“You best go get him unless you think you’re bulletproof,” Dan said in a deadly voice.
“I ain’t going if Wilbarger’s out there,” Roy said. “You won’t shoot me neither—I’m your brother.”
There were two more shots, so close that Jake jumped.
“Did I get you?” Dan asked.
“No, and don’t shoot no more,” Roy said, in a surprised voice. “Why would you shoot at me?”
“There ain’t nobody else around to shoot at except Jake, and you know his reputation,” Dan said sarcastically.
They heard horses coming. “Boys?” little Eddie called out.
“No, mostly girls here tonight,” Dan said. “Are you waiting for election day or what? Bring the goddamn horses.”
Little Eddie brought them. The dawn was behind him, very faint but coming. Soon it was possible to make out the results of the battle. Wilbarger’s two men were dead, still in their blankets. One was Chick, the little weasel Jake remembered seeing the morning they brought the horses in from Mexico. He had been hit in the neck by a rifle bullet, Frog Lip’s, Dan said. The bullet had practically torn his head loose from his body—the corpse reminded Jake of a dead rabbit, perhaps because Chick had rabbitlike teeth, exposed now in a stiff grimace.
The other dead man was just a boy, probably Wilbarger’s wrangler.
Of Wilbarger himself, there was no sign.
“I know I put three into him,” Dan Suggs said. “He must have slept with the damn reins in his hand or he’d have never got to his horse.”
Frog Lip lay on the ground, still gripping his rifle. His eyes were wide open and he was breathing as heavily as a horse after a long run. His wound was in the groin—his pants were wet with blood. The rising sun shone in his face, which was beaded with sweat.
“Who shot Frog?” little Eddie asked in surprise.
“Why, that damn Wilbarger, who else?” Dan said. He had no more than glanced at Frog Lip—he was scanning the plains with his spyglasses, hoping to catch a glimpse of the cowman. But the plains were empty.
“I never thought anybody would get Frog,” little Eddie said, unnerved by what he saw.
Dan Suggs was snarling with frustration. He glared at his brothers as if they were solely responsible for Wilbarger’s escape.
“You boys ought to go home and teach school,” he said. “It’s all you’re good for.”
“What did you expect me to do?” Roy asked. “I can’t see in the dark.”
Dan walked over and looked down at Frog Lip. He ignored his brothers. He knelt down and pulled the Negro’s bloodstained shirt loose from his pants, exposing the wound. After a second he stood up.
“Frog, I guess this was your unlucky day,” he said. “I guess we better just shoot you.”
Frog Lip didn’t answer. He didn’t move or even blink his eyes.
“Shoot him and let’s go,” Dan said, looking at little Eddie.
“Shoot Frog?” little Eddie said, as if he had not heard quite right.
“Yes, Frog’s the one with the slug in his gut,” Dan said. “He’s the one that needs to finish up dying. Shoot him and let’s ride.”
“I hate to shoot Frog,” little Eddie said in a dazed tone.
“I guess we’ll just leave him for the buzzards then, if you’re so squeamish,” Dan said. He removed the rifle from the Negro’s hand and took the big pistol out of his belt.
“Ain’t you gonna let him keep his guns?” Roy asked.
“Nope,” Dan said. “He won’t need ’em, but we might.”
With that he mounted and rode over to look at the horse herd they had captured.
“You shoot him, Roy,” little Eddie said. “I hate to.”
“No, Dan’s mad at me anyway,” Roy said. “If I do something he ordered you to do, I’ll be the one shot.”
With that he mounted and rode off too. Jake walked over to his horse, feeling that it had been a black day when he met the Suggses.
“Would you like to shoot him, Jake?” little Eddie asked. “I’ve known him all my life.”
“I wouldn’t care to,” Jake said. He remembered how insolent Frog Lip had been only the day before, and how he had wanted to shoot him then. It had been a rapid turnabout. The man lay on the ground, dying of a cruel wound, and none of the men he rode with even wanted to put him out of his misery.
“Well, damn,” little Eddie said. “Nobody’s much help.”
He shrugged, drew his gun, and without another word walked over and shot Frog Lip in the head. The body jerked, and that was that.
“Get his money,” Dan Suggs yelled. “I forgot to.”
Little Eddie went through the dead man’s bloody pockets before he mounted.
Jake had supposed they might try to go after Wilbarger, since he was wounded, but Dan Suggs turned the horse herd north.
“Ain’t we going after that man?” Roy asked.
“I couldn’t track an elephant and neither could you,” Dan said. “Frog was our tracker. I shot Wilbarger three times, I expect he’ll die.”
“I thought we was going to Abilene,” little Eddie said. “Abilene ain’t this way.”
Dan sneered at his brother. “I wish Wilbarger had shot you instead of Frog,” he said. “Frog was a damn sight better hand.”
Jake thought maybe he had seen the last of the killing. He felt it could be worse. The shooting had all been in pitch-darkness. Wilbarger hadn’t seen him. He couldn’t be connected with the raid. It was luck, of a sort. If he could just get free of the Suggses, he wouldn’t be in such hopeless trouble.
As he rode along, trailing the twenty-five horses, he decided the best thing for him would be to leave the west. He could travel over to St. Louis and catch a boat down to New Orleans, or even go east to New York. Both of them were fine towns for gamblers, or so he had heard. In either one he could be safe and could pursue the kind of life he enjoyed. Looking back on it, it seemed to him that he had been remarkably lucky to survive as long as he had in such a rough place, where killing was an everyday affair. No man’s luck lasted forever, and the very fact that he had fallen in with the Suggses suggested that his was about exhausted.
He resolved to bend his wits to getting out while the getting was possible. The death of Frog Lip made the task easier, for, as Dan said, Frog Lip was the only tracker in the crowd. If he could just manage to get a good jump, somehow, he might get away. And if he did he wouldn’t stop until he hit the Mississippi.
With his mind made up, he felt cheerful—it always gave a man a lift to escape death. It was a beautiful sunny day and he was alive to see it. With any luck at all, he had seen the end of the trouble.
His good mood lasted two hours, and then something occurred which turned it sour. It seemed as if the world was deserted except for them and the horses, and then to his surprise he saw a tent. It was staked under a single tree, directly ahead of them. Near the tent, two men were plowing with four mules. Dan Suggs was riding ahead of the horse herd, and Jake saw him lope off toward the settlers. He didn’t think much about it—he was watching the tent to see if any women were around. Then he heard the faint pop of a shot and looked up to see one of the settlers fall. The other man was standing there, no gun in his hand, nothing. He stood as if paralyzed, and in a second Dan Suggs shot him too. Then he trotted over to the tent, got off his horse and went inside.
Jake hardly knew what to think. He had just seen two men shot in the space of seconds. He had no idea why. By the time he got near the tent Dan Suggs had drug a little trunk outside and was rifling it. He pitched the clothes which were in the trunk out on the grass. His brothers rode over to join the fun, and were soon holding up various garments, to see if they fit. Jake rode over too, feeling nervous. Dan Suggs was clearly in a killing mood. Both farmers lay dead on the grass near their mule team, which was quietly grazing. Both had bullet holes in their foreheads. Dan had shot them at point-blank range.
“Well, they didn’t have much but a watch,” Dan said, holding
up a fine-looking silver pocket watch. “I guess I’ll take the watch.”
His brothers found nothing of comparable value, although they searched the tent thoroughly. While they were looking, Dan started a fire with some coal oil he had found and made some coffee.
“I tell you, let’s hang ’em,” he said, strolling over to look at the dead men. Both were in their forties, and both had scraggly beards.
Roy Suggs looked puzzled. “Why would you want to hang them?” he asked. “They’re already dead.”
“I know, but it’s a shame to waste that tree,” Dan said. “It’s the only tree around. What’s a tree good for if not to hang somebody from?”
The thought made little Eddie giggle, a nervous giggle.
“Dan, you beat all,” he said. “I never heard of hanging dead men.”
Nonetheless Dan meant it. He put ropes around both the dead men’s necks and had his brothers drag them to the tree and hoist them up. It was not a large tree, and the dead men’s feet were only a few inches off the ground. Jake was not called on to help, and he didn’t.
When the men were hung, twisting at the end of the ropes, Dan Suggs stood back to study the effect, and evidently didn’t like it. His brothers were watching him nervously—it was plain from his face that he was still in an angry mood.
“These goddamn sodbusters,” he said. “I hate their guts and livers.”
“Well, that’s fine, Dan,” Roy said. “They’re dead enough.”
“No, they ain’t,” Dan said. “A goddamn sodbuster can never be dead enough to suit me.”
With that he went over and got the can of coal oil he had used to start the fire. He began to splash it on the hanged men’s clothes.
“What’s that for?” little Eddie asked. “You’ve already shot ’em and hung ’em.”
“Yes, and now I intend to burn them,” Dan said. “Any objections from you schoolteachers?” He looked at all three of them, challenge in his angry eyes. No one said a word. Jake felt sickened by what was happening, but he didn’t try and stop it. Dan Suggs was crazy, there was no doubt of that, but his craziness didn’t affect his aim. The only way to stop him would be to kill him, a risky business in broad daylight.
Little Eddie giggled his nervous giggle again as he watched his brother set the dead men’s clothes on fire. Even with the coal oil it wasn’t easy—Dan had to splash them several times before he got their clothes wet enough to blaze. But finally he did, and the clothes flared up. It was a terrible sight. Jake thought he wouldn’t look, but despite himself he did. The men’s sweaty clothes were burned right off them, and their scraggly beards seared. A few rags of clothes fell off beneath their feet. The men’s pants burned off, leaving their belts and a few shreds of cloth around their waists.
“Dan, you beat all,” little Eddie repeated several times. He giggled often—he was unnerved. Roy Suggs methodically tore the tent apart and poked through all the men’s meager belongings, hoping to find valuables.
“They didn’t have nothing,” he said. “I don’t know why you even bothered to kill them.”
“It was their unlucky day, same as it was Frog’s,” Dan said. “We’ll miss Frog, the man could shoot. I wish I had that damn Wilbarger here, I’d cook him good.”
After drinking some more coffee, Dan Suggs mounted up. The two farmers, the trunks of their bodies blackened, still hung from the tree.
“Don’t you intend to bury them?” Jake asked. “Somebody’s gonna find them, you know, and it could be the law.”
Dan Suggs just laughed. “I’d like to see the law that could take me,” he said. “No man in Kansas could manage it, and anyway I fancy seeing Nebraska.”
He turned to his brothers, who were dispiritedly raking through the settlers’ clothes, still hoping to find something worth taking.
“Get them mules, boys,” Dan said. “No sense in leaving good mules.”
With that he rode off.
“He’s bloody today,” Roy said, going over to the mules. “If we run into any more sodbusters, it’s too bad for them.”
Jake’s happy mood was gone, though the day was as sunny as ever. It was clear to him that his only hope was to escape the Suggses as soon as possible. Dan Suggs could wake up feeling bloody any day, and the next time there might be no sodbusters around to absorb his fury, in which case things could turn really grim. He trotted along all day, well back from the horse herd, trying to forget the two blackened bodies, whose shoes had still been smoldering when they left.
72.
DEETS FOUND WILBARGER by backtracking his horse. The horse, with dried blood on the saddle and crusted in its mane, was waiting for them on the north bank of the Arkansas. Several times, as they were bringing the cattle to the crossing, the horse started to swim over to them, but turned back. Deets crossed first, ahead of Old Dog, and recognized the horse even before he hit the bank. It was the big bay Wilbarger had ridden into Lonesome Dove several months before.
He rode up and caught the horse easily—but then, what looked to be a simple cattle crossing turned out to be anything but simple. Dish Boggett’s horse, which had crossed many rivers calmly and easily, took fright in midstream and very nearly drowned Dish. The horse went crazy in the water, and if Dish hadn’t been a strong swimmer, would have pawed him under. Even then it might have happened if Deets had not dashed back into the water and fought the horse off long enough for Dish to get ashore.
The trouble opened a gap in the line of cowboys and some three hundred cattle veered off and began to swim straight downstream. The line of cattle broke, and in no time there were pockets of cattle here and there, swimming down the Arkansas, paying no attention to the riders who tried to turn them. Newt got caught beside such a bunch, and after swimming two hundred yards downstream with them, ended up on the same bank he had started out on.
Eventually the herd split into five or six groups. Augustus came over to help, but there was not much he could do. Most of the cattle went back to the south bank, but quite a few swam far downstream.
“Looks like your herd’s floating away, Woodrow,” Augustus said.
“I know, I’m surprised that it ain’t hailing or shooting lightning bolts at us,” Call said. Though the scattering was annoying, he was not seriously disturbed, for the river was fairly shallow and the banks rather low where they were crossing. It would only take a little more time to restart the cattle that had gone back to the south bank. Fortunately no cattle were bogged, and this time no cowboys drowned.
“Good lord,” Augustus said, as Deets came up leading the bay. “Where’s Mister Wilbarger, that he could afford to let his horse run loose?”
“Dead, I fear,” Call said. “Look at the blood on that horse’s mane.”
“Hell, I liked Wilbarger,” Augustus said. “I’d be right sorry if he’s dead. I’ll go have a look.”
“Who’ll watch the girl while you’re gone?” Call asked.
Augustus stopped. “You’re right,” he said. “It might make her uneasy if I just ride off. Maybe Deets better go have the look.”
“It could be Indians, you know,” Call said. “I think you better move her a little closer to the wagon.”
Deets didn’t come back until midafternoon, by which time the herd was a few miles north of the Arkansas.
“I doubt cattle has ever et this grass,” Augustus said. “I doubt anyone’s trailed cattle this far west of Dodge. Buffalo is probably all that’s et it.”
Call’s mind was on Wilbarger, a resourceful man if ever he had seen one. If such a man had got caught, then there could well be serious trouble waiting for them.
“You’re supposed to be able to smell Indians,” he said to Augustus. “Do you smell any?”
“No,” Augustus said. “I just smell a lot of cowshit. I expect my smeller will be ruined forever before this trip is over by smelling so much cowshit.
“It don’t mention buffalo in the Bible,” Augustus remarked.
“Well, why should it?” Call sa
id.
“It might be that a buffalo is a kind of ox, only browner,” Augustus said. “Ox are mentioned in the Bible.”
“What got you on the Bible?” Call asked.
“Boredom,” Augustus said. “Religious controversy is better than none.”
“If there’s mad Indians around, you may get more controversy than you bargained for,” Call said.
Lorena heard the remark—she was riding behind them. Mention of Indians brought back memories and made her nervous.
Finally they saw Deets, coming along the river from the southeast. It was clear from the dried sweat on his horse that he had ridden hard.
“They didn’t get Deets, whoever they are,” Augustus said.
“I found the man,” Deets said, drawing rein. “He’s shot.”
“Dead?” Call asked.
“Dying, I ’spect,” Deets said. “I couldn’t move him. He’s hit three times.”
“How far away?”
“About ten miles,” Deets said. “I got him propped up, but I couldn’t bring him.”
“Did he say much?” Augustus asked.
“He wants to see you, if you’re not too busy,” Deets said. “He said if you were busy don’t make the trip.”
“Why would I be that busy?” Augustus asked.
Deets looked at him. “He’s real polite, that gentleman,” he said. “I guess he thinks he might be dead before you get there.”
“Oh, I see—the man don’t want to put nobody out,” Augustus said. “I’ll go anyway. I admire his conversation.”
“Change horses,” Call said to Deets, and Deets loped off. He was trying to decide who they ought to take, and finally decided just to take Pea Eye, Deets and the boy. The boy could watch the horses, if there was trouble. It meant leaving the herd, but there was no help for it. There was good grazing and the herd looked peaceful. Dish and the rest of the crew ought to be about to handle it.
“Was it Indians got him?” he asked, when Deets returned.
Deets shook his head. “White men,” he said. “Horsethieves.”
“Oh,” Call said. “Murdering horsethieves, at that.” But it relieved his mind, for horsethieves wouldn’t attack an outfit as large as theirs.
The Lonesome Dove Chronicles (1-4) Page 194
