Zeke and Ned by Larry McMurtry Page B

bullets—but of course, it was too late for that now. Ned had the drop on him, and Ned was known throughout the Territory for the accuracy of his aim.
    Besides, his ears were ringing from Ned’s blows, and another tooth or two felt like they were working loose. The one thing Davie wanted to avoid was swallowing his own teeth. Swallowed teeth could grow in your stomach and puncture you fatally, his grandmother had told him when he was a child growing up in Mississippi.
    He managed, with difficulty, to get to his feet. Ned Christie’s eyes had a chill in them. Davie could tell the man would not be loath to shoot him.
    â€œI have got to attend to these teeth,” Davie said, once he was up. He started for the door, but turned just before he got to it.
    â€œGoddamn you, Ned,” he coughed. The blood had thickened up in his mouth.
    â€œScat now, I said,” Ned repeated. “Just go along, or else die.”
    â€œOne of these days I’ll skin you and peg up your hide,” Davie said, spitting out red froth. “That’s my solemn vow.” Then he left.
    Ned holstered his pistols, and looked over at Zeke.
    â€œIt’s a good thing I stayed, ain’t it?” he said.
    â€œYep,” Zeke replied. “I expect I’d be in hell by now, if you hadn’t.”

17
    W HEN D AVIE B ECK GOT HOME, THERE WAS SO MUCH BLOOD ON HIS saddle that T Spade’s first thought was somebody had shot his horse.
    When Davie dismounted, he did not seem immediately capable of speech. He began to walk around in circles in front of the mill. First one Beck brother, then another, trickled out to observe him. Sam, the eldest Beck, interrupted Davie’s circling long enough to determine that he was bleeding from the ear as well as from the nose.
    Nosebleeds were a common thing among the six Beck brothers. They frequently inflicted them upon themselves in the course of their many disputes. Frank and Willy, the middle brothers, had scrapped almost from birth and were subject to even more frequent nosebleeds. But it was rare for Davie to receive an injury, either from a brother or from anyone else, the reason being that there was no predicting where a fight with Davie Beck would stop. Once he passed into one of his animal fits, brother or stranger was just as apt to end up dead. The worst thing Davie had on his conscience was the drowning of cousin Simon Beck, which had occurred right after Davie’s own wedding to a yellow girl named China Lee. Cousin Simon had kissed the bride a little too enthusiastically for Davie’s taste. While the wedding party tippled, Simon and Davie fought their way down a hill, through a thicket, and into a creek. Davie returned to the wedding party not much worse for wear, but cousin Simon never returned. He was found two days later, with a bloody head and his lungs full of creek water. Davie tried to claim that a Choctaw must have jumped Simon, but no one in the Beck clan believed it. No one inquired closely into the matter, either. Davie did not welcome efforts to corroborate his stories.
    Davie was always the victor in his disputes; he did not stop fightinguntil his opponent was either dead or so damaged that he could not function. Thus, when Davie rode up, his saddle bloody to the stirrups, bleeding not only from the nose but from the ear, the assumption among the Beck brothers was that Zeke Proctor and anyone who might have tried to defend the man must be dead. The thought that someone might have bested Davie in a fight did not occur to any of them.
    â€œSo, is the rascal dead, Dave?” T Spade asked. He knew he should have gone to avenge Polly himself, but he had suffered from an overpowering lethargy since her death and had allocated the matter of revenge to his renegade brother.
    â€œNo, but he will be, soon enough,” Davie muttered. It galled him to admit failure. Bitterness at Ned Christie flooded his heart.
    The news took the assembled Becks