Then he heard the person panting and knew it was Janey.
"I couldn't keep up no longer," she said.
"I thought he'd slow down but he just keeps going." Joe was so startled to see a girl materialize behind Roscoe that he didn't say a word. He found it hard to credit that the person who had thrown the rocks could be a girl. Yet he had seen the rocks hit the men. How could a girl throw so hard and straight?
July had appropriated Hutto's shotgun, loaded it and put it across his saddle-- he assumed it would make the prisoners think twice before starting trouble. His one thought was to get back to Fort Worth, turn the men over and start at once to look for Elmira.
They rode all night, and when the plains got gray they were no more than five miles from Fort Worth. He glanced back at the prisoners and was startled to see the girl, riding behind Roscoe.
She looked very young. Her bare legs were as thin as a bird's. Roscoe was slumped over the horn, asleep, and the girl held the reins. She was also watching the two prisoners, both of whom were plenty wide-awake. July got down and checked Hutto's knots, which indeed were slipping.
"I guess you're Janey," he said to the girl. She nodded. July handed her the shotgun to hold while he retied Hutto.
"My God, don't do that, she's apt to cut us in two," Jim said. His voice had a husky croak from the blow on his throat--it pained him to speak, but the sight of the girl with the shotgun clearly pained him more.
Joe had managed to get the sleep out of his eyes, and was rather aggrieved that July had given the gun to the girl. She was no older than he was and she was female. He felt he ought to have been given the shotgun.
"You don't give a man much of a chance, do you?" Hutto said, as July retied him. He was a messy sight from all the dried blood on his mouth and his beard, but he seemed cheerful.
"Nope," July said.
"If they don't hang us, you better watch out for Jim," Hutto said. "Jim hates to have anyone point a gun at him. He's got a vengeful nature, too." Jim did seem vengeful. His eyes were shining with hatred, and he was looking at the girl. The look was so hot that many men would have flinched from it, but the girl didn't.
All the while Roscoe slumped over his horse's neck, snoring away. They were nearly on the outskirts of Fort Worth before he woke up, and it was not until July handed the prisoners over to the sheriff that he began to feel alive.
Janey had acted like she wanted to bolt when they came into town--the sight of so many wagons and people clearly upset her--but she held on. July found a livery stable, for it would be necessary to rest the horses for a while. It was run by a woman, who kindly offered to scrape up a little breakfast for the youngsters. It consisted of corn bread and bacon, which they ate sitting on big washtubs outside the woman's house.
Roscoe's clothes were practically in ribbons, so much so that the woman laughed when she saw him. She offered to mend his clothes for another fifty cents, but Roscoe had to decline, since he had nothing to wear while the work was being done.
"This is a big-looking town," Roscoe said.
"I guess I can buy myself some clothes." "Not for no fifty cents," the woman said.
"That's nothing but a sack the girl's wearing. You ought to get her something decent to wear while you're buying." "Well, I might," Roscoe said. It was true that Janey's dress was a mere rag.
Janey seemed to think Forth Worth was quite a sight. She was over her fright, and she looked around with interest.
"Is that girl your daughter?" the woman asked.
"No," Roscoe said. "I never saw her till last week." "Well, she's somebody's daughter and she deserves better than a sack to wear," the woman said. "That boy's dressed all right, how come you skimped on the girl?" "No opportunity," Roscoe said. "I just found her up in the country." The woman had a red face, and it got redder when she was angry, as she now clearly was. "I don't know what to think of you men," she said, and went in her house and slammed the door.
"Where did you get her?" July asked.
"I didn't get her, exactly," Roscoe said. He felt on the defensive. It was clear that people would think the worst of him, whatever he did.
No doubt in Fort Smith the word would be out that instead of sticking to orders he had run off with the first young girl he could find.
"She run off and followed me," he added.
July looked noncommittal.
"A dern old man beat her and used her hard, and that's why she run off," Roscoe elaborated. "Can we got to a saloon? I'd sure fancy a beer." July took him to a saloon and bought him a beer. Now that he had Roscoe alone he felt curiously reluctant to mention Elmira. Even hearing her name spoken would be painful.
"What about Ellie?" he said finally. "Peach said she left." "Well, Peach is right," Roscoe said.
"Or if she didn't leave, then she's hiding.
Or else a bear got her." "Did you see bear tracks?" July asked.
"No," Roscoe admitted.
"Then a bear didn't get her," July said.
"She probably left on the whiskey boat," Roscoe said, trying to hide behind his beer glass.
"I don't see why," July said softly, almost to himself. He didn't see why. He had never done anything to disturb her that he could remember. He had never hit her, or even spoken harshly to her. What would prompt a woman to run off when nothing was wrong? Of course, it wasn't true that nothing had been wrong. Something had been. He just didn't know what. He didn't know why she had married him if she didn't like him, and he had the sense that she didn't. It was true that Peach had hinted a few times that people got married for reasons other than liking, but Peach was known to be cynical.
Now, in the saloon, he remembered Peach's hints. Maybe Ellie had never liked him.
Maybe she had married him for reasons she hadn't wanted to mention. Thinking about it all made him feel very sad.
"Did you talk to her at all after I left?" he asked Roscoe.
"No," Roscoe admitted.
July didn't speak for five minutes.
Roscoe turned over in his mind various excuses for not seeing Elmira, but in truth, it had never once occurred to him to go and see her.
He slowly drank his beer.
"What about Jake?" he asked.
"He's to the south," July said. "He's coming with a trail herd. I want to find Ellie.
Once that's done we'll look for Jake." He fished some money out of his pocket and paid for the beers. "Maybe you ought to take the young ones and go back to Arkansas," he said. "I'm going after Ellie." "I'll come with you," Roscoe said. Now that he had found July, he had no intention of losing him again. He had had plenty of trouble coming, and yet worse might occur if he tried to go back on his own.
"I expect if we paid that woman she'd board the girl," July said. "You go buy some duds. You'll be a laughingstock if you try to travel in those you got on." The woman at the livery stable agreed to board Janey for three dollars a month. July paid for two months. When told she was to stay in Fort Worth, Janey didn't say a word. The woman spoke to her cheerfully about getting some better clothes, but Janey sat on the washtub, silent.
The woman offered to take Joe, too, and board him free if he would help out around the livery stable. July was tempted, but Joe looked so unhappy that he relented and decided to let him stay with them. Then Roscoe showed up, in clothes that looked so stiff it was a wonder he could even walk in them.
"I guess you might break them clothes in by Christmas," the livery-stable woman said, laughing. "You look like you're wearing stovepipes." "I can't help it if they're black," Roscoe said. "It was all they had that fit." He felt sorry about leaving Janey. What if old Sam got well and tracked them to Fort Worth and found her? He offered her two dollars in case she had expenses, but Janey just shook her head. When they rode off, she was still sitting on the big washtub.
Joe was glad she wasn't coming. She made him feel that he didn't do things very well.
He didn't have long to enjoy being glad, though.
That night they campe
d on the plains, twenty miles north of Fort Worth. July felt it was all right to sleep without a guard, as there were trail herds on both sides of them. They could hear the night herders singing to the cattle.
In the morning, when Joe opened his eyes, Janey was squatting by the cold campfire. She still wore her sack. Even July had not heard her come. When July woke up she handed him back the six dollars he had given the woman.
July just took it, looking surprised. Joe felt annoyed. It was wrong of the girl to come without July's permission. If the Indians carried her off, he for one would not be too sorry--although, when he thought about it, he realized he himself might be an easier catch. The girl had followed them at night, across the plains. It was something he couldn't have done.
All that day the girl ran along on her own, never getting far behind. She was not like any of the girls Joe had known in Fort Smith, none of whom could have kept up for five minutes. Joe didn't know what to make of her, and neither did July, or even Roscoe, who had found her.
But soon they were far out on the plains, and it was clear to everyone that Janey was along for the trip.
Long before the whiskey boat stopped, Elmira knew she was going to have trouble with Big Zwey. The man had never approached her, or even spoken to her, but every time she went out of her shed to sit and watch the water, she felt his eyes on her. And when they loaded the whiskey in wagons and started across the plains for Bent's Fort, his eyes followed her in whatever wagon she chose to ride for the day.
It seemed to her it might be the fact that she was so small that made Big Zwey so interested. It was a problem she had had before. Huge men seemed to like her because she was so tiny. Big Zwey was even larger than the buffalo hunter who had caused her to run to July.
Sometimes in the evening, when he brought her her food, Fowler would sit and talk with her a bit.
He had a scar which ran over his nose and down across his lips into his beard. He had a rough look, but his eyes were dreamy.
"This whiskey-hauling business has about petered out," he said one evening. "Indians kept the trade going. Now they've about got them all penned up, down in these parts. I may go up north." "Are there many towns up north?" she asked, remembering that Dee had mentioned going north.
Dee liked his comforts--hotels and barbershops and such. Once she had offered to cut his hair and had made a mess of it. Dee had been good-natured about it, but he did remark that it paid to stick to professionals. He was vain about his looks.
"There's Ogallala," Fowler said. "That's on the Platte. There's towns in Montana, but that's a long way." Big Zwey had a deep voice. She could sometimes hear him talking to the men, even over the creak of the wagon wheels. He wore a long buffalo coat and seldom took it off, even when the days were hot.
One morning there was great excitement. Just as the morning mists began to thin, the man on guard claimed to have seen six Indians on a ridge.
He was a young man, very nervous. If there were Indians, they did not reappear. During the day the men surprised three buffalo and killed one of them. That night Fowler brought Elmira samples of the liver and the tongue--the best parts, he said.
The men had talked about the Fort so much that Elmira had supposed it was a real town, but it was just a few scattered buildings, none in good repair. There was only one woman there, the wife of a blacksmith, and she had gone crazy due to the death of all five of her children. She sat in a chair all day, saying nothing to anyone.
Fowler did his best for Elmira. He got the traders to let her have a little room--just a tiny, dirty closet, really. It was next to a warehouse where piles of buffalo skins were stored.
The smell of the skins was worse than anything that had happened on the river. Her room was full of fleas that had escaped from the skins. She spent much of her time scratching.
Though the Fort was nothing much to see, it was a busy place, with riders coming and going all the time.
Watching them, Elmira wished she was a man so she could just buy a horse and ride away. The men let her alone, but they did look at her whenever she left her room. There were several wild-looking Mexicans who scared her worse than the buffalo hunters.
After a week of scratching, she began to realize she had done a foolish thing, taking the whiskey boat. In Fort Smith, all she had felt was an overwhelming desire to go. The day she left she felt that her life depended on getting out of Fort Smith that day--she had a fear that July would suddenly show up again.
She didn't regret leaving, but neither did she calculate on landing in a place as bad as Bents' Fort. In the cow towns, stages came and went, at least--if you didn't like Dodge you could always go to Abilene. But no stage came to Bents' Fort--just a wagon track that soon disappeared into the emptiness of the plains.
Though she had not been bothered, the men at the Fort looked very rough. "They don't think you're worth robbing," Fowler said, but she wasn't sure he was right. Some of the Mexicans looked like they might do worse than rob her if the mood struck them. Once, sitting under the little shed outside her room, she saw a fight between two Mexicans. She heard a yell and saw each man pull a knife. They went at one another like butchers. Their clothes were soon bloody, but evidently the cuts were not serious, for after a while they stopped fighting and went back to gambling together.
Fowler said there might be a party of hunters going north, and that perhaps they would take her, but a week passed and the party didn't materialize.
Then one day Fowler brought her a little plate of food, under her shed. He looked at her sheepishly, as if he had something to say but didn't want to say it.
"Big Zwey wants to marry you," he said finally, in an apologetic tone.
"Well, I'm already married," she said.
"What if he just wants to marry you temporary?" Fowler asked.
"It's always temporary," Elmira said.
"Why don't he ask himself?" "Zwey ain't much of a talker," Fowler said.
"I've heard him talk," she said. "He talks to the men." Fowler laughed and said no more. Elmira felt angry. She was in a spot if some man was wanting to marry her. Someone had thrown a fresh buffalo skin into the warehouse and she could hear the flies buzzing on it from where she sat.
"He'll take you to Ogallala, if you'll do it," Fowler said. "You might think about it. He ain't as bad as some." "How would you know?" she asked. "You ain't been married to him." Fowler shrugged. "He might be your best bet," he said. "I'm going back downriver next week. A couple of hide haulers are taking a load to Kansas, and they might take you, but it'd be a hard trip. You'd have to smell them stinkin' hides all the way. Anyway, the hide haulers are rough," he said. "I think Zwey would treat you all right." "I don't want to go to Kansas," she said.
"I been to Kansas." What ruined that was that she was pregnant, and showing. Some of the saloons weren't particular, but it was always harder to get work if you were pregnant.
Besides, she didn't want to work, she wanted Dee, who wouldn't mind that she was pregnant.
Big Zwey began to spend hours just watching her. He didn't pretend to gamble or do anything else, he just watched her. She sat under her shed in one patch of shade, and he sat in another about thirty yards away, just watching.
Once when he was watching, some riders spotted a little herd of buffalo. The other hunters were wild to go after them, but Zwey wouldn't go. They yelled at him and argued with him, but he just sat.
Finally they went off without him. One hunter tried to borrow his gun, but Zwey wouldn't give it up.
He sat there with his big rifle across his lap, looking at Elmira.
It became amusing to her, her power over the man. He had never spoken to her, not one word, and yet he would sit for hours, thirty yards away.
It was something, what must go through men's minds where women were concerned, to cause them to behave so strangely.
One morning she came out of her closet earlier than usual--she had a touch of morning sickness and wanted some fresh air. When she opened the doo
r, she almost bumped into Big Zwey, who had just been standing outside her door.
Her sudden appearance embarrassed him so that he gave her one appalled look and turned and went off, practically at a trot, putting a safe distance between them. He was a very heavy man, and the sight of him trying to run made her laugh out loud, something she hadn't done in a while. He didn't turn to look back at her again until he was safely back in his spot, and then he turned fearfully, as if he expected to be shot for having stood by her door.
"Tell him I'll go," she said to Fowler that evening. "I guess he ain't so bad." "You tell him," Fowler said.
The next morning she walked over to where Big Zwey sat. When he saw her coming, it seemed for a second like he might bolt, but she was too close. Instead, he sat as if paralyzed, fear in his eyes.
Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove Page 53