Leaving Cheyenne

by Larry McMurtry

  “He’s just visiting a little,” Molly said. “He ain’t doing any harm, Daddy.” She said it kinda timidly.

  He gave her a hard look. “I never asked you to take up for him,” he said. “A little licking wouldn’t hurt you, sister. You ain’t fixed my supper, so what are you sitting here for?”

  She looked hurt and sad: I think she was really scared to death of him and didn’t know it herself. She picked up the popcorn bowl and went to the kitchen without saying another thing.

  I stood up and put on my coat and went over to the fire to warm my hands a minute.

  “Get away from there,” he said. “Don’t stand between me and the fire, don’t you know better than that? A little licking wouldn’t hurt you none either, you damn coyote roper.”

  I didn’t see why I needed to take any more off an old surly bastard like him.

  “You ain’t gonna lick me,” I said. “You’re too drunk.”

  He grinned, but it was a pretty mean grin.

  “And quit trying to court my girl,” he said. “I’d chop her in two with an ax before I’d let a feller like you have her.”

  “You’re so damn tough my teeth chatter,” I said. “I’m a good notion to stuff you up this fireplace right now.”

  That was the first time in my life I ever said anything bad to a person older than I was. It scared me a little, but the old man just took another drink.

  “You’re a little piss-ant,” he said. After that he just stared at the fire, and I left him to his bottle.

  Molly was in the kitchen crying and stirring stuff on the stove.

  “Don’t argue with Daddy agin,” she said. “Please don’t, Gid. I won’t like you any more if you do.”

  I went up behind her and hugged her. “Yes you will,” I said. “I sure hate to go off and leave you tonight, you know that, don’t you?”

  She turned loose of the frying pan a minute and turned around and kissed me, but we were both uneasy because the old man was so close by.

  “You’re my girl,” I said. “You’re the only one I’m ever going to have.” I let her go then and started to leave, but she shoved the frying pan off the fire right quick and went out the back door with me, into the cold. And she still didn’t have no more clothes on than she had that morning.

  “I’ll go help you get your horse,” she said. “Dad’s done forgot about supper, and he won’t think of it till I remind him.”

  I hugged her up against me as close as I could. “What made him so mad?” I said. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

  “Hush,” she said. “Don’t talk about Dad. I don’t want you putting the blame on him.”

  I shut up, but it still seemed an awful way for a girl’s daddy to act.

  “I don’t think he’ll lick me tonight,” she said. “He was just talking.” Molly was funny. She didn’t seem to realize there was much wrong with him licking her.

  The wind was singing down off the plains cold as ice, and by the time we got to the barn, Molly was about froze. I made her take my sheepskin while I caught the horse and saddled him. We lit the barn lantern and she held it so I could see what I was doing; even so the barn was mostly shadows and the horse didn’t like it. When I got through I set the lantern down and rubbed her hands to get them warm.

  “You’ll probably take pneumonia,” I said. “You ain’t got many brains to be so sweet.”

  She put her cold hands on my neck. “I just came out so you could kiss me goodnight,” she said. “It ain’t much fun in the kitchen when somebody else is around.”

  I did, and it was funny: she was so cold on the outside and so warm underneath it all. Molly was always the warmest girl I knew. I blew out the lantern and led her and the horse out into the cold. I put her in the saddle in front of me, where I could hold her. The moon was up, and the little thin cold clouds were whipping across it, going south.

  “I’d hate to be the moon,” she said.

  At the yard gate I got down and helped her off. But I held her up against the horse for a minute, so he could warm her on one side and me on the other.

  “Come on to the dance with me,” I said. “If Eddie bothers you about it, I’ll stop him.”

  She kissed me for a long time then, and kept changing from one foot to the other. I guess they were about to freeze. Then she pulled back and looked at me.

  “You ain’t the only kind of good person,” she said. “How do you know you’re any better than him?”

  “The same way you know it,” I said. “Only you won’t admit it. Come on and go with me.”

  “I can’t, honey,” she said. “I done promised. But I’m so glad you come over. Come back and see me a lot, Gid.”

  “You’ll see a world of me before it’s over,” I said. “That’s a promise I can make.”

  She held my hand even after I was on the horse; then we remembered she had on my jacket and she took it off and gave it to me.

  “Now get on in before you freeze,” I said. “I’ll see you pretty soon.”

  “I wish you could stay,” she said. “I hate to see you go off. You’re liable to freeze.”

  But she’s the one who would have frozen, if I hadn’t turned and ridden off. I don’t think she wanted to go back in very bad. I know I sure did hate to leave. I rode off about twenty steps and stopped to button my coat. “Don’t get lost,” Molly said.

  “Go in, honey,” I said. “It’s awful cold.” I guess she just grinned, I don’t know. The last time I looked she was still standing there by the fence, with the wind blowing around her.

  eleven

  Johnny and me talked it over and decided we would go to the dance anyway, and not take no girls. Neither one of us wanted to take anybody but Molly.

  “Course I might take Mabel home,” Johnny said. “If she comes. But I ain’t going to take her both ways.”

  “She won’t go home with you,” I said. “Mabel’s got more pride than that.”

  Neither of us could understand why Molly would make a promise like that to a no-count like Eddie. But we knew it had to be stopped.

  “I think we better whip him,” Johnny said. “You and me can fight over her in our own good time.”

  “Naw, we better not fight him,” I said. “That would just make her feel sorry for him. I guess that’s why she goes with him anyway. I’ll just tell him to stay away from her.”

  “He won’t pay a damn bit of attention to you,” he said. “Hell, I don’t pay much attention to you myself.”

  At least it was a pretty night for a Christmas dance, and not too cold. When we crossed Onion Creek we both got the real dancing spirit, and we loped the rest of the way into town. But we sure weren’t the first ones there. Half the horses and buggies in the country were hitched outside the dancehall, and there were even quite a few automobiles.

  I wanted an automobile myself, but Dad was too tight to buy one. Johnny said he wouldn’t have one of the things.

  We came in right in the middle of a square dance and didn’t have any way to get in on it, so we stood around patting our feet. The hall was nearly full, and the people were stomping and drinking a lot of eggnog and having a real good time.

  “There they are,” I said.

  Molly was dancing in a set just across the floor from us. Her black hair was flying around her shoulders, and she looked her rosiest. Eddie had on his roughnecking boots, so you could hear him all over the hall when his feet hit the floor. He wasn’t dressed up or nothing, and he looked like he was already drunk. It made me so damn jealous I could hardly stand still. Once when him and Molly met to do-ce-do he swung down and kissed her big before he went to the next girl; she never seemed to mind. I guess she was having such a big time being away from home that she forgot herself.

  “Why do you reckon all these old folks want to get out there and dance?” Johnny said. “It’s just making a spectacle of themselves, if you ask me.”

  I thought so too. The whole town was there. All the little kids were running around sc
reaming and chasing one another and talking about what they were going to get for Christmas; their mommas and poppas weren’t paying any attention to them at all. Everybody that could move danced. Fat ones and skinny ones and ugly ones and pretty ones. Of course there were a few bachelors off in the refreshment room, emptying the eggnog bowl and talking about the war, but there wasn’t over a dozen of them. I even seen a preacher dance one set, and that was a pretty rare sight.

  “I think I’ll partake of a little eggnog,” Johnny said. “Then we’ll see what we can do about Molly.”

  I let him go. I didn’t intend to drink much myself till after the dancing was over. I had a hard enough time dancing as it was.

  When the set was over I started across to Molly, but it was crowded on the floor, and of course about fifty people stopped me to shake hands and ask how I was and wish me Merry Christmas and ask how Dad was and how the cattle were and all that, so that they started a round dance before I could get over to her, and Eddie hugged her up and was dancing with her. It made me so mad I could have bitten myself. I didn’t see how she could breathe he was holding her so tight.

  I was right on the spot when that dance was over, though. Johnny was across the hall, talking to Mabel and some feller she was with. Eddie was grinning and red in the face and his cowlick was falling down in his eyes. He was in an awful good humor.

  “Howdy, cowpuncher,” he said, “dance with my girl awhile. I got to have me a drink. This dancehall is hot.” He handed me Molly’s hand and went outside; I guess he had him a bottle somewhere.

  “Merry Christmas, Gid,” Molly said. “I’m glad you’all finally got here. Guess what? Eddie’s bought him a car.”

  I never asked her the story on it; it made me blue enough just to hear it. It was just the kind of thing that crazy bastard would do. He never owned a shirt in his life that didn’t have fifteen patches on it, neither. We found out later he got the car secondhand for forty-five dollars. I guess he made the money roughnecking.

  The next one was a round dance too, and we danced real slow. Molly had on a dark blue dress, and she had little tiny shadows under her eyes, like she hadn’t been getting enough sleep. Her neck smelled like lavender. But her breath smelled a little like whiskey; I guess Eddie got her to take a drink. I wanted to say a lot of things to her, but she laid her head on my shoulder, and we didn’t talk. Then I let Johnny dance one with her; I told him it was his Christmas present. I danced one with Mabel; she talked a blue streak.

  After that I got to dance a good square dance with Molly, and that was fun. Eddie come in in the middle of it, but he had to sit down and wait. I figured I would give up on it for the night and get drunk myself. As I was leading Molly off the floor I told her I had her a Christmas present.

  “Let me come over and get it,” she said. “Dad hasn’t been in too good a mood lately.”

  Eddie grabbed her and hugged her; he was about five degrees drunker than he had been. Johnny was getting drunk too; he spent most of his time with Mabel.

  “Old Josh is going to take her home,” he said. “I asked. But she said I could come by later and she’d make me some hot choclate. You know how I am about hot choclate.”

  I went in and took after the eggnog pretty heavy. I liked to sit and listen to fiddle music, so I sat down by the refreshment table and listened to “Sally Goodin,” and “Four Little Ladies,” and “The Texas Star” and all the others.

  Then all of a sudden Molly run in and squatted down by me and whispered in my ear. I seen she was crying.

  “Go stop them, Gid,” she said. “It’s such a nice dance; I don’t want them to fight. Eddie gets so mean. Tell Johnny I won’t never like him agin if he fights.”

  “What happened?” I said. “I been drinking too much. Where’d they go?”

  “Outside,” she said. “Go stop them, Gid.”

  Most of the people still seemed to be dancing and having a good time. Usually when there was a fight a lot of the men would go out and watch.

  “They went off behind the cars,” she said.

  When I stood up I didn’t feel so drunk. “I doubt if I can stop them,” I said. “But I’ll try.”

  The cold air felt real good after the dancehall, and my head felt clearer. Sure enough, they were over behind the cars. I guess they had already fought a little, because Johnny had a nosebleed. It didn’t mean much; I think his nose bleeds just from excitement. Six or eight of the bachelors were standing around watching; they had turned some car lights on, so everybody could see better.

  Eddie had one fist doubled up and his arm drawn back, and Johnny was just standing there watching him; he had his thumbs hooked in his pockets. Johnny was drunk as a bat; they both were.

  “You’re a damn oil-field hound-running coward,” Johnny said. Johnny looked happy about it all; he never minded fighting. But Eddie was serious about it; he kept his fist doubled up. Eddie was a coward, that’s why I wouldn’t have wanted to fight him; somebody that’s scared of you can really be dangerous. Johnny never noticed things like that.

  I started to say something to Johnny, but decided not to. They were going to fight anyway. Eddie kept standing there, holding back his fist and sneering that mean sneer of his, and all of a sudden Johnny made a run at him and they went to the ground. Johnny was a quick bastard when he started. They went to rolling and bumping on the ground, each one trying to get a choke hold and neither one doing the other much damage.

  “Hell, them boys ain’t fighting,” a man said. “They’re just wallowing on the ground. Get up from there and fight, boys, if you’re gonna fight.”

  They did, and that was Johnny’s mistake. Eddie got him off balance and knocked him down and went to pounding on him. Then Johnny nearly got up agin and Eddie jumped on him and began to pound him against an automobile.

  “Now that’s fighting,” the feller said.

  I was getting nervous. It looked like we were going to be disgraced. Johnny couldn’t get his balance, and Eddie kept pouring it on. Finally he got Johnny down agin, only he didn’t go down with him. He stood back with his fist doubled up. I guess he thought he had won, because he kinda laughed.

  “You goddamn cowpunchers, you can’t fight,” he said. “Hell, it takes a roughneck to fight.”

  And that was Eddie’s mistake, thinking Johnny McCloud would quit fighting just because he was beat on a little. I knew damn well Johnny wasn’t done with the fight because his eyes were open; Johnny never quit nothing while he still had his eyes open. I guess he was resting. Eddie sneered and Johnny come up and stayed up. Eddie tried to kick him back down, but Johnny got the leg and set Eddie down himself. And while he had his leg he managed to yank off one of the roughnecking boots and he threw it out in the darkness as far as he could throw. Then he run Eddie against an automobile. They were out of the light then; I don’t know exactly what happened. Somehow Johnny got Eddie up on the hood of a car and shoved him clear off on the other side. He ran around the car right quick and we did too, but the show was over. Eddie was holding his neck and spitting and wouldn’t get up or say anything; I think he had bitten his tongue when he hit. Besides the sheriff came out about that time.

  “These boys ain’t hurting one another, are they?” he said.

  “Naw, they’re just fighting, Gus,” a feller said. “I guess they’re about done.”

  Eddie stood up, but him and Johnny were both too tired to say much. I motioned at Johnny to keep quiet but he didn’t see me. The sheriff didn’t mind fighting, but he couldn’t stand nasty talking.

  “So you leave her alone,” Johnny said. “You horse’s butt you.”

  Eddie walked off to look for his shoe, and the sheriff turned around and took hold of Johnny’s arm.

  “I don’t like that filthy language,” the sheriff said. “Who started this fight anyway?”

  “I did, by god,” Johnny said. “And by god I finished it, too. And I’d whip you too if you didn’t have that damn badge on.”

  That was just the kin
d of crazy thing Johnny would say. The sheriff started off with him. “Taking the Lord’s name in vain is one thing I won’t stand for,” he said. “Not even at Christmastime. What if a lady had heard you say that?” And off they went.

  “Don’t think that Gus won’t arrest them,” the feller said. “He won’t stand for no goddamn cussing, and I don’t blame him.”

  “No, but you know something,” another feller said, “he’ll never get elected in this damn county agin. That’s just how goddamn sorry people are getting.”

  I danced a round dance with Molly and told her it was okay.

  “They wasn’t neither one hurt,” I said. “Eddie will be back when he finds his shoe. I guess I better take Johnny’s horse up to the jail and see if I can talk the sheriff into letting him out.”

  Molly felt a little better when she was satisfied there was nobody killed.

  “I wish I could take you home,” I said. “Even if he has got an automobile.”

  “It makes me mad the way you talk about Eddie,” she said. “Working in the oil field ain’t no crime, is it?”

  “No, and you’re too sweet to argue with.” We walked off the floor and I got my coat.

  “I hope they let Johnny go,” she said. “Tell him to come and see me when he can. I’m sorry he got in trouble on my account.”

  She wouldn’t go outside with me, even for a minute—afraid she would bump into Eddie, I guess—but I made her promise to come over and help us with the hog-killing, the next week. I figured I could give her her Christmas present then. I sure did hate to leave her at the dance.

  The sheriff of course wouldn’t let Johnny go. I guess Johnny cussed him all the way to the jail. He was a funny sheriff. He never got mad and he never got tickled, either.

  “That boy talks too nasty,” he said. “I ain’t gonna have that nasty talk around where there’s ladies. Why, that would be a disgrace to the county.”

  “I know it,” I said. I thought I better agree with him. “If you’ll let me have him, I’ll take him out of town quick, so there won’t be no danger.”

  “No, I’ll keep him tonight,” he said. “Just put his horse in the barn. Be a good lesson to a boy like that. Besides, I want to give him a good talking to before I let him go, and he’s done asleep.”