“Well, he give me the ten,” Lippy said. “I imagine he give Lorie the fifty, too. Gus ain’t cheap, he’s just crazy.”
Dish remembered the night before he had hired on with the Hat Creek outfit, when Gus had lent him two dollars for the same purpose on which he had apparently spent fifty. There was no figuring the man out.
“You oughtn’t to blabbed,” he told Lippy.
“I ain’t told nobody else,” Lippy said, realizing himself that he shouldn’t have blabbed.
Lippy soon went back to the wagon, subdued by his own indiscretion, but not before assuring Dish that the story would go no further.
Dish unsaddled his horse and got his bedroll. He lay on the blanket all night, his head on his saddle, thinking of Lorie, wondering if his chance with her would ever come.
The Kansas sky was thickly seeded with stars. He listened to the Irishman sing the sad songs that seemed to soothe the cattle. He spent the whole night thinking about the woman in the tent nearby, imagining things that might happen when they finally came to Montana and were through with the trail. He didn’t sleep, or want to sleep, for there was no telling when he would get a chance to spend another night close to her. His horse grazed nearby on the good grass, which grew wet with dew as the morning came.
Dish saddled a little before sunup and rode out to look at the herd, which was perfectly peaceful. Then he went to the wagon, ignoring Jasper and Soupy, who were as insolent as ever. He wanted to teach them both a lesson, but couldn’t afford the time. The herd had to be set moving, and somebody would have to hold the point. It was a ticklish problem, for he couldn’t hold the point and help Lorie too. He fixed a plate for Lorena and just grabbed a hunk of bacon for himself.
“Why, look at him, he’s taking her breakfast,” Jasper said. “Dish, you’re so good at toting food, you ought to work in a hotel.”
Dish ignored this sally and walked over to the tent with the plate of food. He was hoping she would be in a talking mood. All night, as he had lain awake, he had thought of things he might say to her, things that would make her see how much he loved her or convince her how happy he could make her. If he could just get her talking for five minutes he might have the opportunity to change everything.
But when he walked up to the tent, Lorena was already standing outside it, buttoning her shirt. She turned and he stopped and blushed, fearful that he had ruined everything by approaching at the wrong time. All the speeches he had practiced in the night left him at once.
“I brought your breakfast,” he said.
Lorena saw that he was embarrassed, although she had only had the top button to go on her shirt. It was just a second of awkwardness, but it brought back memories of her old life and reminded her how it had once pleased her to embarrass men. They might pay her, but they could never really get their money’s worth, for being embarrassed. She had only to look them in the eye for it to happen—it was her revenge. It didn’t work on Gus, but there were precious few like Gus.
“I’ll take down the tent while you eat,” Dish said.
Lorena sat on her saddle and ate. It took Dish only a few minutes to roll up the tent and carry it to the wagon. Then he came back and saddled her horse for her.
“I’ve got to ride the point,” he said. “Just follow along with the wagon. Lippy and the cook will look after you. If you need anything, send for me.”
“I need Gus,” Lorena said. “I wish he hadn’t left. Do you think he’ll come back?”
“Oh, why, of course he will,” Dish said. It was the friendliest she had ever talked to him, though it was about Gus.
“I get shaky,” she said. “Gus knows why. I hope he gets back tonight.”
“It depends on how big a start the horsethieves had,” Dish said.
The day passed, and there was no sign of Gus. Lorena rode close to the wagon. Every few minutes Lippy turned and looked back at her as if he had never seen her before. Almost every time he did, he tipped his hat, which was even filthier than it had been when he worked in the saloon. Lorena didn’t acknowledge him—she remembered how he had always tried to look up her skirts when she came downstairs. She just rode along, watching the horizon to see if she could spot Gus returning. The horizon shimmered so that it would have been hard to see Gus in any case.
They crossed a little creek about noon. There were a few scraggly bushes growing along the line of the creek. Lorena didn’t pay them much attention, but Po Campo did. When the herd had moved on, he came walking over to her, his sack half full of wild plums.
“These plums are sweet,” he said, handing her a few.
She dismounted and ate the plums, which indeed were sweet. Then she walked over and washed her face in the creek. The water was green and cold.
“Snow water,” Po Campo said.
“I don’t see no snow,” she said.
“It comes from up there,” Po Campo said, pointing west. “From those mountains you can’t see.”
Lorena looked but could only see the brown plain. She ate a few more of the wild plums.
“I’ve been finding onions,” Po said. “That’s good. I’ll put them in the beans.”
I wish you’d find Gus, she thought, but of course that was impossible. They rode into the dusk, but Gus did not return. Soon after the herd was bedded, Dish came and unrolled the little tent. He could tell from Lorena’s face that she was sad. She had unsaddled, and she sat by her saddle in the grass. It pained him to see her look so alone and so tired. He tried to think of something to say that might cheer her up, but words had deserted him again. They always seemed to desert him just when he needed them most.
“I guess those horsethieves had a big start on them,” he said.
“He could be dead,” Lorena said.
“No, not Gus,” Dish said. “He’s had lots of experience with horsethieves. Besides, he’s got the Captain with him. They’re expert fighters.”
Lorena knew that. She had seen Gus kill the Kiowas and the buffalo hunters. But it didn’t ease her fears. She would have to lie in the tent all night, worrying. A bullet could hit anyone, she knew—even Gus. If he didn’t come back, she would have no hope of protection.
“Well, I’ll always help, if you’ll let me,” Dish said. “I’ll do about anything for you, Lorie.”
Lorena knew that already, but she didn’t want him to do anything for her. She didn’t answer, and she didn’t eat, either. She went into the tent and lay awake all night while Dish Boggett sat nearby, keeping watch. It seemed to him he had never felt so lonely. The mere fact that she was so close, and yet they were separate, made the loneliness keener. When he had just thrown his blanket down with the boys, he didn’t imagine her so much, and he could sleep. Now she was just a few yards away—he could have crept up to the tent and heard her breathing. And yet it seemed he would never be able to eliminate those few yards. In some way Lorie would always be as distant from him as the Kansas stars. At times he felt that he had almost rather not be in love with her, for it brought him no peace. What was the use of it, if it was only going to be so painful? And yet, she had spoken to him in a friendly voice only that day. He couldn’t give up while there was a chance.
He lay awake all night with his head on his saddle, thinking of Lorie—not sleeping, nor even wanting to.
74.
WHEN THEY FOUND Wilbarger’s man Chick and the boy who had been traveling with them, there wasn’t much left to bury. The coyotes and buzzards had had a full day at them. As they rode toward the little knoll where the buzzards swarmed, they passed a fat old badger carrying a human hand—a black hand at that. Newt was stunned—he assumed they would shoot the badger and get the hand back so it could be buried, but no one seemed concerned that the badger had someone’s hand.
“He had a hand,” he pointed out to Pea Eye.
“Well, whosever it was won’t be using it no more, and that old badger had to work for it with all them dern buzzards around,” Pea Eye said. “A hand is mostly just bone, anyway.”
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Newt didn’t see what that had to do with it—it was still a human hand.
“Yes, that’s interesting,” Augustus said. “That old badger made a good snatch and got himself a few bones. But the ground will get his bones too, in a year or two. It’s like I told you last night, son. The earth is mostly just a boneyard.
“But pretty in the sunlight,” he added.
It was a fine, bright day, but Newt didn’t feel fine. He wanted to go catch up with the badger and shoot him, but he didn’t. There seemed to be hundreds of buzzards on the knoll. Suddenly a big coyote ran right out of the midst of them, carrying something—Newt couldn’t see what.
“I guess the buzzards outnumber the coyotes in these parts,” Augustus said. “Usually the buzzards have to wait until they get through.”
When they rode up on the knoll, the smell hit them. A few of the buzzards flew off, but many stood their ground defiantly, even continuing to feed. Captain Call drew rein, but Augustus rode up to them and shot two with his pistol. The rest reluctantly flew off.
“You like to eat, see how you like being eaten,” he said to the dead buzzards. “There’s that bad black man. Wilbarger did get him.”
The smell suddenly got to Newt—he dismounted and was sick. Pea Eye dug a shallow grave with a little shovel they had brought. They rolled the remains in the grave and covered them, while the buzzards watched. Many stood on the prairie, like a black army, while others circled in the sky. Deets went off to study the thieves’ tracks. Newt had vomited so hard that he felt light-headed, but even so, he noticed that Deets didn’t look happy when he returned.
“How many are we up against?” Call asked.
“Four,” Deets said. “Just four.”
“Hell, there’s five of us,” Augustus said. “There’s less than one apiece of the horsethieves, so what are you so down about?”
Deets pointed to a horse track. “Mr. Jake is with them,” he said. “That’s his track.”
They all looked at the track for a moment.
“Well, they’re horsethieves and murderers,” Augustus reminded them. “They could have stolen Jake’s horse—they could have even murdered him for it.”
Deets was silent. They could speculate all they wanted—he knew. A different man would have resulted in a different track. Mr. Jake tended to ride slightly sideways in the saddle, which the track showed. It was not just his horse—it was him.
The news hit Call hard. He had stopped expecting anything of Jake Spoon, and had supposed they would travel different routes for the rest of their lives. Jake would gamble and whore—he always had. No one expected any better of him, but no one had expected any worse, either. Jake hadn’t the nerve to lead a criminal life, in Call’s estimation. But there was his track, beside the tracks of three killers.
“Well, I hope you’re wrong,” he said to Deets.
Deets was silent. So, for once, was Augustus. If Jake was with the killers, then there was no hope for him.
“I wish he’d had the sense to stay with Lorie,” Augustus said. “She might have aggravated him some, but she wouldn’t have led him to this.”
“It’s his dern laziness,” Call said. “Jake just kind of drifts. Any wind can blow him.”
He touched the mare and rode on—he didn’t need Deets in order to follow the tracks of nearly thirty horses. He put the mare into a slow lope, a gait she could hold all day if necessary.
Newt rode beside Pea Eye, who appeared to be solemn too. “Do you think it’s Jake?” Newt asked.
“I can’t read a dern track,” Pea Eye said. “Never could. But Deets can read ’em easier than I could read a newspaper. I guess it’s Jake. It’d be a pity if it’s us that has to hang him,” he added, a little later.
“We couldn’t,” Newt said, startled. It had not dawned on him that Jake could have put himself in that bad a position.
Pea Eye looked at him, an unhappy expression on his face. It was unusual for Pea to change expressions. Usually he just looked puzzled.
“The Captain would hang you, if he caught you with a stolen horse,” Pea Eye said. “So would Gus.”
A few hours later they came upon the dead settlers, still hanging, shreds of charred clothes clinging to their bodies. A coyote was tugging at the foot of one of them, trying to pull the body down. It ran when the party approached. Newt wanted to be sick again, but had nothing in his stomach. He had never expected to see anything more awful than the buzzard-torn bodies they had buried that morning, and yet it was still the same day and already there was a worse sight. It seemed the farther they went through the plains, the worse things got.
“Those boys are bad ones, whoever they are,” Augustus said. “Hung those poor bastards and burned them too.”
Call had ridden in for a closer look. “No,” he said. “Shot ’em, then hung ’em, then burned them.”
They cut the men down and buried them in one grave.
“Hell, gravediggers could make a fortune in these parts,” Augustus said. “Pea, you ought to buy you a bigger spade and go in business.”
“No, I’ll pass, Gus,” Pea Eye said mildly. “I’d rather dig wells.”
Call was thinking of Jake—that a man who had ridden with them so long could let such a thing happen. Of course he was outnumbered, but it was no excuse. He could have fought or run, once he saw the caliber of his companions.
Deets had ridden on, to evaluate the trail. They overtook him a few hours later. His face was sad.
“They’re close,” he said. “Stopped at a creek.”
“Probably stopped to baptize one another,” Augustus said. “Did you see ’em, or just smell ’em?”
“I seen ’em,” Deets said. “Four men.”
“What about Jake?” Call asked.
“He’s one,” Deets said.
“Are they just watering the stock, or have they camped?” Call wanted to know.
“They’re camped,” Deets said. “They killed somebody in a wagon and he had whiskey.”
“More work for the gravediggers,” Augustus said, checking his rifle. “We better go challenge them before they wipe out Kansas.”
Pea Eye and Newt were left with the horses. Deets led Call and Augustus on foot for a mile. They crept up the crest of a ridge and saw Wilbarger’s horses grazing three or four miles away on the rolling prairie. Between them and the horse herd was a steep banked creek. A small wagon was stopped on the near bank, and four men were lounging on their saddle blankets. One of the men was Jake Spoon. The corpse of the man who had been driving the wagon lay some fifty yards away. The men on the blankets were amusing themselves by shooting their pistols at the buzzards that attempted to approach the corpse. One man, annoyed at missing with his pistol, picked up a rifle and knocked over a buzzard.
“They’re cocky, I’d say,” Call said. “They don’t even have a guard.”
“Well, they’ve killed the whole population of this part of the country except us, and we’re just wandering through,” Augustus said.
“Let’s wait awhile,” Call said. “When they’re good and drunk we’ll come along the creekbed and surprise ’em.”
Augustus watched for a few minutes. “I hope Jake makes a fight,” he said.
“He can’t fight, and you know it,” Call said.
“The point is, I’d rather shoot him than hang him,” Augustus said.
“I wouldn’t relish hanging him,” Call said. “But there he is.”
He walked back and explained the situation to Pea Eye and Newt. There was nothing they need do except bring the horses fast when they heard shooting.
“Jake with them?” Pea Eye asked.
“He’s there,” Call said. “It’s a bad situation, but he put himself in it.”
They waited until late afternoon, when the sun was angling down toward the horizon. Then, walking a wide circle to the east, they struck the creek a mile below where the men were camped and walked quietly up the creekbed. The banks were high and made a perfect shelter
. They saw three horses watering at the creek, and Call feared the animals would give them away, but the horses were not alarmed.
Soon they heard the faint talk of the men—they were still lounging on their saddle blankets.
Call, in the lead, crept a little closer.
“Let’s stay the night,” he heard a man say. “I’m too full of liquor to be chousing horses in the dark.”
“It’ll sober you up,” another voice said. “It’s cooler traveling at night.”
“Why travel?” the first man said. “Some more wagons might come along and we could rob ’em. It’s easier than banks.”
“Eddie, you’re as lazy as Jake,” the second voice said. “Neither one of you pulls your weight in this outfit.”
“I’d have to be quick to beat you at killing people, Dan,” little Eddie said.
Call and Augustus looked at one another. Dan Suggs was the name Wilbarger had mentioned—he had called his killers accurately.
Jake was lying on his saddle blanket feeling drunk and depressed. Dan Suggs had shot the old man driving the wagon at a hundred yards’ distance, without even speaking to him. Dan had been hiding in the trees along the creek, so the old man died without even suspecting that he was in danger. He only had about thirty dollars on him, but he had four jugs of whiskey, and they were divided equally, although Dan claimed he ought to have two for doing the shooting. Jake had been drinking steadily, hoping he would get so drunk the Suggses would just go off and leave him. But he knew they wouldn’t. For one thing, he had eight hundred dollars on him, won in poker games in Fort Worth, and if Dan Suggs didn’t know it, he certainly suspected it. They wouldn’t leave him without robbing him, or rob him without killing him, so for the time being his hope was to ride along and not rile Dan.
He had been lying flat down, for he felt very weary, but he raised up on his elbow to take another swig from the jug, and he and little Eddie saw the three men at the same moment: three men with leveled rifles, standing on the riverbank with the sun at a blinding angle right behind them. Jake had taken off his gun belt—he couldn’t rest comfortably with it on. Little Eddie had his pistol on and grabbed for it, but a rifle cracked and a bullet took him in the shoulder and kicked him back off the saddle blanket.
The Lonesome Dove Chronicles (1-4) Page 196