and that included Billy.
“Well fuck a hairy goat ass,” Billy said.
“That’s a relief,” Millie said, “I was already trying to figure if there was axel grease in the house. You missed that shot, at some stage here in the day or night, figured I might need it.”
“Holy shit,” Jack said. “That is the most amazing goddamn shot I’ve ever seen. Except for one I made once where I shot the Sunday hat off God’s head.”
Everyone laughed. It was like we had all bottled up something and could uncork it now.
Up there on the hill the Indians was gathering their dead man, and riding away, all except Quanah who sat on his horse and looked down at us. I know he was too far away to tell for sure, but you can bet his eyes was blazing.
Course, White Eagle was still on the ground. And while Quanah sat there, we saw White Eagle rise and wobble away, heading in the direction the others had gone. I figured he had a few more beatings to catch up with.
After a moment Quanah lifted his rifle and fired a shot in the air, let out with a whoop, wheeled his horse and was gone.
“You should have took a shot at him,” Jimmy said, now an enthusiastic supporter of Billy and that rifle.
“Naw, it was a scratch shot, and a good one, and if I missed next time, it would be said I was lucky. Which I was. I think what helped me there was they was all bunched up together, and maybe a wind kicked up at the back of my shot, pushing. But still, it was a good shot, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Jack said, and clapped Billy on the shoulder.
We all stood there for awhile, and then Happy said, “They have had enough.”
“Maybe,” Jimmy said.
“No,” Happy said. “They are through. The magic failing, that long shot, and that was Black Buffalo Hump you killed. He’s one of the more respected Comanche. You took the wind out of their sails. With their magic coming apart like that, they think that shot is a sign from the Great Spirit that White Eagle was a false prophet as well as an asshole.”
“A sore false prophet,” Jack said. “I bet them sticks left marks.”
“Hey, Jimmy,” I said.
“What?”
When he turned toward me I hit him as hard as I could, knocking him down into wherever Mrs. Olds was keeping her soul.
9
That was it for what has come to be called the Second Battle of Adobe Walls, but it wasn’t over for me and Black Hat Jack, or for that matter Millie.
After the battle, what bodies the Indians didn’t collect, some of the men hacked up or pissed on or did pretty much the same thing to the bodies the Comanche and their partners had done to the whites. Neither me nor Jack took part in that, though Millie did so to avenge her brother, though when she was finished doing what she did with a hatchet, her brother was still dead, and the Indian she had chopped on hadn’t been taught any sort of lesson that I could understand. Anyway, they did that, and the bodies of our men killed was buried, including them in the wagon, along with Millie’s brother. They took the Indians out away from Adobe Walls for the crows and vultures and ants to have them.
Mrs. Olds they loaded up in the back of a buffalo wagon with the body of her husband. She didn’t never make a move, still being under the influence. She may still be passed out at this very moment, even though some years have passed; that woman was drunk.
During all these goings on, I looked up and saw out on the same ridge where the Indians had been, my horse Satan. He had turned back up and was looking down on us with the same contempt that Quanah had. He could be like that. I told you how he would come to my whistle when he was in the mood. Well, thing was he wasn’t in the mood right then, cause I wore myself out trying to whistle him up. He just stood there looking, like he had no idea what I was doing, or who I was.
I found my saddle and started out after him, and Jack decided he’d come along and help. He’d found his horse easy enough, saddled
“Well fuck a hairy goat ass,” Billy said.
“That’s a relief,” Millie said, “I was already trying to figure if there was axel grease in the house. You missed that shot, at some stage here in the day or night, figured I might need it.”
“Holy shit,” Jack said. “That is the most amazing goddamn shot I’ve ever seen. Except for one I made once where I shot the Sunday hat off God’s head.”
Everyone laughed. It was like we had all bottled up something and could uncork it now.
Up there on the hill the Indians was gathering their dead man, and riding away, all except Quanah who sat on his horse and looked down at us. I know he was too far away to tell for sure, but you can bet his eyes was blazing.
Course, White Eagle was still on the ground. And while Quanah sat there, we saw White Eagle rise and wobble away, heading in the direction the others had gone. I figured he had a few more beatings to catch up with.
After a moment Quanah lifted his rifle and fired a shot in the air, let out with a whoop, wheeled his horse and was gone.
“You should have took a shot at him,” Jimmy said, now an enthusiastic supporter of Billy and that rifle.
“Naw, it was a scratch shot, and a good one, and if I missed next time, it would be said I was lucky. Which I was. I think what helped me there was they was all bunched up together, and maybe a wind kicked up at the back of my shot, pushing. But still, it was a good shot, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Jack said, and clapped Billy on the shoulder.
We all stood there for awhile, and then Happy said, “They have had enough.”
“Maybe,” Jimmy said.
“No,” Happy said. “They are through. The magic failing, that long shot, and that was Black Buffalo Hump you killed. He’s one of the more respected Comanche. You took the wind out of their sails. With their magic coming apart like that, they think that shot is a sign from the Great Spirit that White Eagle was a false prophet as well as an asshole.”
“A sore false prophet,” Jack said. “I bet them sticks left marks.”
“Hey, Jimmy,” I said.
“What?”
When he turned toward me I hit him as hard as I could, knocking him down into wherever Mrs. Olds was keeping her soul.
9
That was it for what has come to be called the Second Battle of Adobe Walls, but it wasn’t over for me and Black Hat Jack, or for that matter Millie.
After the battle, what bodies the Indians didn’t collect, some of the men hacked up or pissed on or did pretty much the same thing to the bodies the Comanche and their partners had done to the whites. Neither me nor Jack took part in that, though Millie did so to avenge her brother, though when she was finished doing what she did with a hatchet, her brother was still dead, and the Indian she had chopped on hadn’t been taught any sort of lesson that I could understand. Anyway, they did that, and the bodies of our men killed was buried, including them in the wagon, along with Millie’s brother. They took the Indians out away from Adobe Walls for the crows and vultures and ants to have them.
Mrs. Olds they loaded up in the back of a buffalo wagon with the body of her husband. She didn’t never make a move, still being under the influence. She may still be passed out at this very moment, even though some years have passed; that woman was drunk.
During all these goings on, I looked up and saw out on the same ridge where the Indians had been, my horse Satan. He had turned back up and was looking down on us with the same contempt that Quanah had. He could be like that. I told you how he would come to my whistle when he was in the mood. Well, thing was he wasn’t in the mood right then, cause I wore myself out trying to whistle him up. He just stood there looking, like he had no idea what I was doing, or who I was.
I found my saddle and started out after him, and Jack decided he’d come along and help. He’d found his horse easy enough, saddled
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