Lonesome Dove Part 49

The third time he stopped, he thought he heard voices. They were faint, but they were white, an encouraging sign. He went cautiously toward them, trying to make as little noise as possible. It was hard to carry a saddle without it creaking some, but he was afraid to put it down for fear he could not find his way back to it in the dark. Then he heard a horse snort and another horse jingle his bit. He was getting close. He stopped to wait for the moon to rise. When it did, he moved a little closer, hoping to see something. Instead he heard what sounded like a subdued argument.

"We don't know how many there is," one voice said. "There could be five hundred Indians around here, for all we know."

"I can go find them," another voice said. It was a girlish voice, which surprised him.

"You hush," the first voice said. "Just because you can catch varmints don't mean you can sneak up on Indians."

"I could find 'em," the girlish voice insisted.

"They'll find you and make soup of you if you ain't lucky," was the reply.

"I don't think there's no five hundred," a third voice said. "I don't think there's five hundred Indians left in this part of the country."

"Well, if there was even a hundred, we'd have all we could do," the first voice pointed out.

"I'd like to know who they were shooting at when we rode up," the other man said. "I don't believe it was buffalo, though I know it was a buffalo gun."

Augustus decided he wouldn't get a better opportunity than that, so he cleared his throat and spoke in the loudest tones he could muster without actually shouting.

"They were shooting at me," he said. "I'm Captain McCrae, and I'm coming in."

He took a few steps to the side when he said it, for he had known men to shoot from reflex when they were frightened. Nothing was more dangerous than walking into the camp of a bunch of men who had their nerves on edge.

"Don't get nervous and shoot, I'm friendly," he said, just as he saw the outline of their horses against the sky.

"I hate this walking around in the dark," he added loudly-not that it was much of an observation. It was designed to keep the strangers from getting jumpy.

Then he saw four people standing by the horses. It was too dark to tell much about any of them, but he dumped the saddle on the ground and went over to shake hands.

"Howdy," he said, and the men shook hands, though none of them had yet said anything. The surprise of his appearance had evidently left them speechless.

"Well, here we are," Augustus said. "I'm Augustus McCrae and I'm after an outlaw named Blue Duck. Have you seen any sign of the man?"

"No, we just got here," one of the men said.

"I know about him, though," July said. "My name is July Johnson. I'm sheriff from Fort Smith, Arkansas, and this is my deputy, Roscoe Brown."

"July Johnson?" Augustus asked.

"Yes," July said.

"By G.o.d, that's a good one," Augustus said. "We were expecting you down in Lonesome Dove, and here you are practically in Kansas. If you're still after Jake Spoon, you've missed him by about three hundred miles."

"I have more urgent business," July said rather solemnly.

To Augustus he seemed young, although it was hard to tell in the dark. Mainly it was his voice that seemed young.

"I see you brought family," Augustus said. "Most lawmen don't travel with their children. Or did you pick up these two sprats along the way?"

n.o.body answered. They simply stood, as if the question was too complicated for an answer.

"Did the Indians kill your horse?" July asked.

"No, I killed him," Augustus said. "Used him for a fort. There ain't much to hide behind on these plains. I heard shooting. Did you kill any more of them bucks?"

"Don't think so," July said. "I might have hit the buffalo hunter. We never expected to find Indians."

"I killed six this afternoon," Augustus said. "I think there was twelve to begin with, not counting the buffalo hunter. I expect they work for Blue Duck. He stole a woman and I'm after him. I think he sent them bucks to slow me down."

"I hope there ain't too much of a bunch," Roscoe said. "I never kilt one before."

In fact he had never killed anyone before, or even given the possibility much thought. Sudden death was not unknown in Fort Smith, but it was not common, either. It had been a big shock when the Indians turned their guns on them and began to shoot at them. Not until he saw July draw his rifle and start firing did it dawn on him that they were under attack. He had hastily drawn his pistol and shot several times-it had not affected the Indians but it angered July.

"You're just wasting bullets, they're way out of pistol range," he said. But then the Indians ran, so it didn't matter so much.

"What's your plan, Mr. Johnson?" Augustus asked politely. "If your business is urgent you might not want to slow down long enough to help me catch this Blue Duck."

That was true. July didn't want to slow down at all until he found Elmira. If he had been alone, he would have traveled twenty hours a day and rested four. But he was hardly alone. Roscoe was nervous as a cat and spent all day talking about his worries. Joe didn't complain, but the hard traveling had worn him out and he rode along in a doze most of the time and slept like a dead thing when they stopped.

The only one who didn't suffer from the pace was Janey, who mainly walked. July had to admit that she was unusually helpful. When they stopped, she did whatever ch.o.r.es there were to do without being asked. And she was always up and ready to leave when he was, whereas Joe and Roscoe were so sluggish in the morning that it took them half an hour just to get their horses saddled.

Now, out of the blue, a Texas Ranger had showed up-one of the very ones who had partnered with Jake Spoon. He was afoot and a long way from help, and they couldn't just ride off and leave him. Besides, there were hostile Indians around, which made the whole situation more worrisome.

"I haven't planned, very much," July said honestly. "Seems like every time I make a plan something happens to change it."

"Well, life's a twisting stream," Augustus said. "Speaking of which, the Canadian river ain't but a short way to the north. Them bucks are probably camped somewhere on it."

"What would you advise?" July asked. "You know the country."

"It's a steep-banked river," Augustus said. "If we have to fight Indians we'd be in a lot better position there than out on this plain."

"You say the man stole a woman?" July asked.

"Yes," Augustus said. "A girl who was traveling with us."

"We best go on to the river, I guess," July said. "You can ride with me and Roscoe can tote your saddle."

"If this boy ain't armed, maybe he'd like a rifle," Augustus said. "One of them bucks I shot had a pretty good Winchester, and this boy looks old enough to shoot."

He handed the rifle to Joe, who was so stunned by the gift that he could barely say thank you. "Is it loaded already?" he asked, rubbing the smooth stock with one hand.

"You dern right it's loaded," Augustus said. "Just make sure you shoot one of them, and not one of us."

He climbed up behind July and they all rode north. Joe felt intensely proud, now that he was armed. He kept one hand on the stock of the rifle, expecting that any minute the Indians might attack.

But the ride to the river was uneventful. It seemed they had not been riding long before they saw the silver band of the river in the moonlight. July stopped so abruptly that Joe almost b.u.mped into his horse. He and Mr. McCrae were looking at something downriver. At first Joe couldn't see anything to look at, but then he noticed a tiny flame of light, far downriver.

"That'd be them," Augustus said. "I guess they ain't worried about us, or they wouldn't be so bold with their campfire. They don't know it, but the wrath of the Lord is about to descend upon them. I dislike bold criminals of whatever race, and I believe I'll go see that they pay their debts."

"I'd best go with you," July said. "You don't know how many there are."

"Let's go make camp," Augustus said. "Then we'll think it out."

They rode upriver a mile, stopping where the mouth of a canyon sloped down to the riverbed.

"This is as good as we'll get," Augustus said. "What I'd like is the loan of a horse for the night. I'll have him back by breakfast, and maybe a few others to boot."

"You want to go at them alone?" July asked.

"It's my job," Augustus said. "I doubt there's many of them. I just hope Blue Duck is there."

Roscoe could not believe what he was hearing. He felt very scared as it was, and yet this stranger was preparing to ride off by himself.

"Why, there could be ten of them," he said. "Do you think you could kill ten men?"

"They're easier to scare at night," Augustus said. "I expect I'll just run most of them off. But I do intend to kill Mr. Duck if I see him. He's stole his last woman."

"I think I ought to go," July said. "I could be of some help. Roscoe can stay here with the young ones."

"No, I'd rather you stay with your party, Mr. Johnson," Augustus said. "I'd feel better about it in my mind. You've got an inexperienced deputy and two young people to think about. Besides, you said you had urgent business. These things are chancy. You might stop a bullet and never get your business finished."

"I think I ought to go," July said. It was in his mind that Ellie could even be in the camp. Somebody could have stolen her her as easily as the Texas woman. The whiskey traders wouldn't have put up much fight. Of course, it wasn't likely she was there, but then what was likely anymore? He felt he ought to have a look, at least. as easily as the Texas woman. The whiskey traders wouldn't have put up much fight. Of course, it wasn't likely she was there, but then what was likely anymore? He felt he ought to have a look, at least.

In any case, the man could use help, and it should be no great risk to leave Roscoe and the young ones in camp for a few hours. They all needed the rest.

Augustus realized he could probably use help, since he didn't know how many men he was facing. However, he didn't have a high opinion of the average man's ability as a fighter. The majority of men couldn't fight at all and even most outlaws were the merest amateurs when it came to battle. Few could shoot well, and even fewer had any mind for strategy.

The problem was that Blue Duck was evidently one of the few who could think. He had planned the theft of Lorena perfectly. Also, he had survived twenty years or more in a rough country, at a rough game, and could be expected to be formidable, if he was around.

But probably he wasn't there. Probably he had sold the woman and left, sending a few Kiowas down the trail to take care of whoever came along. It would likely just be a matter of shooting down two or three renegade buffalo hunters who had been too lazy to find honest work once the herds petered out.

Augustus was undecided as to whether he would be better off by himself or with a country sheriff from Arkansas. All he knew about the sheriff was that Jake Spoon had run from him, which wasn't much to go on. The young man had had no experience with plains fighting and perhaps not much with any fighting. There was no telling if he could even take care of himself in a sc.r.a.pe. If he couldn't, he would be better left-but then, who would know until the fighting started?

"What happens to us if you two both get kilt?" Roscoe asked. It was a question that loomed large in his mind.

"Head back southeast as fast as you can," Augustus said. "Once you make it down below the Red River you'll probably be all right. If you go east a ways you ought to run into some herds."

"Why, we'll be back," July said. "I ought to go help Captain McCrae, but we'll be back."

Augustus didn't feel right about it, but he made no further effort to stop July Johnson. They let the horses rest for an hour, then put Augustus's saddle on Roscoe's big gelding, and left. When they rode up on the ridge above the river they saw again the little spark of light to the east, and made for it.

"If it ain't prying, what is this urgent business you're on?" Augustus asked.

July was hesitant about answering. Roscoe and Joe had both looked at him strangely as he left, and the look bothered him. It was as if both of them were his children-both looked to him for care. Only Janey seemed comfortable being left on the Canadian.

"Well, sir, it's my wife," July said. "She's gone from home. It might be that she got stolen too."

Augustus felt that was interesting. They were both chasing women across the plains. He said no more. A man whose wife had left was apt to be sore about it and touchy. He changed the subject at once.

"It was your brother Jake shot?" he asked.

"Yes," July said. "I guess it was accidental, but I've got to take him back. Only I'd like to find Elmira first."

They rode in silence for seven or eight miles over broken country. Augustus was thinking what a curious man Jake Spoon was, that he would let a woman be stolen and just go on playing cards, or whatever he was doing.

Every time they topped a ridge and saw the tiny flame of the campfire, July tried to calm himself, tried to remind himself that it would be almost a miracle if Elmira were there. Yet he couldn't help hoping. Sometimes he felt so bad about things that he didn't know if he could keep going much longer without knowing where she was.

Finally, with the camp not more than a mile away, Augustus drew rein. He dismounted to listen. In the still night, on the open plain, voices could carry a ways, and he might be able to get a sense of how many they were up against.

July dismounted, too, and waited for Augustus to tell him what the plan was. They were only a hundred yards from the river, and while they were listening they heard something splash through the water downstream from where they stood.

"It could be a buffalo," July whispered. "We seen a few."

"More likely a horse," Augustus said. "Buffalo wouldn't cross that close to camp."

He looked at the young man, worried by the nervousness in his voice. "Have you done much of this kind of thing, Mr. Johnson?" he asked.

"No," July admitted. "I ain't done none. About the worst we get in Arkansas are robbers."

"Let's walk our horses a little closer," Augustus said. "Don't let 'em whinny. If we can get within a hundred yards of their camp we're in good shape. Then I favor charging right into them. They'll hear us before they see us, which will scare them, and we'll be on them before they have time to think. Use your handgun and save your rifle-this'll be close-range work. If there's any left, we'll turn and make a second run at them."

"We mustn't trample the women," July said.

"We won't," Augustus said. "Have you ever killed?"

"No," July said. "I've never had to."

I wish you'd stayed with your party, Augustus thought, but he didn't say it.

57.

DOG FACE WAS DYING, and he knew it. A bullet had hit a rib and turned downward into his gut. The bullet hadn't come out, and n.o.body was trying to get it out, either. He lay on a saddle blanket in his death sweat, and all Blue Duck wanted to know was how many men there had been in the party that shot him.

"Three horses," one of the Kiowas said, but Dog Face couldn't remember if it had been two or three.

"It was gettin' dark," he said. One whole side of his body was wet with blood. He wanted to see the girl, but Blue Duck squatted by his side, blocking his view.

"You never hit McCrae?" he asked.

"He forted up behind his horse," Dog Face said. "I might have put one in him. I don't know."

"We'll kill him tomorrow," Monkey John said. "He ain't got no horse and maybe he's crippled."