Free Zeke and Ned by Larry McMurtry Page A

as to a man’s character was acute.
    It was said that in 1828, gold had been discovered on a creek which ran right through the middle of Tuxie’s grandfather’s property back in north Georgia; that incident was what set the whites to overrunning the Old Nation and finally forcing the removal of the Cherokee people from their homeland ten years later. Tuxie was orphaned out—one of the several hundred Cherokee children who had lost their families during the worst part of the winter trek in 1838—and was raised in the orphanage just outside of Tahlequah. Tuxie Miller, mild mannered and easygoing, was the perfect mate for Dale, and she knew it.
    Dale marched right out to Zeke Proctor, and proceeded to explain the right and wrong of his situation to him.
    â€œZeke, you need to get home and make it up with Becca,” Dale informed him, without preamble.
    Zeke looked startled. Like everyone else, he was unprepared for Dale’s forceful way of putting things.
    â€œMake it up for what?” he asked. “I get along fine with Becca.”
    â€œIf you get along fine with her, why were you slipping off to see that red-haired slut?” Dale asked. “Now you’ve shamed Becca in front of the whole community.”
    Zeke did not answer. He felt considerably aggravated. Why had they stopped at Tuxie Miller’s anyway? Dale Miller was known throughout the District for her contrary ways. All he wanted to do was get to town and settle his legal problems. The last thing he needed was to have Dale Miller lecture him on his behaviour.
    Tuxie felt embarrassed—after all, Zeke was a guest. The hospitable thing to do would be to ask him to get down and take some coffee. But Dale was Dale: speaking her mind usually took precedence over the rules of hospitality.
    â€œBecca’s poorly, she needs help with the triplets,” Zeke said, finally. “I had every intention of marrying Polly before the accident happened.”
    â€œWhere I come from, you
hire
help—you don’t marry it,” Dale said.
    Dale had little tolerance for the loose habits that prevailed out west. Now here sat Ned Christie, armed to the teeth, going off to do battle if need be on behalf of Zeke Proctor, though he had a young bride at home, a girl just sixteen years old who would have to fend for herself on the Mountain while her husband was gone.
    â€œCleave to the wife of your bosom, that’s what the Good Book says,” Dale quoted. She looked right at Ned when she said it.
    Ned grinned. Dale was always trying to back him into a corner by quoting scripture. He got along with her fine, but he refused to back. The nine children began to slip out of the house to observe the company. They were as shy as mice. Ned was jealous of Tuxie, for having produced nine children, while he himself had yet to produce even one. He meant to remedy that, now that he had his sweet Jewel. What he did not want to do was waste half a day arguing scripture or anything else with Dale Miller. Dale had little patience, and would argue for a week once she got wound up.
    â€œTuxie, are you coming?” Ned asked. On the ride over, his mind had conjured up an army of Becks and Squirrels who might be waiting for them in ambush, or else in Tahlequah. Tuxie possessed a 10-gauge shotgun that would give them an advantage in close-range shooting. Tuxie had once managed to kill twenty-two ducks with only one barrel of the shotgun, though, of course, the ducks had been tightly bunched. Having him and his shotgun along might discourage a suck-egg like Rat Squirrel from trying to sneak in close.
    Before Tuxie could answer, Dale turned and gestured at her children. All nine of them were now lined up in front of the cabin: four boys, five girls.
    â€œNo, he’s not going,” Dale said. “I’ll not take a chance of having my children orphaned over some foolishness of Zeke’s.”
    â€œBesides that, I’ve got a cow