A/N: I realize I've veered from the movie in small ways before now, but here is where I take a giant step off the trail. You have been warned! ;-)


Chapter Seven: In Which LaBoeuf Does Not Abandon a Young Lady in Need

"I know it hurts, Mr. LaBoeuf, but you need to eat. Your body cannot heal if it is not fed. That is only sense," Miss Ross stated, pushing more hard cornbread in and out of a thicker soup than had been afforded in a cabin once upon an evening.

We were in the open again, with barely a covering for our heads against a freezing rain after the Marshal's wild goose chase came to a sudden end at the abandoned mine. I felt the chill of the night through the bullet hole in my body, flaring with bright flashes of pain through my skull. My jaw was swollen – I had taken quite the series of injuries on the night I was shot – and I was feeling a wish to be steeped in spirits once again.

However, as Cogburn was more drunk than usual, I refrained. We had a young woman with us and she had to be protected. I tried to take the tin cup from Mattie Ross and feed myself; in front of an awake, belligerent Rooster Cogburn, I was loathe to be treated in quite the same way that I tolerated when he was barely conscious.

I directed a glare at the doddering older man. "Cogburn does not want me eating out of his store," I muttered, too conscious of the malformation of my words as they came from my mouth.

Mattie clucked her tongue at me. "That is silly. You have not eaten the whole day." This was true. It hurt like fire to chew anything and even a mild soup was painful to maneuver with my shoulder and mouth in the states they were in. "Besides, it is my store you eat from, not his."

"Let him starve!" Cogburn blasted from his side of the fire. Once again, I had the visual image of the Marshal versus Miss Ross and myself. That was not how this venture began, to be sure.

Cogburn heaved himself to stand – sort of – on both feet before stooping to gather a few branches for the fire. I could smell the alcohol strongly on him as he continued to rant, spittle flying from his mouth while his hands wove drunkenly in the gloaming.

"He does not track. He does not shoot – except at foodstuffs."

"That was your idea," I protested.

The marshal affected not to hear me. "He does not contribute! He is a millstone, with opinions! He is a man who walks in front of bullets!"

I winced at the diatribe, for he was correct in the generalities, even if he bombasted over the rationale.

Mattie Ross rose to my defense, still holding the cup with my uneaten dinner. Her eyes flashed as she said, "Mr. LaBoeuf drew single-handed upon the Lucky Ned Pepper Gang while we fired safely from cover, like a band of sly Injuns!"

"We?" Cogburn retorted.

"It is unfair to indict a man when his jaw is swollen and tongue mangled and who is therefore unable to rise to his own defense!" Miss Ross could one day make an admirable attorney, if females were allowed to do such a thing.

But they really were not; I had to speak for myself. "I can speak for myself," I said to her more than to him, though I knew he heard my words. "I am hardly obliged to answer the ravings of a drunkard. It is beneath me." I felt Miss Ross's shock and sudden stillness as I rose to gather my things. I had pride, always, and it was not best served by being baby-fed by a young woman nor by being constantly belittled by a lunatic. "I shall make my own camp elsewhere," I declared, nodding a bit to Mattie Ross, my manly dignity doing its best to cover the weaknesses I suffered under. "It is you who have nothing to offer, Cogburn. A sad picture indeed. This is no longer a manhunt. It is a debauch." Mattie gasped and I pressed my lips together in an effort not to answer her wordless realization or shock. "The Texas Ranger presses on alone," I concluded.

"Take the girl. I bow out!"

Appalled, I rounded on him, my arms full of my bedroll. "A fine thing to decide once you have brought her into the Choctaw Nation!"

He seemed to care not at all. "I bow out. I wash my hands," he slurred falling back on a fur and belching grossly.

I was not surprised when Mattie Ross tried to make peace between us. She stood, still holding the damned soup that had prompted this whole mess, her back straight and eyes forthright. "Gentlemen, we cannot fall out in this fashion, so close to our goal, with Tom Chaney nearly in hand!"

Then it was that U.S. Marshal Cogburn showed his true colors in a most horrible, ugly manner. He planted his hands on his spread knees and leaned toward the fire. "In hand? If he is not in a shallow grave, somewhere between here and Fort Smith, he is gone! Long gone! Thanks to Mr. LeBoeuf, we missed our shot! We have barked, and the birds have flown! Gone gone gone! Lucky Ned and his cohort, gone! Your fifty dollars, gone! Gone the whiskey seized in evidence! The trail is cold, if ever there was one! I am a foolish old man who has been drawn into a wild goose chase by a harpy in trousers—and a nincompoop! Well, Mr. LeBoeuf can wander the Choctaw Nation for as long as he likes; perhaps the local Indians will take him in and honor his gibberings by making him Chief! You, sister, may go where you like! I return home! Our engagement is terminated! I bow out!"

At first, I was moving under the strength of my own sense of pride and anger. Ignoring the deep pain in my body, I was able to lash my gear to my sturdy Appaloosa. I saw my breath come out in white clouds of steam in the night air. I huffed a great deal and muttered a considerable amount – imprecations against incompetent law men and adventures that took far too long and even against young ladies who sought to do the work of men. I swung myself up on my horse and pondered my next move.

Until the nearest young lady of my acquaintance approached, her saddle all but overwhelming her as she crunched in too-large boots across the light coating of snow on the mountain ground. "I am coming with you," Mattie Ross informed me as she reached the makeshift rope fence we had established for the horses.

There was an air to her that I could not comprehend, but it struck me over and over again nevertheless. An air of authority not usually seen in a woman, and certainly not in such a young one, encompassed her. Still, I had to refuse her. "That is not possible."

"Have I held you back? I have a Colt's dragoon revolver that I know how to use and I would be of no more burden to you than I was to the Marshal." She did not look back at the drunkard, but stood stalwart before me.

I sighed, loudly, and thought hard. "You have earned your spurs," I admitted to her. Spurs were, in my reckoning of things, the visible sign of a competent Ranger. Indeed, we in my troop only awarded them to a seasoned Ranger who had proven himself. Mattie Ross had more than done so. "But, Miss Ross, the trail is cold. And I am considerably...diminished," I admitted to her.

"You cannot give up," she told me in her definitive manner. "You have been chasing him for so long and we almost have him in our grasp!"

I wanted to believe she was right. I wanted to believe for both of us. But it was winter. And she was out here on the trail alone, without anyone to speak for her but a drunken lawman. She had taken too much on her slender shoulders. I did not know how to answer her.

My extended silence must have done to her what nothing else on this dire night had – her eyes welled with tears and her voice broke. Mattie Ross, who had handled every adversity with courage and a clear eye, sagged as she regarded me. "I misjudged you," she whispered. "I picked the wrong man."

Her words hit me like a runaway train and I slipped from my horse. Mattie Ross never, ever had admitted to making a mistake. Not in the entire time I had known her. She was not capable of backing down, even when it would have been the wisest course. That she had admitted – finally – this error in judgment made me think hard and fast about what I would have left her to if I did indeed follow through with my own course.

It would have been a grave error in my own judgment to leave her here with a drunkard. Here in the middle of the Choctaw without a real protector who might do her some good. Even if we turned around tomorrow, I could get her back to Fort Smith. I could take her home to Yell County, even, and privately resolved to do so.

The trail for Chelmsford had gone cold, but here was another responsibility of mine: I had to return Miss Mattie Ross to her mother. Her home.

I extended my hand to her. "I misjudged you initially, too, Miss Ross. I would be proud to ride at your side, now."

Stubborn girl wiped at her eyes and smiled into mine and, in spite of my swollen jaw, I had to grin at her. "This is a wonderful birthday present, Mr. LaBoeuf," she informed me.

I chuckled and watched as she ducked her head before saddling her mount. "Your birthday?"

"I am just fifteen today."

With exaggerated humor, I tipped my hat to her as I remounted my horse. "Happy birthday then, Miss Ross."