Free Telegraph Days by Larry McMurtry Page B

that big roan horse,” Aurel announced casually, “but on the whole those scoundrels are poorly mounted.”
    â€œThink they’ll charge us, Aurel?” Beau Wheless asked.
    â€œEventually, I expect … but not today,” Aural concluded. “They want to scare us first—get us jittery.”
    â€œHell, I’m jittery already,” the blacksmith said—and he was the largest man in town.
    Aurel walked off back to his hide yard. Mrs. Karoo stood by her bell, but she was no longer ringing it. Several of the drunks had begun to drift back in the direction of the saloons. Jackson Courtright had cocked his new pistol, a point of technique that drew comment from the sheriff.
    â€œDon’t be lolling around with that pistol cocked, Deputy,” Ted told Jackson. “It might go off and kill a chicken, or something.”
    Then Ted turned to me.
    â€œI guess tomorrow might not be the best day for our buggy ride,” he told me, with a disappointed look.
    â€œNope,” I agreed.
    I felt a little sorry for Ted—he sure did look disappointed.

18
    T HE REGULARS AT Mrs. Karoo’s supper table lingered a little longer than usual on this particular Saturday night. Perhaps it was because she had made a cinnamon custard for dessert—and fortunately she had made lots of it, for everyone took a second helping.
    There was not much talk. We all had the Yazee gang on our minds. Doc Siblee remarked that the preacher had picked a bad time to choke on the corn bread.
    â€œHe could have prayed for us,” he pointed out.
    â€œThere’s only six of them,” Aurel reminded us. “A whole town ought to be able to fight off six killers.”
    â€œA doubtful thing is the quality of our marksmanship,” Teddy admitted.
    â€œIf the Yazees make a run at the town it’ll be mostly close-range shooting, I would hope,” Aurel pointed out.
    Then he lit his pipe and Mrs. Karoo lit hers. She got out the rum and everyone except my brother, Jackson, indulged in a snort. A snort happened to be enough to make Hungry Billy drunk—he soon wobbled off into the night. Doc Siblee went with him and the rest of us moved out onto the porch. The evening star was especially bright that night, as bright as I’ve ever seen it. Far in the western distance we heard a deep lowing, a sound that seemed to interest Aurel Imlah a lot more than the Yazee scare.
    â€œBuffalo,” he said. “It could just be two, but I’d like to hope it’s a whole bunch.”
    â€œBe handy to have you here if the Yazees attack,” Teddy said.
    Aurel enjoyed a puff or two before he answered. I think he liked the notion that he was supposed to stay and protect the town, which is more or less what Teddy was suggesting.
    â€œThat sorry Bert Yazee is no early riser,” Aurel remarked—it was his only remark. Pretty soon he left and, I suspect, went to alert his skinners that there might be buffalo to be skinned on the morrow.
    When Jackson and Teddy paid Mrs. Karoo the usual compliments, I walked partway back to the jail with them.
    â€œAre you scared, Nellie?” Jackson asked.
    â€œI don’t know what I am,” I told him honestly, for I was neither terrified nor exactly calm. The dangers of violent death just seemed to be part of life, in the West. Even in Virginia plenty of people got murdered right in their homes. A few years back there had been a madman around Waynesboro who went around cutting people’s heads off with a scythe. Naturally we were all terrified and cut down on our picnics until a farm woman who knew how to use a shotgun shot the madman dead.
    Since it was such a pretty night I thought Ted Bunsen might want to indulge in a little courting—after all I didn’t walk down to the jail every night—but he had his mind on the Yazee gang and failed to notice that a small opportunity had been lost.
    â€œWe best clean all the guns,” he