True Grit: Section 7

He was little and wiry and no doubt a hard customer, but still his wind was not good and he was blowing like a man with asthma by the time we had ascended to the bandits’ lair.

The ledge was mostly level but broken here and there by deep pits and fissures.

A shallow cave provided sleeping quarters, as I saw bedding and saddles strewn about inside.

The man laughed as he cinched the rope up tight and caused Chaney to whimper with pain.

He said, “Was that Rooster and Potter that waylaid us last night?”

"...He thought he was shooting but he was so scared he could not remember to pull the trigger. That was how green he was, green as a July persimmon.”

It was in my mind that they would slip up through the brush and attack the bandits while they were disorganized, or employ some clever ruse known only by detectives to bring the bandits to heel.

Then he pulled the bullet out of the cartridge case with his snag teeth and poured the black powder in the palm of his hand. He spit on it through the gap and stirred the glutinous mess about with a finger.

“You little busybody! What does your kind know of hardship and affliction? Now keep still while I think.”

“You little busybody! What does your kind know of hardship and affliction? Now keep still while I think.”

No sooner had we taken up our vigil than we were rewarded with the sight of Lucky Ned Pepper and the other three bandits emerging from the trees into the meadow.

The bandits turned to look up at us and no doubt they were surprised and not a little disconcerted by the interesting development.

I believe the bandits began firing their weapons first, although the din and smoke was of such a sudden, general nature that I cannot be sure.

I do know that the marshal rode for them in so determined and unwavering a course that the bandits broke their “line” ere he reached them and raced through them, his revolvers blazing, and he not aiming with the sights but only pointing the barrels and snapping his head from side to side to bring his good eye into play.

We thought that Rooster had come through the ordeal with no injury, but in fact he had caught several shotgun pellets in his face and shoulders, and his horse Bo was mortally struck.

The distance covered by LaBoeuf’s wonderful shot at the moving rider was over six hundred yards. I am prepared to swear an affidavit to it.

Once his man is subdued, so the guard believes, little else is needed but the presence and threat of superior force.

I was addled and I had the fanciful notion that my spirit was floating out of my body, escaping through my mouth and nostrils.

Thus I took hold of the garment again and snatched it toward me with such sharp force as I could muster.

I cannot accurately guess the number of rattlesnakes in the ball, as some were big, bigger than my arm, and others small, ranging down to the size of lead pencils, but I believe there were not fewer than forty. With trembling heart I looked on as they writhed sluggishly about in the man’s chest.

I wondered if the snakes could bite in their present lethargic state.

I thought they could not see well, if at all, but I observed too that the light and warmth of the sun had an invigorating effect on them.

There were two dark red holes in his face with dried rivulets of blood under them where shotgun pellets had struck him.

The rope grew taut and lifted me to my toes. “Pull!” shouted Rooster. “The girl is snake-bit, man! Pull!”

When the sickness had passed, Rooster helped me along and placed me in the saddle astride Little Blackie.

Rooster spurred Blackie away and the faithful pony stumbled and skidded down the steep and brushy hill where prudent horsemen led their mounts.

Blackie was all in and as he stumbled and made to stop, Rooster took his dirk knife and cut a brutal slash on the pony’s withers. Little Blackie squealed and burst forth in a run under the stimulation of the pain.

Blackie was all in and as he stumbled and made to stop, Rooster took his dirk knife and cut a brutal slash on the pony’s withers. Little Blackie squealed and burst forth in a run under the stimulation of the pain.

I have no recollection of the stop at the Poteau River where Rooster commandeered a wagon and a team of mules from a party of hunters at gunpoint.

I was in a stupor for days. The broken bone was set and an open splint was fixed along my forearm.

I very much admired my mother for sitting there and not flinching, as she was of a delicate temperament.

Whatever his adversaries, the railroads and steamboat companies, may have thought, Lawyer Daggett was a gentleman, and on hearing the straight of the matter he was embarrassed by his actions.

Then in the early 1890s I learned he had abandoned the Potter woman and her brood and had gone north to Wyoming with a reckless character named Tom Smith where they were hired by stock owners to terrorize thieves and people called nesters and grangers.

Scourge of Territorial outlaws and Texas cattle thieves for 25 years!
“Rooster” Cogburn will amaze you with his skill and dash with the six-shooter and repeating rifle!

The railroads do not like to carry disinterred bodies in the summertime but I got around paying the premium rate by having my correspondent bank in Memphis work the deed from that end through a grocery wholesaler that did a volume freight business.