Free Telegraph Days by Larry McMurtry Page A

winded that we all expected it to die—but the horse turned out to be a tough little mustang that defied our expectations. When Josh yanked the saddle off, the little pony rolled in the dirt a few times, blew out his breath, and was soon eating oats in the livery stable.
    In fact, old Josh came closer to dying than his mount. He was white as a sheet and could hardly summon words out of his mouth.
    â€œYazee gang!” he managed finally. “Yazee gang—killed George Murray and dern near caught me.”
    He had no sooner said it than every man in hearing distance racedoff to grab up armaments. My brother was quickest. He had the ten-gauge of Father’s, and his new pistol as well. Ted Bunsen strapped on two pistols and emerged from the jail carrying a repeating rifle. Drunks poured out of the saloon, most of them armed to the teeth; those who were weakly equipped raced into the general store and bought what weapons they could afford. Aurel Imlah was the last to arrive but he made up for it by carrying two buffalo guns.
    As I understood it, the Yazee gang consisted of six wild brothers of that name. They tore through Arkansas and Kansas and wherever else they felt like going, burning houses and killing men, women, and children without compunction. Bert Yazee, the oldest brother, reveled in busting people’s skulls with a big war club he had taken off a Ponca Indian. It was said that Bert Yazee gave no more thought to busting skulls than he would have to busting an egg.
    Of course, after the war, several of these wild gangs looted and burned in Kansas and Missouri. One of Father’s reasons for settling in No Man’s Land was that there was nothing out there for such a gang to loot.
    My first thought on this occasion was to worry about dreamy Andy Jessup—what if they had ambushed Andy? But fortunately, Andy had ridden off to the east and Rabbit Gulch was to the west.
    But what about us? Most of these drunks were not fighting men.
    Matters weren’t helped by details old Josh added once he caught his breath.
    â€œThey cut old George’s ears off and nailed them to the front door,” Josh informed us. “I don’t know what became of his eyeballs,” he added casually.
    â€œUh-oh,” Ed Palmer said. “Uh-oh.”
    From the greenish look on his face I judged that dry goods in Omaha were looking better and better to Mr. Palmer.
    â€œJosh, I think you ought to spare us any more details,” Teddy suggested. “There’s a lady here, remember?”
    In fact, there were several ladies there by this time. The McClendon sisters were there, as well as their hens, and the blacksmith’s wife, a big, stout woman who armed herself with a meat cleaver.
    â€œDo you reckon they’ll come down on us, Josh?” Ted asked.
    â€œDid you bury George Murray?” he asked the old rider.
    â€œBury George? … With the Yazees in the neighborhood?” Joshsaid. “Are you crazy? Once I seen what they did to George I was in no mood to dig a grave. I ran for my life but even so they spotted me and gave me a hard chase.”
    Suddenly Mrs. Karoo began to ring her dinner bell—she rang it for dear life.
    We could all see her—she was pointing to the southwest, where a fast-moving dust cloud seemed to be moving our way.
    â€œUh-oh,” Ed Palmer repeated, to the irritation of his brother-in-law Ted Bunsen.
    â€œIf you don’t stop saying ‘Uh-oh,’ by God I’ll shoot you,” Teddy said.
    â€œI’m your brother-in-law,” Ed Palmer reminded him, but Ted did not rescind the threat.
    Aurel Imlah wore a little spyglass on a leather cord around his neck. He used it to spot distant buffalo, I suppose. He trained his spyglass and watched the dust cloud closely, while the rest of us stood around on one foot and then the other, wondering what he was seeing, and how it might feel to be massacred.
    â€œBert Yazee’s still riding