Zeke and Ned by Larry McMurtry Page A

Davie and Zeke. Davie was the runt of the Becks, and Ned was a good foot and a half taller and considerably better armed. Davie’s old pistol had part of the handle wired on.
    â€œThis man is a legal prisoner,” Ned informed Davie. “Judge Sixkiller put him in jail, and the trial is set. He wants to try a live prisoner, not a dead one.”
    Davie Beck was prone to animal-like fits when he was enraged. His hair would stand up like a mad coon’s, and he would snarl and hiss like a wildcat. In his rage, he would suck in air and swell like a bladder. Now, facing Ned Christie, his eyes got pig red, and he snorted a few times through his thick nose hairs.
    â€œYou ought to get back to your goddamn hill, Ned,” Davie said. “I will shoot any man that opposes me.”
    â€œGet to shootin’, then,” Ned said, promptly drawing both of his .44s.
    Instead of pulling his old pistol with the wired-on handle, Davie gave a snarl and jumped for Ned’s throat. Ned whopped him with one of the big .44s right up the side of his head, knocking him into a corner. Davie was up in a flash and came for Ned again, trying to butt him down. Ned sidestepped, and whacked him right across the nose with the same big pistol. Everybody heard the nose crack. Blood came pouring forth, as if someone had just pulled a stopper out of Davie’s nostril. He went down again, but managed to lunge from a prone position and sink his teeth into Ned’s calf.
    â€œWatch him, Ned, he bites!” Zeke warned, a second too late.
    Ned did not need the warning—he knew Davie Beck bit and clawed in his rages, but he had not supposed Davie could recover from two whacks with a .44 pistol quite so swiftly.
    Sheriff Charley Bobtail could hardly believe his eyes. Davie Beck was not much more than half Ned Christie’s size, and Ned was far better armed—and yet there Davie was, his face and chest smeared with blood, chawing at Ned’s leg as if it was a pork chop.
    Ned had to whop Davie Beck three more times directly on the head and neck before Davie ceased his biting. Even then, Davie still showed signs of fight. He fumbled for his pistol, but Ned kicked his hand away and took the pistol. To Ned’s astonishment, the pistol was not even loaded.
    Then Davie got up on his knees and pulled a knife. It was a bigclasp knife, which he promptly smeared with blood as he was trying to open the blade. Though his leg pained him, Ned could hardly keep from laughing at Davie Beck’s determination to do him violence. Davie stopped trying to open the clasp knife for a moment, and spat out a bloody tooth, one jarred loose by Ned’s second blow.
    â€œWatch him now . . . watch him now, he’s quick,” Zeke warned, from his cell. He felt sure Ned would prevail in the struggle, but there was always a chance Davie would manage some wild move and get through Ned’s guard, shoving the big knife into his liver.
    If that happened, his own doom would swiftly follow. Charley Bobtail had neglected to arm himself. The bloody Davie Beck would make short work of the Sheriff, who, in Zeke’s view, was a slow man in the wrong job.
    Ned had no intention of allowing Davie Beck the slightest opening. He squatted down so as to be at Davie’s level, and pointed both .44s directly at Davie’s bloody head.
    â€œNow, Davie, I want you to scat,” he said firmly. “You had no business coming into this jail and misbehaving. Judge Sixkiller has set a trial, and it’s less than two weeks away. You and your brothers will just have to wait until the law has had time to proceed.”
    Davie’s hands were so slippery with blood that he failed to get his knife open, and Ned had his unloaded gun with the wired-on handle. He had lost all his bullets in a wager at cards, and had only brought the gun in hopes of bluffing Charley Bobtail. Had he known Ned Christie was there, he would have stopped and borrowed some