Free Boone's Lick by Larry McMurtry Page B

to the same test,” he added.
    â€œYou mean they sniff men?” I asked. I could not imagine what it would feel like to have a woman sniff me.
    â€œYes, to determine if the fellow’s fresh,” Uncle Seth said. “I guess I don’t smell fresh, which is why I’m a bachelor still.”
    â€œThat’s pretty peculiar,” I said.
    â€œOh no, I expect it’s a fine method,” Uncle Seth said, trying to make out Little Nicky’s tracks on the trail.
    â€œWomen don’t know why they choose who they choose,” he went on. “If they say otherwise it’s a lie. A good fresh scent’s probably the best thing they got to go on.”
    I was wanting to tell him—since we were on the subject—that I knew he had once courted Ma, but seeing how partial he was to her still, I wasn’t sure how he’d take it.
    â€œDamn a mule that will wander,” he said. “I could be in Boone’s Lick, playing cards and winning money, if I wasn’t halfway to Stumptown, looking for a goddamn ungrateful biting mule.”
    We had just heard the news that Sheriff Baldy Stone had quit his job. That bullet that bounced off his saddle and hit him in the stomach had done more damage than it seemed at the time. Sheriff Baldy had so much trouble just holding down his food that he lacked the energy to go out and arrestbandits. I thought it was a pity. I liked Sheriff Baldy, although his untimely faint had nearly got me killed.
    G.T. was on the mule hunt too, only he was lagging so far behind he couldn’t take part in the conversation.
    â€œMaybe they’ll make Mr. Hickok sheriff,” I said.
    â€œOh no, Bill couldn’t be bothered to keep a jail,” Uncle Seth said. “Anyway, he’s a half criminal himself, which is what you find in a good many of these sheriffs.
    â€œI expect they’d offer the job to me, if I wasn’t leaving,” he went on. “It’s bad luck for the town that Mary Margaret’s got her mind set on this expedition. She’s determined to find Dick if it kills us—which it might.”
    â€œI expect Pa will be glad to see us,” I said. I didn’t want to think about us all getting killed—in my thinking it would just be a nice fall trip, with lots of buffalo for us to chase.
    Uncle Seth gave me a strange look, when I suggested that Pa would be glad to see us.
    â€œShay, you have not been around your father enough to figure out the first thing about him,” Uncle Seth said. “The truth is he
won’t
be glad to see us—it’s more likely to make him boiling mad.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked. “We’re his family.”
    â€œThat’s
why!” Uncle Seth said. “One reason Dick’s a wagoner is because he’s got no tolerance for family life. Your pa ain’t sociable—at least not with white people. He didn’t leave me behind because I’m a little gimpy—that was just his excuse.He never wanted me hauling with him anyway. Too much company.”
    â€œIf he don’t like white people, who does he like?” I asked.
    â€œCheyenne Indians, maybe a few Sioux,” Uncle Seth said. “I have no doubt he’s got a plump little squaw to cook him dog stew and keep him warm when it’s chilly.”
    It seemed I was learning something new about my family almost every day now. I always thought we were just an ordinary family—and maybe we were; but then, maybe we weren’t.
    â€œIf Pa doesn’t want us to come, then why are we going?” I asked.
    Uncle Seth never answered that question. We weren’t far from where we’d seen the bear, a fact which made G.T. nervous. He came thundering up to join us about that time, but what really distracted Uncle Seth was something he noticed on the ground.
    â€œSomebody’s found our mules,” he said. He dismounted and walked around on the trail for a few