The Cowboys Page #4

fool's gold, but it's kind of pretty.

You calling me a fool?

No, no, l didn't mean it like that.

l got no use for it.

You write that yourself?

No, no. lt's printed on paper.

l've been trying to learn it.

Well, there's nothing to it.

lt's just like arithmetic.

All you gotta do is just...

...count the lines and the spaces. That

tells you where the notes go. lt ain't hard.

Looks like fly specks to me.

Some guy named Vivaldi wrote it.

lt's kind of pretty.

lf that's that old Tennessee

sour mash, put a little in there.

Good for my rheumatism.

That comes with old age.

Yeah, miserable old age.

l hate it.

l'm not far behind you and

l don't like it, either.

My oldest boy...

...would be close to

40 now. Middle-aged.

lf he had lived.

You lost a son?

Two of them.

Went bad on me.

Or l went bad on them.

l don't know.

l can't figure it out.

You got another chance.

They're not mine.

They could be.

So as l went down to Denver

with my cousin, L. D. Grimes...

...then there was this

hootchy-kootch show going on.

And when the fella wasn't looking

we snuck in under the tent.

There was this gal up on the

stage doing a harem dance.

First thing l know, she dropped

her dress and she was naked.

- All over?

- From head to toe.

What'd she look like?

She had a belly button so big, you

could've stuck your middle finger in it.

l saw my first one in

Benbow, too. Fifty years ago.

Probably the same girl.

Damned if he ain't almost human today.

He's been sleeping better.

He's been at the bottle.

There's bug juice in this camp?

Hell, yes. l seen him and Mr.

Nightlinger swilling it down last night.

Keeps it in a drawer

in the chuck wagon.

Which drawer?

Come on. Hurry up. Give me that.

Come on, let's go. Hurry up. Hurry up.

- Come on, Weedy.

- Weedy, come on.

Hurry up. Everybody else is.

- You're wasting time.

- Gambling's a sin.

- So what?

- This ain't gambling, it's stealing.

- That's a bigger sin.

- Not if you don't get caught.

- Come on, just take one.

- Come on, Weedy, come on.

Holy sh*t!

Go on, Weedy, go on. Hurry up.

Watch out! Here he comes.

lnnocence is wasted on

me. l don't believe in it.

What are you up to?

Nothing, Mr. Nightlinger.

Nothing at all.

Boys are always guilty

of something nasty.

What could it be this time, l wonder?

Nothing, l swear. Just

standing here talking.

lf you're lying, remember one thing:

l could swallow each of

you whole without choking.

All l need to do is butter your

heads and pin your ears back.

Hey, come on.

Hurry up.

Get going. Go, go.

Keep going.

Look in with the liniment.

That's where my folks keep it.

- Hurry up.

- Come on.

Come on, Weedy, don't

take your sweet time.

- Come on. Come on.

- Hurry up.

Hurry up, Weedy.

- Come on.

- lt's not here.

- Look around here.

- Look over here.

Hurry up.

- Would you get going? We'll watch.

- Go on.

l got it.

Don't drop it.

- Hot coffee.

- Heard you coming.

l'm used.

That Fats!

He can sure sing those cows to sleep.

Fatboy isn't on guard.

He was just here.

That's right. lt's...

...Steve and Cimarron.

There's more than one voice.

What is this?

Weedy! You keep taking

long swigs like that...

...you're gonna miss

your turn next time.

Pass it on.

Hey! There's two of everybody.

There's two moons.

l'm going to bed as

soon as l can stand up.

Just don't wake up Ol' lron Nuts.

Mr. Brass Ass Andersen. A

bastard if there ever was one.

He made you stop stuttering

fast. He really tromped your tail!

Listen, Fatso...

... l could've given up

stuttering a long time ago.

- Why didn't you?

- l didn't know anybody wanted me to.

This is the first time

l've ever been drunk.

Oh, you getting sick, you farmer?

- l've decided.

- What?

l've decided if Ol' lron Nuts tells me

l'm burning daylight just one more time...

... l'm gonna let him have it.

Have what?

lt.

What's "it"?

l ain't decided yet.

What happened to that bottle?

lt's coming.

You know who you sounded like

just then? Mr. Nightlinger.

That black son of a b*tch

cooks better than my ma.

Come on, you guys, we ought to be going

before the old man finds out we're gone.

Yeah, come on.

Did you ever notice how pink

Mr. Nightlinger's palms are?

- Yeah.

- They're kind of pretty.

Sh*t.

"Sh*t" yourself.

Shall we join them, Mr. Nightlinger?

When did you take your first drink?

lt was on the occasion

of my first broken heart.

And my last.

She was an older woman and wise.

Vastly experienced.

She told me she couldn't stand the

sight of me for another minute...

... handed me a half-gallon

jug of sour mash and fled.

And you polished it off?

Every drop.

l've been drinking

sour mash ever since.

l was 17.

She was almost 22.

Her name...

...was Oceola.

l think these kids are

rushing it a little.

They're in a hurry to grow up.

Well, they won't get

it out of a bottle.

They'll know that in the morning.

All down sick at once.

Must've passed a bad waterhole.

Well, this'll settle you.

Come on, son.

Back, wide.

Voila.

Good morning, gentlemen.

Mr. Nightlinger, l'd like some

beans and cabbage for supper...

...with a big chunk of fatback

in some red pepper sauce.

And make some gravy out of the grease.

l'll be back.

Hurry it up. We're burning daylight.

All right, son, tongue out.

Head back.

Wider.

Where do you think you're going?

Go get him, Dan.

Come back, you.

You ain't nothing but a small child.

lf you was a fish,

boy, l'd throw you back.

Hey, boys! Lookie here!

Look what l found.

Look around and meet the boys.

lt looks like he surprised us.

We surprised you, too,

though, didn't we, boy?

You know better than to

scream out now, don't you?

What's the matter with you, son?

You're looking at me

like l had two heads.

You're wondering where

l came from, ain't you?

You know we've been

tracking you for days?

What have you got to say to that?

l can't hear you, son.

l can't hear you, son!

l won't say nothing.

You're a quiet boy.

lf l had a prize l'd

give it to you, boy.

l like quiet boys.

Now, quiet boy...

... l'm gonna let you loose.

But you point your ears now, son.

Because you ain't running back to Andersen

with them eyes rolling back in your head...

...telling him that these real bad men

have been following us day and night.

You're not gonna say that.

You think you'll raise a commotion

and get congratulated for it.

They're gonna pat you on the head

and tell you what a good boy you been.

That's not gonna do you any good, son.

You know why?

Now you listen to me

careful, boy. You know why?

Because l'm gonna come to

you some night it's real dark.

l'm gonna come to you on tiptoe...

...so you ain't never

gonna be able to hear me.

And l'm gonna come

to you with a knife...

...freshly sharpened on a stone...

...and l'm gonna cut you a

grin down here on your neck.

lt's gonna run clear across to there.

Do l make myself clear, boy?

ls it clear to you now, huh?

ls it clear to you?

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