Hondo Page #3

l hope the noise won't disturb you.

It won't.

Good night, ma'am.

Put that gun down.

You're Hondo Lane, the gunman.

- l carry a gun.

- Don't come any nearer.

You killed three men

in a gunfight last year.

- We heard about it. Three men.

- Yes, ma'am.

- Just as quick as l could.

- Don't come any nearer.

Its not a very good idea

to point one of these things at anybody

with an empty chamber

under the firing pin.

You can see it plain as day.

l keep it that way because of Johnny.

Well, now it's loaded.

Keep it that way, and keep it high.

Please stay. L really want you to.

Im sorry. L should have realized from

the beginning that you are a gentleman.

Civilized? Gentleman?

Well, a lot for one day.

Night, ma'am.

Morning. Getting an early start.

Be sure and tell that little man

goodbye for me.

l ought to wake him

to say goodbye to you.

Was it me, l'd let him sleep.

Youngsters grow sleeping,

but you do what you want to.

He was so delighted with that whistle

you made for him.

Glad to hear it.

He and l got along just fine.

Its more like a flute than a whistle.

It ranges almost the full scale.

l learned to make them when l was

living with the Mescalero.

My squaw used to make them

for every kid in the lodge.

- You lived with the Apache?

- Five years.

- And you had an Indian wife?

- Wife, squaw...

l took the liberty of borrowing a few feet

of rope off of that coil in the lean-to.

- Gladly pay you for it, if you let me.

- 'Course not.

The hills are so beautiful today.

Odd how clear they always are

after a dust storm.

Must have been very interesting

living with the Apache.

l liked it.

- This Indian wife you have...

- Had. She's dead.

Im sorry. L didn't mean to bring up

an unhappy memory.

l can't remember anything unhappy

about Destarte.

Destarte? How musical.

What does it mean?

You can't say it except in Mescalero.

It means morning.

But that isn't what it means, either.

Means more than just that.

Indian words mean the sound and

feel of a word, like,

crack of dawn, the first bronze light

that makes the buttes stand out

against the gray desert.

The first sound you hear of a brook

curling over some rocks,

with trout jumping.

Its like when you get up in the first light,

just you and her and you go out of

a wickiup.

Where it smells kind of smoky

and private, just you and her, and

kind of safe with just the two of you.

Stand outside and

feel the bite of the first wind

coming down from the high divide

that promises snowfall.

Can't say it in English,

but that was her name.

Destarte.

- You remind me of her some.

- Of an Indian girl?

Was she fair?

Her hair was black as 10 feet down.

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