True Grit

by Charles Portis

Greaser Bob said, “What about the registered pouch?” “Well, and what about it?” said Lucky Ned Pepper. “Are you expecting a letter, Bob?” “If there is any money in it we may as well have it now. It makes no sense to carry the pouch about for evidence.” “You still don’t feel easy?” “You are making too much of my words, Ned.” Lucky Ned Pepper thought about it. He said, “Well, maybe so.” Once more he unbuckled the straps. He took out a locked canvas bag and cut it open with a Barlow knife and dumped the contents on the ground. He grinned and said, “Christmas gift!” Of course that is what children shout to one another early on Christmas morning, the game being to shout it first. I had not thought before of this disfigured robber having had a childhood. I expect he was mean to cats and made rude noises in church when he was not asleep. When he needed a firm restraining hand, it was not there. An old story! There were only six or seven pieces of mail in the bag. There were some personal letters, one with twenty dollars in it, and some documents that appeared to be of a legal description, such as contracts. Lucky Ned Pepper glanced at them and flung them away. A bulky gray envelope tied with ribbon held a packet of one-hundred twenty-dollar notes on the Whelper Commercial Bank of Denison, Texas. Another envelope held a check. Lucky Ned Pepper studied it, then said to me, “Do you read well?” “I read very well,” said I. He passed over the check. “Is this any good to me?” It was a c...