Chapter Text
“I aim to keep this piece of paper forever,” Gus says emphatically.
That piques Call's interest because usually Gus wasn't so sentimental about objects. He lifts the gun a little higher so he can see Clara’s face behind it. Many other women would have been charmed by Gus by now, but it seemed he'd stepped on his own drooling tongue this time. Clara doesn't swoon though, she just smirks at him. Clearly she had the upper hand still yet.
“Keep it forever? That scrap? When you have important soldiering to do?”
If Call knew he wasn't being watched by Mr. Brognoli, he might smirk too. He'd never seen Gus outmatched by a woman, but Clara had a sharp knife hidden in her mild indifference to him. And she was a realist too, how would Gus possibly keep such a thing while out on the range fighting Indians and Mexicans. He'd forget about the slip of paper somewhere along the way when he found another beautiful woman to be captivated by.
“I'm keeping it ‘cause you gave it to me.”
To Call's chagrin, that line makes her pause. She lowers her eyes and it seems she may not respond, thrown off kilter suddenly. Call doesn't give her the chance to regain her footing, he trod over briskly to remind Gus why they're here since he's lost focus.
“Gus, don't you wanna pick a gun?”
Gus turns to him and he's got that stupid moony look on his face that Call's only seen a few times. “Now, why don't you pick one out for me, Woodrow? I expect they're all alike.”
Oh yeah, he's moony alright. Call closes the distance between them, leaning on the counter and looking him in his stupid face. “We're gonna buy horses. Don't you wanna pick your own mount?”
After what happened with the flighty horse Gus was provided with on their last failed mission, he assumed it would be a top priority. In Call's periphery he sees Clara tilt her head and turn her attention to him. He doesn't look back at her yet her smile doesn't waver.
“Hello. Are you a Roman, too, sir?”
How ridiculous. Now he turns to look at her and she's looking at him with that same smile she had given Gus. He suddenly feels hot. Surely she wasn't trying to use her charms on him too, right here, with Gus watching to toy with him.
“Oh no, no. This here is Woodrow Call. He's just a plain Texan.”
Call couldn't argue, but he didn't like the way he said that as if it was a flaw. Being a plain Texan was what Gus had liked about him; he was a straight shooter, was always honest and diligent, trustworthy.
“Woodrow, why don't you grab me a musket as you leave?” He turns and gives Call a few nudges on the arm, giving him a hard look. Luckily, looks don't kill.
“Why…” Clara begins, drawing their attention. “I believe I've smitten, Mr. McCrae.”
Call looks between them, stunned.
She continues, jovially: “Doubt I could smite you, though, Mr. Call. Not unless I had a club.”
She and Gus share a laugh, casting little flustered looks to each other that makes Call sick. He stomps off to the other side of the store to purchase his gun and a duplicate for Gus and he leaves with the rest of the men. Gus can stay in that store all day if he wants to waste his time, but Call wouldn't watch. Call could tell she thought she was too good for Gus, instead she played with him, knowing he'd be off in a few days fighting for his life.
Well, if Gus died it would be her fault for distracting him so badly right before their “expedition” began.
They're only a little ways down the street when Gus catches up with the rest of the group.
“Here. I hope this one suits you.” He holds a rifle out to Gus, but he doesn't take it.
“Keep it. I ain't going.”
“What? You don't want to go on the expedition?” It was Gus's fault that Call was even caught up in this expedition in the first place.
“I'd rather marry that girl.”
“Marry her? You ain't known her for ten minutes.”
Some of the other men in the back guffaw at his crowing.
“Yeah, well, ten minutes is enough.”
Long Bill chuckles. “He's a critter, ain't he? Meets a girl, next thing you know he wants to go for the preacher.”
“You ought to visit the whorehouse,” Johnny says in that lilted way of his. “It'll clear your head”
The rest of the men walk ahead of them, shouldering Gus as they pass by. Call pushed the gun into Gus's hands and walked past him, hurrying, so Gus knew not to walk along with him. Gus has met many a girl and many a woman, beautiful, charming and all, but he'd never talked about marriage. He always said he had urges to see to before he saw fit to marry. Essentially, he was a hound, and that was okay for Call so long as he didn't run off from Call and get himself married.
He takes his gun back to camp and puts it away with the limited things he'd packed. Across the camp, he sees the men comparing the guns they picked and jawing about what they planned to do in town before leaving. Mostly drinking and whoring. And maybe that's what Call is supposed to be doing instead of sulking over his best friend deserting him, having a last hoorah in case this expedition was his last.
The whorehouse is on the edge of town, a decent looking building even with the women milling around outside. They call out to him but he doesn't respond to their advances. He can't do that out in the open like this, broad daylight, where someone might see and hear. What they would think of him! They would think him a man who lacked all self-control. No good composure. At least be within four walls before you start fondling women and talking crudely to them. They may be whores and you may seek their attention, but that doesn't mean you have to act like an animal.
But he goes past the whorehouse. He had never met her, but he knew of a young woman named Maggie who lived on the edge of town. She'd come to Austin with her parents, a respectable young woman. However, shortly after they settled in the area, her parents passed from influenza, leaving her alone with little. Many of the men talked about her, some criticized her for being too meek and others complimented her for that. To Call, she seemed a good pick. He couldn't handle the brash nature of the women at the whorehouse.
Maggie's house was more like a shack, but the small porch was swept clean and there were even some flowers planted along the front. It was surprisingly quaint. He stopped short of stepping up onto the porch to fish out his money. Then he's stuck.
What should he say to her? He wasn't in the habit of talking to whores. Maybe it wouldn't matter what he said, or how well he said it, as long as he presented the money. His money will still spend the same even if she thinks he's a fool.
He steps up onto the porch and knocks before he can change his mind. It's only a moment before the door cracks and his breath gets caught in his throat. She may be the most beautiful woman he's ever seen with blonde ringlets framing her face. Her expression is guarded, although she's doe eyed, but Call reckons she can't do anything about that.
He sticks out his hand, money in his palm.
“Howdy ma'am.” That's all he can manage to say to her. He's not charming, he doesn't know what to say that isn't something Gus said verbatim.
It seems to be enough because she gives him a soft smile. She takes his hand, money between their palms, and guides him through the door. The shack is all one room, furnished with only a bed, a stove, a wardrobe, and a table with chairs.
“My name is Maggie,” she says, closing the door.
He's frozen under her soft gaze and she closes the gap between them, her brows drawn together in confusion. She lays a gentle hand on his chest and he knows she can feel his heart racing like a runaway horse.
After a moment he says, “Woodrow.”
When she speaks, her voice is soft and concerned, “Is something wrong, Woodrow?”
“I've never done this before.”
“Never with any woman or just a whore?” Her voice is timid and she looks away when she quietly says the word “whore.”
He feels hot with embarrassment he's never felt before. “Any woman.”
“Oh.” Her face reads as genuine shock and she raises her other hand to squeeze his shoulder. “That's okay, there's a first for everything.”
He feels odd here, letting her undress him carefully. He felt he was playing the part of a woman, a tense virgin that needed tender words and a gentle touch. There's an unnamable feeling that puts knots in his gut.
She takes the lead the entire time, is patient with him even when he's slow to erection and doesn't really know where to put his hands. Without a hint of ridicule, she tells him it's only his nerves. She kisses him tenderly only a few times. For the few minutes he manages to hold himself together, he closes his eyes. Overall it takes less time to reach completion than it did to undress, but she says nothing about it.
He doesn't lie there for long after everything is finished up, he stands to start getting dressed. Maggie is a working woman and her time is valuable, he could be hindering her even by taking the time to fully dress inside the room. She's looking at him, but he doesn't meet her gaze. In only his undershirt, pants and socks, he steps around the bed to gather the rest of his clothes and go. He'll just finish dressing outside. Maggie hands him his boots and he finally locks eyes with her.
“I'll go ahead and put these on outside. That way, you won't lose no time.”
“Or you can just sit there on the bed and put them on. You ain't been here that long.”
He trusts the gentleness of her voice, so he sits and begins shoving his feet into his boots. She doesn't ask questions or make small talk and he's grateful because he's caught up on escaping as quickly as possible. But she's been so kind to him, made him feel as comfortable as she could. It wasn't anything she did that left Call feeling disappointed, yet he was heavy with some sort of melancholy.
“If I don't see you ‘fore we leave…” He knows he won't see her. “Goodbye, Maggie.”
“Oh, goodbye, Woodrow.” There's something like grief in her voice.
He leaves, thinking he'll get himself fed and go to sleep. He can just pretend that this never happened. That is until he sees Johnny walking up the path to the Maggie's house. Of course, he's looking right at Call.
“Well, what's your opinion? Was she lively?”
He grimaced. Well, what was his opinion? That feeling of melancholy turns into absolute disgust. He's not disgusted at Maggie or Johnny, but himself for obviously that was where the problem lied.
“I got no opinion.”
Johnny looks at him quite bewildered, but he's not discouraged and continues on toward Maggie's shack. Walking back, Call thinks he should've just gone to buy a horse directly.
Later as he and Gus are walking down to the river, Call is pleased to know that Gus thinks he's too dumb to notice women or to consider whoring. Better that way for Gus, lest he knew that Call tried it and could comfortably live without it. If he found out, he'd crow about how odd Call was ‘til he died. While it had felt nice for a few minutes, regret and guilt had sunk in and didn't seem to be going anywhere. He felt sickened by the whole ordeal. Gus was right, he isn't the marrying type.
However the panic of Gus falling off the bluff is just what he needed to wipe the slate of his mind clean. You can't be consumed with unnamable feelings when your partner is in need.
~
Call goes to the general store early in the morning because Gus had woken him up with moaning and groaning about his sore ankle. Since he doesn't mention a thing about Clara, Call knows his ankle is really paining him. He whistles as he goes on his way, steps into the store and sees Clara already behind the counter. He hopes he can avoid her flirtations so she doesn't make a fool of him for her own amusement.
“Be quiet and don't interrupt me. I'll have to do it all over again if I lose my count.”
Her bossy tone abruptly ends his pleasant whistling and he stares at her in surprise. She turns from a list she had been counting up, to a ledger where she jots down her count. How enterprising for a young woman.
She closes the book, pushes it off to the side, then bats her eyes at him. “So it's you and not Mr. McCrae. I guess he ain't as smitten as I thought.”
“He meant to be here at dawn, but he fell, hurt his ankle.” Though he could deceive her, and it would be for Gus’s own good, he's no liar.
“Just like a man. Is it broken?” She asks, but she turns her attention back to stacking her ledgers, appearing aloof. “Expect he done it dancing with a senorita.”
It was a good guess for Gus had danced with a few senoritas in the past, but Call still bristles at it. Gus was head over heels in love with her already and she saw him only as a rake. Which wasn't too far off, but he had a charm that the common rake lacked. He lacked the sleazy demeanor of the common rake, he behaved decently around women, treating them with the respect any human being deserves. Sure, he might pursue a woman for a season, he may have a whirlwind romance here and there, but Gus was a good man in Call's opinion. He felt the need to defend Gus.
“No, it was dark. He fell off a bluff. I thought some liniment might help.”
Her eyes narrowed from her wide smile, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “It might if I rubbed it on him myself.”
Appalled, he looks down and gapes stupidly as he tries to find the words to say. How scandalous of her to say such a thing. Of course, Gus probably would like it better if she did, uncouth as he was.
She just wants to see him embarrassed. He plays dumb, like he has no idea what she insinuates. “If I could just buy some and take it to him, he could do it himself.”
“You know nothing of medicine, sir.” She turns to retrieve the desired liniment and finds it easily. “Tell Mr. McCrae I find it very careless of him to go falling off a bluff. When I smite a man, I expect more careful behavior.”
Anxious to escape this situation, he snags the bottle and lays the money on the counter. “Thank you, ma'am.”
He holds the bottle tightly in his hand as he makes his way back. How difficult it will be to repeat what Clara had told him. Gus might burst with excitement over such a crude comment.
Walking into camp, he can see Gus sitting at the opening of the tent, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. He'd better enjoy it while he could, there likely wouldn't be much on the trail. Call was a touch grateful for that; whiskey made Gus near unbearable at times.
He tosses the bottle toward Gus, who catches it and abandons the whiskey. Before he starts rubbing any on his ankle, though, he looks back up at Call.
“Did Clara ask about me?”
Call nearly rolls his eyes, but he suppresses the urge. Even with his ankle paining him, he asks about Clara before even applying the liniment.
“She asked. I told her you'd fell off the bluff last night.”
Gus's expression pinches and he sets the liniment down next to the whiskey.
“And I suppose you told her I was drunk! You mean to marry her yourself, don't you?”
“Marry her? I don't even know the woman's name.”
He'd had plenty enough whiskey, Call though, he was talking stupid. Gus launches himself at Call, swinging, one foot lifted into the air to avoid hurting it further. He catches himself before he falls on his face and plops back into his seat.
“It don't take long to learn a name. You mean to marry her and I know it.”
“You must've broke your brain when you took that fall. I don't intend to marry nobody ! I'm off to Santa Fe!”
He's thankful that a moment later Bigfoot and Shadrach come riding up to gather them to go after Buffalo Hump. At least there won't be any more talk of marriage for a while. He'd rather get shot at than listen to Gus's drunken jealous assumptions about him and his intent to marry. Hadn't they already agreed that he wasn't the marrying type?
He takes little time to saddle his horse, grabs his rifle, and goes to join the group. A glance at Gus tells him his temper had cooled. He couldn't leave here without clearing it up.
“I don't know what I did to rile you… but I hope to see you up the trail, if I live.”
Gus struggles up onto one foot and he smacks Call on the arm, gives him a strained look.
“I'm sorry I swung at you, Woodrow. I was drunk. Goodbye.”
That's a balm to Call's troubled soul. He takes a good long look at Gus, just in case this is the last time.
~
Call didn't think there would be nearly as much scrapping among their group than there was. Half these men aren't more than common thieves and swindlers, and it shows in their poor behavior. Why when Kirker raised his gun at Gus, Call nearly shot him dead. He would've shot Kirker had Gus not leaned in to hit Kirker on his head, and right off his horse.
Before Kirker can catch his bearings, Call dismounts and begins beating him. How dare he raise his gun to Gus when he was sick enough to kill the innocent and collect scalps. He feels a disconnect from his body momentarily, wildly swinging on the man, then he's being hauled off. He digs his heels into the dirt at first, but then he hears Gus trying to talk some sense into him.
Call is hot all over and Gus having his arm wrapped around him is stifling. He lets up and they turn him loose to see the condition Kirker is in.
“That feller was rude. I won't tolerate rude behavior.” And he especially wouldn't tolerate rude behavior toward Gus. He waves the flaps of his slicker in an attempt to cool himself some.
Stripped of his gun and boots, Kirker is left there to figure his own way out. Call is jittery, fury still running through his veins.
“What's got into you? I coulda handled Kirker myself.” Gus outright pouts.
“You did handle it yourself. I just finished it for you.”
The same fate would come to anyone else who raised their gun at Gus.