Larry McMurtry - Boones Lick

Mules

1 UNCLE Seth was firmly convinced that bad things mostly happen on cloudy days.

A thunderhead or two dont hurt, but too much cloudy weather makes people restless and mean, females particularly, he remarked, as we were walking down to the Missouri River.

They dont make Ma mean, shes mean anyway, G.T. saidhe had acquired the habit of contradiction, as Uncle Seth liked to put it. G.T. could usually be counted on to do the unexpected: only yesterday he jumped up and stabbed Granpa Crackenthorpe in the leg with a pocketknife, probably because he got tired of hearing Granpa complain about the food. The knife didnt go in very far, but even so, Granpas pallet looked as if a shoat had been butchered on it. G.T. ran away and hid in the thicket, but Ma gave him a good thrashing anyway, when he finally came in. Quick tempered as he was, G.T. was still scared of the dark.

Its best to walk small around Mary Margaret, Uncle Seth allowed. You just need to walk a little smaller on cloudy days.

The three of us had strolled down to the river in hopes that we could catch or trap or shoot something Ma could cooksomething with a good taste to it, if possible. We had been living on old dry mush for about three weeks, which is why Granpa complained. I had a fishing pole, G.T. had a wire-mesh crawdad trap, and Uncle Seth had his Sharps rifle, which he kept in an oilcloth sheath, never allowing a drop of rain to touch it. He had been a Union sharpshooter in the war between the states and could regularly pop a turtle in the head at seventy-five yards, a skill but not a useful skill, because the turtles he popped always sank. If anybody got to eat them, it was only other turtles.

The clouds hung low and heavy over the big muddy river that day; they were as dull colored as felt. It was just the kind of weather most likely to cause Uncle Seth to dwell on calamities he had experienced in the past.

It was nearly this cloudy that day in Richmond when I tripped over that goddamn wagon tongue and shot off half my kneecap, he reminded us. If the sun had been shining I would have been alert enough to step over that wagon tongue. It was the day after the war ended. I had no need of a rifle, but that gloomy weather made me fearful. I got it in my head that there might be a Reb or two in the neighborhooda Reb who hadnt heard the good news.

If the war had just been over one day, then there might have been, I said. It seemed reasonable to me.

Son, there wasnt a Reb within thirty-five miles of us that day, Uncle Seth said. I could have left my rifle in the tent, but I didnt, and the upshot of it is that Ill be gimpy for the rest of my life.

G.T. had just eased his crawdad trap into the water, near the muddy shore.

If youd shut up I might catch some crawdads, he said.

Why, crawdads cant hear, Uncle Seth said. You sass your elders too much, G.T. A boy that starts off sassing his elders is apt to end up on the wrong end of a hang ropeat best you can look forward to a long stretch in the territorial prison.

He was a tall, fidgety man, Uncle Seth. No part of him was ever really stillnot unless he was dead drunk, a not unusual condition for him. Pa said there was a time when Seth Cecil could walk faster and keep walking longer than any man on the plains; of course, that was before the accident, when Pa and Uncle Seth were partners in the freighting business, hauling goods from the Missouri River to the forts up in the north. Even now, with half a kneecap, Uncle Seth wasnt what youd call slow. He could still manage a pretty long stride, if he had some reason to be in a hurryit irked him that Pa, who was his younger brother, made him a stay-at- home partner, rather than letting him go upnver with the freight. I think it irked him so much that he and Pa might have come to blows, if Ma hadn t made it plain that she would only tolerate so muc when it came to family quarrels.

I can still drive a wagon, you know, 1 Uncle Seth pointed out, the last time Pa was home. Hauling freight aint that complicated.

I know you can manage a wagon, but could you outrun a Blackfoot Indian, if it came to a footrace? Pa asked. I doubt you could even o run a Potawatomi, if it was a long footrace.

Why would I need to outrun a Potawatomi, or a Blackfoot either? Uncle Seth asked. be in trouble if a bunch of them closed m on r but then, so would you.

G T didnt really have the patience to be a goc crawdad fisherman. Ten minutes was all he gave before pulling his trap out. It held one crawdad-not a very large one.

One crawdad wont go far, he said. I expect there are a million crawdads in the Missouri and here I aint caught but one.

They aint in the river, theyre in that slimy mud, Uncle Seth pointed out-it was just then we heard a gunshot from the direction of the house.

That was a rifle shot, Uncle Seth said pect Mary Margaret finally drew a bead on that big bobcat thats been snatching her chickens.

Youre wrong again, G.T. said, pointing toward the house. Sis wouldnt be running that if it was just a bobcat.

G.T. didnt exaggerate about Nevas speed. She was fairly flying down the trail. Neva was only fourteen but she had been long legged enough to outrun anybody in the familyeven Pafor the last two or three years. When our smokehouse caught on fire Neva ran all the way into Boones Lick before any of us could even find a bucket, and was soon back with a passel of drunks willing to try and put the fire out. Fortunately, it wasnt much of a fireall we lost was an old churn somebody had left in the smokehouse.

Still, everybody who saw Neva go flying down the road that day talked about her run for years some even wanted to take her to St. Louis and enter her in a footrace, but that plan fell through.

Who do they think theyre going to find in St. Louis who wants to run a footrace with a little girl from Boones Lick? Uncle Seth asked at the time, a question that stumped the town.

This time Neva arrived at the river so out of breath that she had to gulp in air for a while before she could talk.

Shes outrun her own voice, G.T. said. He was slow of foot himself, and very impressed by Nevas speed.

Easy girl, easy girl, Uncle Seth said, as if he was talking to a nervous filly.

Its a big bunch of thieves! Neva gasped, finally. Theyre stealing our mulesever one of our mules.

Why, the damned ruffians! Uncle Seth said. A red vein popped out along the top of his nosethat red vein nearly always popped out when he got anxious or mad.

We heard a shot, he said. I hope nobody aint shot your Ma. He said it in a worried voice, too. Despite what he said about women and clouds, we all knew that Uncle Seth was mighty partial to Ma.

No, it was Ma that shot, Neva said. She killed a horse.

Ohgood, he said. The world can spare a horse, but none of us can spare your mother.

Gimme your rifle, Ill go kill them all, G.T. said, but when he tried to grab the Sharps, Uncle Seth snatched it back.

He looked downriver for a moment. Boones Lick was only half a mile away. He seemed to be trying to decide who to send for help, Neva or me. G.T. had already started for the house, with his crawdad trap and his one crawdad. G.T. wasnt about to give up his one crawdad.

Honey, when you catch your breath maybe you ought to run on down to Boones Lick and bring Sheriff Stone back with you, Uncle Seth said. Its the sheriffs job to deal with horse theft, and mule theft too.

I dont need to bring the sheriff, because hes already there, Neva said. It was the sheriffs horse Ma shot.

Uh-oh. Where was Sheriff Stone at the time? Uncle Seth asked.

Sitting on his horse, Neva said, in a tone that suggested she considered it a pretty stupid question. It fell over when Ma shot it and nearly mashed his leg.