“We ought to go find Rooster,” Mattie said.
LaBoeuf sighed. “Yes, we ought to. There is no use in sitting here. If we are quick, I think we can catch Cunningham before he gets too far into the wilderness.”
“Let us go then.”
They walked back to the livery, where they found Alma and Sal contentedly eating their hay in two stalls next to each other. Whiskey Jack was in a third, dozing with his great chestnut head hung low.
LaBoeuf went into Sal’s stall, running his hand along her dark brown and white rump and her side so she would not startle. He checked her hooves, and then stood and gave her a pat on her neck.
“I am glad we can pursue Cunningham immediately upon Cogburn’s return, but I own that I would have liked for the horses to have a proper rest. Poor gal. I am wearing her ragged, I fear,” he said, almost to himself.
“Yet she would keep on until she could go no further, if you asked it of her,” Mattie replied, standing by the pine post at the entrance to the stall. “That is a good horse to have.”
“She is a fine mare, sound and steady, and she has seen me through our share of scrapes withal,” he said. “Perhaps it is about time for her to retire from this game of tracking criminals in the wilderness.” He paused, his hand resting on Sal’s neck. “Perhaps it is about time I did the same.”
“But Mr. LaBoeuf, you cannot possibly think to quit our search now!” Mattie exclaimed. “We have come so far, and we are right on Cunningham’s heels, I am sure of it!”
LaBoeuf came and stood beside her. “Come now, I have no plans to abandon our work and leave you in Texarkana with only Cogburn to assist you. I am speaking of my future life when I return to Ysleta. I am getting too old for this life, and I do not wish to have what time is left to me cut short by a bullet, either.”
“You speak as though you are an old man, which is hardly the truth,” Mattie replied, perplexed by him. “And I have not known you to shy away from danger. Indeed you have sought it out.”
“I have,” LaBoeuf agreed, his brows drawing together in a crease. “Since running away to join up in the war I have wanted only to be where the fire is hottest, so to speak. I hardly knew then what that truly meant. But now I find I grow weary of the violence. I long for some peace, a place of my own. Do you understand that?”
Mattie was struck with an image of the lovely September afternoon when Cunningham came into her life. She thought of the freshly harvested cotton fields, of the hay in the mow, of the horses and the little milk cow Jessie in the pasture. She thought of how pleased she had been at the good season they had enjoyed, and how she looked forward to seeing Mama, Little Frank, and Victoria, of meeting them at the train station and hearing about what fun they had had in Little Rock, of delighting in what gifts they brought her no matter how many times she insisted they not waste their pennies.
“I understand,” Mattie replied.
LaBoeuf looked at her, and his eyes spoke of peace and of quiet, of soft green places and the warmth of sunlight. All words died in her throat. Mattie wondered how he might look without all his gaudy trappings, in a parlour at dusk after a long day of work, his eyes warm and tired, and his hand on hers.
“I reckon you know there has been a murder, or you are more incompetent as a lawman than I have guessed, LaBoeuf.”
Mattie turned to see Rooster standing in the wide stable doorway, silhouetted by the late afternoon sunlight.
“Yes, we know there has been a murder, and we suspect Cunningham is to blame,” LaBoeuf replied tiredly. “What else do you have to say about it?”
“I have nothing else to say about it,” Rooster said. “I only wonder what you are doing jawing Mattie’s ear when we are nearly at the pinch of the game. I plan to pursue Cunningham even if you do not.”
“I plan to pursue him, all right.” LaBoeuf reached for his saddle on the wall between Sal’s stall and Alma’s. Mattie went into Alma’s stall and began to tack her up as well.
“There is no need to be acrimonious, Marshall Cogburn,” Mattie scolded as she worked. “Mr. LaBoeuf and I were just making ready to depart. We planned to pursue Cunningham the moment you returned, did we not, Mr. LaBoeuf?”
LaBoeuf did not reply. Mattie could see only the very top of his downturned head as he fastened Sal’s girth.
“It seems our man was sighted heading west out of town,” Rooster said. “I guess he aims to go to the woods for cover, and we had best start there and see if we can pick up his trail.”
“That is all right with me,” LaBoeuf grumbled. “Let us be off as quickly as we can and get this business over with.”
They mounted up and started off towards the west once again, and Mattie felt that they were completely at the mercy of providence, for they had little to guide their course now.
Once they had crossed the state line and the streets and buildings of Texarkana thinned and receded into the distance, Mattie paused to take a look around at the “great state of Texas.”
In the strictest geographical sense, there was not much to distinguish it from Arkansas, as far as Mattie could see. Whether the people were any different, it was not yet possible to say, for they did not encounter anyone as they traversed a stretch of plains, heading for a thick stand of piney woods crouching on the horizon.
The sun crept across the sky, headed in the same direction as their path took them. The sky cast over with snowy-looking, low grey clouds, and they rode in a single line with Rooster in front, then LaBoeuf, and Mattie in the rear. The wind sharpened, and they did not speak.
It was twilight by the time they reached the edge of the woods. A glow of light and the smell of smoke on the wind announced the presence of some living being, and by and by they came upon a tiny log cabin with a thatched roof. A man sat smoking a pipe on the little stoop, with was made of a smooth split log. He wore a threadbare coat whose sleeves were too short for his lanky arms, and a tall hat made from dusty, moth-eaten beaver felt.
They brought their horses to a halt in what passed for his yard. The man leaned against the door behind him, and although he regarded them, he did not stand or offer a greeting.
“What say there?” Rooster called. “You see a man pass through here, recent-like, on a horse? He woulda been in a mighty big hurry.”
The man did not answer immediately. Instead he continued to stare at them, and to smoke. Mattie glanced to her side to see what LaBoeuf thought of this, but his eyes were fixed on the man.
“Might have,” he said finally.
Rooster waited for the man to continue, but he did not. Rooster cleared his throat. “Which way was he headed?”
“Can’t say,” the man replied.
Mattie looked over and saw that Rooster had gone very still. “Now, can you not say because you do not know, or because this man has paid for your silence?”
Mattie heard LaBoeuf’s saddle creak as he turned to look at Rooster. Hardly a sound broke the silence.
“Well?” Rooster prodded, his voice patient and untroubled. “Which is it?”
There was another beat of silence, and then the man was on his feet and turning to scurry into his cabin. But Rooster moved with a speed which took Mattie aback, and thumped to the forest floor and grabbed the man by the back of his coat before he could escape.
Rooster threw the man to the ground, face up, and pinned him there with one foot planted squarely on his chest. His Colt Single Action was in his hand before Mattie had seen him reach for it. He cocked the piece and pointed it in the man’s face.
“You’re at a fork in the road, friend,” Rooster said. “You got yourself two paths to choose from: you get right with me, or you get right with your Lord. Which is it gonna be?”
The man was either obstinately foolish or stunned into silence, for he did not answer. Rooster leaned over and pressed the muzzle of his revolver into the flesh of the man’s cheek. The fellow squirmed and wheezed, clutching at Rooster’s leg.
Abruptly, Rooster eased off of him and the man rolled over, coughing. He hissed something at Rooster, who leaned down again.
“What’s that?” he barked.
The man choked out some words which were indistinguishable from where Mattie and LaBoeuf sat. Rooster cursed and kicked the man sharply in the ribs in reply.
“Marshall Cogburn!” Mattie protested, as the man cried out. It did not seem right to torment the wretch with violence, in spite of their aim.
The man said something finally which seemed to satisfy Rooster, who spat on the ground and holstered his revolver. He returned to Whiskey Jack’s side and mounted in one smooth motion.
“Cunningham asked for directions, and this fella told him to head southwest, through these woods, where he will eventually find a lake,” Rooster said. He urged his horse on, and Mattie and LaBoeuf followed. Mattie pulled up alongside him.
“What did the man say to incite you to treat him so viciously?” she asked.
“Said he’d tell me all I wanted to know if I beat Cunningham’s price,” Rooster replied. “Don’t know what cards he thought he was holding. I knew he would start barking once I put an ounce of pressure on him.”
Mattie turned to look at LaBoeuf, who had remained silent throughout this entire exchange. His face bore an unreadable expression, and Mattie turned back around in her saddle.
They rode through the woods, putting distance between themselves and the log cabin. The darkness was becoming impenetrable as the forest grew denser and the night more absolute. They did not speak as they rode abreast, picking their way slowly through the maze of slender pine trunks.
Mattie did not like this dark feeling which had descended on the three of them. As if to underscore her anxiety, an owl hooted nearby. The next time LaBoeuf wound through a stand of trees and was close to her side, Mattie cleared her throat and undertook a bright tone.
“If this is a taste of what I might expect in Texas, I believe I have a greater understanding of how you came to be the sort of man you are,” she said.
“Oh, indeed? And what sort of man am I?” LaBoeuf asked.
Mattie swallowed, her teasing mood abandoning her as quickly as it had taken hold of her. She spoke before she could think better of it. “The best sort,” she said. She looked away, feeling strangely bashful, and glad that darkness surrounded them. “Do not take offence. I am only ‘yanking your chain’ because you are so easily affronted.”
LaBoeuf did not seem to have a reply to this, and did not have time to think of one, for Sal stumbled then, nearly unseating him. He cursed, and dismounted to see whether she had been injured. Mattie and Rooster stopped, waiting as LaBoeuf bent down to examine the horse’s legs.
“She is not lame,” he announced eventually, standing up. It was too dark to even make out his face, and Mattie had to guess where he stood by the sound of his voice, which held a great deal of frustration. “It is too dark to press on. I do not like it any more than you will, Cogburn, but I suggest we stop and make camp here.”
“Hm,” Rooster replied. “No, I do not like it, but you are right, pard. We are more likely to hobble our horses in these woods than to find Cunningham.”
Mattie’s heart sunk in disappointment, but she saw the reason in it. It would do them no good in their endeavour if they found themselves without horses, especially now that Cunningham was mounted.
They found a small clearing in the trees nearby, just large enough to build a campfire and throw down their bedrolls, and to string a line for the horses.
As Rooster and LaBoeuf got the horses settled, Mattie walked off between the trees to gather firewood. She did not take a light of any kind with her, for she guessed it would be easier going to simply allow her eyes to adjust to what little light there was from the moon.
She did not walk far, only deep enough to gather an armful of sticks, and never so far that she could not hear the sound of Rooster and LaBoeuf speaking to one another in low voices. It was so dark, and had become so still in the woods, that she could see the glow of Rooster’s cigarette when she turned to look back at them.
Mattie tripped on something, a root she thought, and half fell to her knees, dropping the sticks all around her.
“Blast,” she cursed, groping in the darkness. Slowly she began to gather up her sticks once again. She had recovered about half of them when she reached her hand and touched something that caused her to draw back. Her fingers had touched something wet and warm which stuck to her skin. She put her hand under her nose and sniffed.
It was blood.
“Mattie?” It was LaBoeuf, and he was close.
“I am here,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even as she rose to her feet. “Bring a light, there is something -”
“Hell,” he swore, appearing beside her with a lit knot of pine in his hand. He held it out, and the light revealed the body of a horse. Mattie held her hand up - it was slick with dark, congealing blood.
The light moved away from her as LaBoeuf leaned over to examine the animal more closely.
“The animal has been shot,” he said. “I reckon it is the horse Cunningham stole, for it is only just dead. Perhaps it went lame. Or perhaps he simply shot it for no reason. I do not know.”
The sight was grisly indeed. Mattie turned her face away. The poor dumb beast had done nothing to deserve such an ugly fate, to die frightened and injured away from all that was familiar to it. The sight of the pitiful creature reminded her too much of Little Blackie, only it was much worse. This horse had not been shot out of compassion for its suffering and sacrifice. It had probably not been shot for any merciful reason at all.
LaBoeuf sighed. “Come away,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We can do nothing for the poor beast now.”
Mattie gathered the bundle of sticks close to her chest and they returned to the place where the horses were tethered. Rooster had cleared a spot for the fire, and was waiting there, smoking a cigarette.
“Mattie stumbled upon Cunningham’s horse,” LaBoeuf said to him. “It seems he shot the animal for one reason or another. Either way it is recently dead. He cannot have gotten far, although he will have had a better time on foot than on horseback in these dense woods.”
“If only we did not have to wait here for the night to pass,” Mattie said. “We cannot apprehend Cunningham soon enough for me.”
“Cool your heels, sis,” Rooster replied. “We’ll get him yet.”
“You ought not to encourage her,” LaBoeuf muttered.
“Encourage me?” Mattie asked, turning to stare at him. His expression was dark, and he seemed vexed beyond the merits of their circumstances. She did not understand him.
“Yes, encourage you, that is what I said,” LaBoeuf replied. “Neither of us ought to. We are both fools. Mattie, you should not be here. It is too dangerous.”
“Too dangerous? Why, I have come this far all right, have I not? Not to mention our previous sojourn.”
“You paid dearly enough for that one act of vengeance,” LaBoeuf countered. “Why do you take on another?”
“This is not an act of vengeance. I simply want my one hundred dollars back,” Mattie replied.
“I think we both know that is not the whole truth of it. You told me yourself that you doubt you shall see that money again. No, you want to see Cunningham dead for what he did to you. Not for the danger he poses to others, not for your one hundred dollars. For what he did to you.”
Mattie met his gaze. “And if I do?”
“I fear your desire for vengeance makes you foolhardy,” LaBoeuf replied.
“And it does not have the same effect on you?”
“I have no desire for vengeance. Mattie, this is merely a duty of my occupation. I am pursuing Cunningham because if I am successful, there is money in it for me. That is all.” He paused then and looked to Rooster with an entreating expression. “Do you have nothing to say, Cogburn? Do not pretend you think she ought to be here, with a man like Cunningham on the loose.”
“You are the one who brought her along, pard,” Rooster replied.
LaBoeuf shot Rooster a thoroughly exasperated look. Rooster returned it. He threw his cigarette to the ground and cleared his throat.
“Reckon I might go see a man about a horse,” he said. “You two holler when you’re through with your squabbling.” With that, he turned and ambled off into the woods and out of sight but not, Mattie supposed, out of earshot.
LaBoeuf turned back to her, his expression sombre. “Please, Mattie. See reason. We are well past the point of ridiculousness. It is not safe for you, here.”
“I do not see why this continues to be a sticking point between us,” Mattie replied. “I am here and I am staying. You swore to me that we would be together when we bring this business to its close. Is there no honour in your word at all, then?”
“There is honour in my word, all right. Only my honour is not anywhere near so dear to me as your safety. I fear...” He paused here and frowned, looking away from her. “I fear that something will befall you, and there will be nothing Rooster or I can do to protect you.”
“You are the one who is being ridiculous,” Mattie replied. “I am as safe as I have always been.”
“What, do you think you are safe from violence because you are virtuous, and that only those like that girl in Texarkana are in harm’s way?”
Mattie glowered at him. “You forget how I came to be involved in this business. I know full well that one has little to do with the other, and what danger I face in pursuing the man.”
“I am not sure that you do, Mattie. I think if you knew what danger you faced, you would be at home, where you ought to be.”
“It is not for you to say where I ought to be,” she replied.
“This time, it is. This is enough, now. It is enough. We are returning to Texarkana and you are boarding the next train back to Dardanelle.”
“What, turn back now when we are right on Cunningham’s heels? You will do no such thing!” Mattie snapped.
“You cannot always have your way,” LaBoeuf replied.
“Nor can you,” she returned.
“You have had your way plenty on this journey, and now I must put my foot down and refuse you. Do not be unreasonable, Mattie. You have had your adventure. Now you must listen to good counsel and do as I say.”
“It is not your place to refuse or forbid me anything!” Mattie replied, needled. “Why are you forever trying to soldier me here and there, protect me from this and that? I do not need your protection.”
“But you should want it! You should want to be protected,” he said fiercely. “It is unnatural that you do not want it.”
“Unnatural? Unnatural indeed! How dare you?”
“By God, Mattie, I tell you I have had enough!” LaBoeuf said, glowering down at her. “If you do not return to Texarkana and put yourself on the next train to Dardanelle, I will have no choice but to put you there myself by any means necessary. Do not try my patience further, girl.”
"You are very free with your threatening remarks for someone who so rarely sees them through," Mattie replied.
LaBoeuf scowled at her. "I see them through. Or is your memory so short that you have forgotten the striping I gave your leg on the bank of the Arkansas River, in the Choctaw Nation?"
That he had the audacity to bring that mortifying episode up at this moment, Mattie could scarcely believe. His pride was unforgivable. He did not care what humiliation he wrought so long as he defended his ill-founded belief that he was always in the right.
"You are a rude, awful lout, and I have no regard for you," Mattie said. "And I think it is you who suffers from a short memory. You gave me a thrashing, but you never did manage to steal a kiss from me. You never shall, either. You could not steal a kiss from a corpse, or a toad on a log. You could not steal a kiss if they were being given away, free of charge!"
LaBoeuf continued to glare at her for a moment longer, and then suddenly he moved and Mattie found herself pulled roughly to him. He kissed her right on the mouth, his whiskers scratching her skin. Stunned, she froze in place as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her close to his body and bending her to him.
He released her as abruptly as he had pulled her to him, and Mattie swayed back on her feet. His eyes were bright as he looked at her, that smug expression returning to his face. Mattie felt her face burn, feeling that she had been bested.
“There,” he said. “Now what do you have to say about how I see my threats through?”
Stung, Mattie reached out her hand and slapped him across his face. It throbbed sharply where her burned palm connected with his jaw. She could not think of a thing to say, and she had no desire to look at him a moment longer, and so she turned on her heel and stomped into the bush, heedless of the darkness.
LaBoeuf did not follow her.
Mattie’s face blazed with humiliation, and anger choked at her chest. The very tar of him, to treat her that way after everything that had passed between them! She did not know why she was so shocked at his behaviour; after all, he had done little since their meeting except doubt her abilities and try to rid himself of her.
Her steps slowed as she ducked around the fallen trunk of a tree. Some sharp sensation tugged in her chest as she thought of LaBoeuf’s eagerness to be shot of her. It was not only her pride which was hurting, she realised.
She stopped walking. She was being silly, tearing off into the woods to sulk like a child. This sort of behaviour was well beneath her, and it would not do. She would simply return to their little camp and behave as though no quarrel had taken place. There was nothing for it.
A shriek suddenly pierced the air, so high in pitch that it alarmed the ears to hear it. It continued, rising and falling through the trees like the screech of some unholy banshee. Mattie shuddered as a chill ran up her spine. It was the scream of a rabbit caught in the clutches of some other beast. She could not tell which direction the horrible noises came from.
It ceased as abruptly as it had begun, and the woods fell silent. Pulling her coat tighter around her, Mattie turned and began to walk in the direction she had come. She walked for quite some time, her legs growing tired as she picked her way through the dark brush. Eventually she saw a firelight glimmering through the trees. She walked towards it, nearly stumbling over the uneven ground. She came through the trees, expecting to see LaBoeuf and Rooster, but she did not.
Instead, sitting by his meagre fire, slowly pulling a dead rabbit’s pelt from its body, was Albert Cunningham.
Chapter 8