“I’m going with you,” Dish Boggett said, surprising everyone.
“I didn’t ask for volunteers and I don’t want any,” Augustus said.
“It’s none of your say anyway, you pup!” Jake said hotly.
“I ain’t no pup and you’re a gambling lowlife who let her get stolen,” Dish said coolly. He and Jake faced off, both tense as wires, but Augustus mounted and rode his horse in between them.
“Now, girls,” he said, “let’s not get to gunfighting. I’m going and you two are staying here.”
“It’s a free country,” Dish said, looking up at Augustus angrily.
“Not for you, it ain’t,” Augustus said. “You’ve got to stay here and keep this cow herd pointed for the north star.”
“That’s right,” Call said quickly. Losing Gus was all right—he seldom worked anyway. But Dish was their best hand. He had already turned two stampedes—something no one else in the outfit had the skill to manage.
Dish didn’t like it, but, faced with the Captain’s orders, there was not much he could do about it. The thought of Lorena in the hands of an outlaw made him feel sick, and his rage at Jake Spoon for exposing her to such danger was terrible. He turned and walked away.
“Are we leaving tonight?” Jake asked. “My horse is rode down.”
“You ain’t leaving at all, Jake,” Augustus said. “At least not with me. I’m likely to have to travel hard, and I won’t have time for conversation.”
Jake flared up again. “By God, I’ll go if I please,” he said. “She’s my woman.”
Augustus ignored him. “I hate to leave just when you’re breaking in a new cook,” he said to Call. “I guess by the time I get back you’ll all be nibbling on spiders and centipedes.”
Deets came over, looking worried. “You best watch close,” he said. “He gave me the slip—might give you the slip.”
“Oh, you probably had your mind on grasshoppers or something, Deets,” Augustus said.
“You got enough shells?” Call asked.
“I don’t know, I ain’t counted the gang yet,” Augustus said. “If I run out I can always throw rocks at them.”
With that and a nod he rode off. Call felt a little confused. Though the woman was no responsibility of his, he felt like he should be going too. Here he was, stuck with a bunch of cattle, while Gus was riding off to do the work they ought to have done long ago. It didn’t feel right.
Meanwhile, Jake was working himself into a fury over Gus’s behavior.
“I should have shot him!” he said. “By God, what does he mean, leaving me? I brought the woman, I guess I’ve got a right to go fetch her back.”
“You should have stuck closer,” Call remarked.
“I meant to,” Jake said guiltily. “I only meant to stay in Austin one night. But then I got some good hands and thought I’d make it two. She could have come with me but she wouldn’t. Loan me a horse, why don’t you? I don’t want Gus to get too much of a start.”
“He said he didn’t want you,” Call said. “You know him. If he don’t want you he won’t take you.”
“He wouldn’t let us alone,” Jake said, as if talking to himself. “He was always coming for breakfast.”
Then his eyes fell on Newt, who was feeling guilty enough. “You was sent to watch her,” Jake said. “I’d say you did a hell of a poor job.”
Newt didn’t reply. It was true—he had, and it made him feel worse that Jake was the one to say it. He mounted his night horse and rode quickly out of camp. He knew he was going to cry and didn’t want any of the boys to see him. Soon he did cry, so much that the tears dripped off his face and wet the cantle of his saddle.
Back in camp, Jake was still stomping around in a fury. “That boy ain’t worth his wages,” he said. “I should have given him a lick or two.”
Call didn’t like his tone. “You sit down,” he said. “He don’t need a lick. He came back to help with the stampede, which is what he was supposed to do. Probably Blue Duck started the cattle running some way and then went and got the woman. It ain’t the boy’s fault.”
Then Jake spotted Po Campo, who was sitting propped against a wagon wheel, his serape wrapped around him.
“Who’s this, another bandit?” Jake asked.
“No, just a cook,” Po Campo said.
“Well, you look like a bandit to me,” Jake said. “Maybe that goddamned Indian sent you to poison us all.”
“Jake, you sit down or get out,” Call said. “I won’t hear this wild talk.”
“By God, I’ll get out,” Jake said. “Loan me a horse.”
“No, sir,” Call said. “We need all we’ve got. You can buy one in Austin.”
Jake looked like he might collapse from nervousness and anger. All the boys who weren’t on night guard watched him silently. The men’s disrespect showed in their faces, but Jake was too disturbed to notice.
“By God, you and Gus are fine ones,” Jake said. “I never thought to be treated this way.” He climbed on his tired horse and rode out of camp mumbling to himself.
“Jake must have got his nerves stretched,” Pea Eye said mildly.
“He won’t get far on that horse,” Deets said.
“He don’t need to get far,” Call said. “I imagine he’ll just sleep off the whiskey and be back in the morning.”
“You don’t want me to go with Mr. Gus?” Deets asked. It was clear he was worried.
Call considered it. Deets was a fine tracker, not to mention a cool hand. He could be of some help to Gus. But the girl was none of his affair, and they needed Deets’s scouting skills. Water might get scarcer and harder to find once they struck the plains.
“We don’t want to lose Mr. Gus,” Deets said.
“Why, I doubt anything would happen to Gus,” Pea Eye said, surprised that anyone would think something might. Gus had always been there, the loudest person around. Pea Eye tried to imagine what might happen to him but came up with nothing—his brain made no picture of Gus in trouble.
Call agreed with him. Augustus had always proved to be a good deal more capable than most outlaws, even famous ones.
“No, you stay with us, Deets,” Call said. “Gus likes the notion of whipping out a whole gang of outlaws all by himself.”
Deets let be, but he didn’t feel easy. The fact that he had lost the track worried him. It meant the Indian was better than him. He might be better than Mr. Gus, too. The Captain always said it was better to have two men, one to look in front and one to look behind. Mr. Gus would not have anyone to look behind.
Deets worried all the next day. Augustus did not come back, and no more was seen of Jake Spoon.
49.
LORENA DIDN’T SEE the man come. She wasn’t asleep, or even thinking about sleep. What she was thinking was that it was about time for Jake to show up. Much as he liked card playing, he liked his carrot better. He would be back before long.
Then, without her hearing a step or feeling any danger, Blue Duck was standing in front of her, the rifle still held in his big hand like a toy. She saw his legs and the rifle when she looked up, but a cloud had passed over the moon and she couldn’t see his face—not at first.
A cold fear struck her. She knew she had been wrong not to go to the cow camp. She had even sent the boy away. She should have gone, but she had the silly notion that Jake would show up and scare the bandit off if he came back.
“Let’s git,” Blue Duck said.
He had already caught her horse, without her hearing. Lorena felt so scared she was afraid she couldn’t walk. She didn’t want to look at the man—she might start running and then he would kill her. He had the worst voice she had ever heard. It was low, like the lowing of that bull she kept hearing at night, but there was death in it too.
She looked down for a moment at the bedding; she had been combing her hair and her little box with her comb in it was there. But the man pushed her toward the horse.
“No, thanks, we’ll travel light,” he said
.
She managed to mount, but her legs were shaking. She felt his hand on her ankle. He took a rawhide string and tied her ankle to her stirrup. Then he went around and tied the other ankle.
“I guess that’ll hold you,” he said, and caught the packhorse.
Then they were moving, her horses snubbed to his by a short rope. To the west, where the cow camp was, she heard shouts, and the drumming sound of the cattle running. Blue Duck rode right toward the sound. In a minute they were in the running cattle; Lorena was so frightened she kept her eyes closed, but she could feel the heat of the animals’ bodies. Then they were through the cattle. She looked, hoping to see Gus or one of the cowboys—anyone who might help her. But she saw no one.
When the sound of the stampede died, Lorena let go all hope. She had been stolen by a man Gus said was bad. The man put the horses into a lope, and it seemed to Lorena they were going to lope forever. Blue Duck didn’t look back and didn’t speak. At first she was only conscious of how scared she was, though she felt flickers of anger at Jake for letting it happen. She knew it was as much her fault as Jake’s, but she soon stopped caring whose fault it was. She knew she was as good as dead, and would never get to see San Francisco, the one thing she had always looked forward to. Soon even that loss and the prospect of death ceased to mean much, she grew so tired. She had never ridden so hard. Before morning, all she could think of was stopping, although for all she knew, when they did stop something bad would happen. But in time it came to seem to be worth it just to stop.
Yet when they did stop, in the faint dawn, it was only for five minutes. They had crossed many creeks during the night. Her legs had been wet several times. In a little creek scarcely five feet wide he decided to let the horses water. He untied Lorena’s ankles and nodded for her to get down. She did, and almost fell, her limbs were so weak and numb. It was dark in the little creekbed, but light on the ridge above it. As she stood by her horse, holding on to a stirrup until some feeling came back in her legs, Blue Duck opened his trousers and made water, while the horses drank.
“Get to it, if you plan to,” he said, hardly looking at her.
Lorena couldn’t. She was too scared. And it didn’t occur to her to drink, an omission she would soon regret. Blue Duck drank and then motioned for her to mount again. He quickly retied her ankles. They were moving again as the dawn came. At first the light made her hopeful. Jake or somebody might be riding after them. They might pass a town or a farm—somebody might see that she was being stolen.
But the country they rode through was completely empty. It was a country of rocky hills and ridges and a hot, cloudless sky. A blankness came to her, replacing her foolish hope. Blue Duck never looked back. He seemed to be taking the horses through the roughest country he could find, but he never slackened his pace.
As the day grew hotter, she became thirsty, so thirsty that it was painful to remember that she had stood near a creek and hadn’t drunk. She could remember the sound the creek made as it ran over the rocks. At moments it haunted her; most of the time she was too tired to remember anything. It seemed to her the horses would die if they just rode all day. They rode at a steady trot. In time she regretted, too, that she had not relieved herself—she had been too scared. Hours passed and they crossed creek after creek, but the man didn’t stop again. He just kept riding. The need to relieve herself became an agony—it was mixed with thirst and fatigue, until she didn’t know which was worse. Then she realized that her pants were wet and her thighs stinging—she had gone while she was dozing. Soon her thighs felt scalded from the urine and the constant rubbing of the saddle. The pain was minor compared to her thirst. During the afternoon, with the sun beating down so hot that her shirt was as wet from sweat as if she had swum a river in it, she thought she was going to break down, that she would have to beg the man for water. Her lips were cracked and the sweat off her face ran into the cracks and stung her, but she licked at it. At least it was wet and even a second of wetness on her tongue felt good. She had never been so thirsty in her life, and had not imagined it could be such a pain. The most terrible part was when they crossed water—for creeks were numerous. She would look down at the water as they crossed, and she wanted to beg. She leaned over at one of the deeper creeks, trying to get a little water in her hand, but she couldn’t reach it, though it splashed beneath the horse’s belly. She cried then, tears mingling with the sweat. Her head throbbed from the beating sunlight, and she began to lose hold on life for minutes at a time. She felt she might cross over. What a joke it would be on the man if, when he got her wherever he was taking her, she was dead. He wouldn’t get much from her dead.
But she didn’t die—she just got thirstier and thirstier. Her tongue began to bother her. It seemed to fill her mouth, and when she licked at the drops of sweat it felt as large as her hand.
Then, as she was dreaming of water, she opened her eyes to find that they were stopped by a sizable stream. Blue Duck was untying her ankles.
“I’d say you wet your pants,” he said.
Lorena didn’t care what he said. Her legs wouldn’t work, but she wanted the water so bad she crawled to it, getting her pants muddy, and her arms. She couldn’t drink fast enough—in gulping the water she got some up her nose. While she was drinking, Blue Duck waded in beside her and pulled her up by her hair.
“Don’t drink so fast,” he said. “You’ll founder.”
Then he pushed her head under and held it there. Lorena thought he meant to drown her and tried to grab his legs to pull herself out; but evidently he just wanted to give her a bath, because he soon let go and walked back to the horses. Lorena sat in the water, her clothes soaked, not caring. She drank until she couldn’t drink anymore. Blue Duck had unsaddled the horses, and they were standing in the river, drinking.
When she waded out of the river, Blue Duck was sitting under a tree, chewing on a piece of dried meat. He fished in his saddlebag and gave her a piece. Lorena didn’t feel hungry—but then she remembered she had not felt thirsty that morning, either. She took the piece of jerky.
“We’ll rest a spell till it’s dark,” he said.
She looked at the sun, which was not high. It wouldn’t be much of a rest. She nibbled at the meat, which was so hard her teeth could barely dent it. She went and sat in the shade of a small tree growing by the creek.
Blue Duck hobbled the horses, then came and looked down at her. “I got a treatment for women that try to run away,” he said casually. “I cut a little hole in their stomachs and pull out a gut and wrap it around a limb. Then I drag them thirty or forty feet and tie them down. That way they can watch the coyotes come and eat their guts.”
He went back and lay down under a tree, adjusted his saddlebags for a pillow, and was soon asleep.
Lorena was too tired for his threat to scare her much. She wasn’t going to run away and give him a reason to cut a hole in her stomach. She did think she was going to die, though. She felt death had her, in the form of the Comanchero. She wouldn’t live to be cut or be gnawed by coyotes. She would die if he touched her, she felt. She was too tired to care much. The one thing that crossed her mind was that she should have gone with Xavier. He was a man of his word, and no worse in most respects than other men. And yet she had been determined to go riding off with Jake, who had not even looked after her three weeks. Jake was probably still in Austin, playing cards. She didn’t particularly blame him—playing cards beat most things you could do.
She dozed for what seemed like a minute and woke to find Blue Duck shaking her. It was dusk, the sun just down.
“Let’s git,” he said. “We don’t want to miss the cool of the evening.”
Once again they rode all night. Lorena slept in the saddle and would have fallen off if she hadn’t been tied in the stirrups. At dawn he let her down again, by another creek, and this time she did as he did—peed and drank. They rode all day again through empty country, never seeing a horseman, a town, even an animal. The only thing she notic
ed was that there were fewer trees. She grew so tired of riding that she would have been glad to die, if only because it meant being stopped. She wanted sleep more than she had ever wanted anything. The sun blazed all day. When she dozed, sweat stood on her eyelids and wet her face when she awoke.
Blue Duck took so little interest in her that she couldn’t understand why he had stolen her. He scarcely looked back all day. He untied her when they stopped, tied her again when they mounted. Once, drinking at a creek that was barely a trickle, the hand she was bracing herself with slipped and she got mud on her nose. The sight seemed to amuse him slightly.
“Monkey John will like that yellow hair,” he said. “He’ll ’bout have to marry you when he sees that.”
Later, as he was tying her back on her horse, he mentioned her hair again.
“It’s too bad the tribes played out,” he said. “A few years back all I would have had to do was scalp you. I could have got a bunch for a scalp like yours.”
He reached up and idly fingered her hair. “I hope that goddamn old Ranger hurries along,” he said. “I owe him a few.”
“Gus?” she said. “Gus won’t come. I ain’t his.”
“He’s coming,” Blue Duck said. “I don’t know if it’s for you or for me, but he’s coming. I oughta just gut you and leave you here and let him bury whatever the buzzards and the varmints don’t eat.”
Lorena didn’t look at him, for fear that if she looked he’d do it.
“Only I told the boys I’d bring them a woman,” he said. “I doubt they thought I’d find the likes of you. They’ll probably give me most of their money and all their hides when they see you.”
That day her mare played out. She had been stumbling more and more, as she tired. In the heat of the afternoon she stopped and stood with her head down.
“I guess whoever picked this one was just planning to ride to church,” Blue Duck said. He untied Lorena and put her on the packhorse. They rode off and left the mare. The packhorse lasted only a day, and when he stopped, Blue Duck made her get up behind him on the big sorrel. If it bothered the horse to carry two riders, he didn’t show it. Lorena held to the saddle strings and tried not to touch Blue Duck, although he paid her no mind.
The Lonesome Dove Chronicles (1-4) Page 172
