Part 42 (1/2)
”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 G.o.dd.a.m.n 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 who ever picked this one was just planning to ride to church,” Blue Duck said. He untied Lorena and put her on the pack-horse. They rode off and left the mare. The pack-horse 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.
Riding at his back, she noticed something she had not seen before: a white necklace of some kind. It was a bone necklace, and after looking at it for a time she realized it was made of fingers-human fingers.
That evening, when they stopped to rest, Blue Duck saw her glance at the necklace. He grinned in the way that made her think of death.
”Easiest way to get the rings off,” he said. ”Just take the fingers. It's no harder than breaking off a little stick if you know how.”
That night he tied her hand and foot and rode off. Lorena didn't speak, didn't question him. Maybe he was leaving her for the buzzards, but she felt she would rather die than say something that might anger him. She didn't try to get untied either, for fear he was watching, waiting for her to make some attempt to escape. She slept, and she awoke as he was cutting her bounds. Another horse was standing there.
”It ain't much of a horse, but it's only got to last about a day,” he said.
There was no saddle-he had not bothered to take the saddle off the dying packhorse. He pa.s.sed a cord under the horse's belly and tied her ankles.
She had thought the riding hard even when she had a saddle but quickly realized how easy that had been. She slipped from side to side and had to cling to the horse's mane to stay on. Blue Duck rode as before, seldom looking back. It was night and she was tired, but there was no dozing. Despite her grip on the mane, she almost slid off several times. With her feet tied, if she fell she could just roll under the horse's belly and be kicked to death. The horse was narrow-backed and not very smooth-gaited; she could find no way to sit that didn't jar her, and long before morning she thought if they didn't stop she would be cut in two.
But she wasn't, though her hands were raw from gripping the horsehair so tightly. Minute by minute, for hours, it seemed to her that she couldn't go on-that she might as well give up and slide under the animal's belly. There was no reason to stay alive anyway: Blue Duck had her.
When he untied her at a creek, she stumbled into it to drink, no longer caring if she got wet or muddy. Again he gave her only a piece of hard dried meat. She barely had the strength to get back on the horse; she had to claw her way up using the mane. Blue Duck didn't help her and he tied her ankles anyway, though it was obvious she was too weak to run away. She felt a flash of anger-why did he keep tying her when she could barely walk?
The country had begun to flatten out. The gra.s.s was higher than any she had seen. When she looked up and flung the sweat out of her eyes it seemed she could see a farther distance than she had ever seen before. Waves of heat s.h.i.+mmered over the gra.s.s-once she looked up and thought she saw a giant tree far ahead, but when she looked again it was gone.
Blue Duck rode on through the high gra.s.s, never slowing, seldom looking back. She felt hatred growing, pus.h.i.+ng through her fear. If she fell, he probably wouldn't even stop. He only wanted her for his men. He didn't care how much she hurt or how tired she was. He hadn't cared to keep her saddle or even her saddle blanket, though the blanket would have kept the horse's hard back from bruising her so. She felt like she had felt when she had tried to shoot Tinkersley. If she ever got a chance she would kill the man, in revenge for all the painful hours she had spent watching his indifferent back.
Well before sundown they came to a broad riverbed with just a little thin ribbon of brown water visible across an expanse of reddish sand.
”Keep in my tracks,” Blue Duck said. ”If you don't you're apt to bog.”
Just as he was about to put his horse into the sand, he held up. Across the river Lorena saw four riders watching them.
”It's Ermoke and three of his boys,” Blue Duck said. ”I guess they've been off scalping.”
Lorena felt a chill, just looking at the riders. Jake had said most of the Indians still running loose were renegades. He made light of them. He had dealt with renegades before, he said, and could do it again. Except that he was still in Austin, playing cards, and there were the renegades.
She wanted to turn her horse and flee, hopeless as that was, but while she sat in a cold sweat of fear Blue Duck turned and caught her bridle, wrapping her reins around his saddle horn.
They went cautiously across the sand, Blue Duck occasionally back-tracking a few yards to find a route he liked better. Lorena kept her eyes down. She didn't want to look at the men waiting on the other side.
Twice, despite all Blue Duck's caution, it seemed they had gone wrong. His horse started to bog, and then hers. But both times, by heavy spurring, Blue Duck got the big sorrel to lunge free, pulling her horse free. Once, in one of the lunges, she was thrown far up on her horse's neck. But finally they found a solid crossing and trotted through the few yards of brown water.
As they rode out of the river the four men waiting whipped up their mounts and raced down to meet them. One of them carried a lance strung with patches of hair. Lorena had never seen a scalp before, but she felt sure the patches were scalps. Most seemed old and dusty, but one, a patch of s.h.i.+ny black hair, was still crusted with blood. All of the men were Indians, heavily armed.
The leader, who carried the lance with the collection of scalps, had a hard face, with a thin wisp of mustache at each corner of his mouth. It was as if the hairs curled out of his mouth. She glanced only once and then kept her eyes away, for they were all looking at her and their looks were bad. She knew she had come to a hard place and had no one to help her. She heard the leader speak to Blue Duck and then felt their horses crowd around her. Several hands reached out to feel and pull her hair. She could smell the men and feel them, but she didn't look up. She didn't want to see them. Their rank, sweaty smell was almost enough to make her sick. One of them, amused by her hair, pulled it till her scalp stung, and he laughed a strange, jerky laugh. They crowded so close around her on their hot horses that for a moment she felt she might faint. She had never been in such a hard place, not even when Mosby's sisters locked her in the bas.e.m.e.nt.
Two of the men dismounted and one of them started to untie her ankles, but Blue Duck whistled.
”Let's go,” he said. ”I reckon she'll keep till sundown.”
Ermoke, the leader, the man with the wisps of hair at the corners of his mouth, retied her ankles so tightly that the rawhide cut her. He took her bridle and led her from then on. The other three men rode behind her.
At the sight, Blue Duck laughed. ”I guess they don't want to take no chances on you getting away,” he said. ”Fresh women is scarce in these parts.”
Lorena began to wish there was some way just to die. If there was, she would have done it. But she was tied, and there was no way.
They rode until the sun was gone and the western sky red with afterglow. Then Blue Duck reined in and quickly dropped the saddle off his horse.
”Okay, Ermoke,” he said. ”Go on and have a taste. We'll stop until the moon rises.”
Before he had finished speaking, the men had cut her ankles free and were dragging her off the horse. They didn't even wait to tie their horses. When Lorena would open her eyes for a second she saw the darkening sky through the legs of the waiting horses. The man with the jerky laugh had a bugle and also less l.u.s.t than the rest. After covering her once, he sat in the gra.s.s playing bugle calls. Now and then, watching what was happening, he would laugh the jerky laugh. Lorena had expected death, but it wasn't death she got-just the four men. Ermoke, the leader, wouldn't leave her. The other men began to complain. When she opened her eyes, she looked for the moon. But the moon was late and she only saw the horses, still standing over her. Blue Duck had gone away, and when he returned Ermoke was with her again.
”Let's go,” Blue Duck said. ”That's enough of a taste.”
When Ermoke ignored him, Blue Duck walked over and kicked him in the ribs so hard that Lorena was rolled over with the Indian.
”You better mind,” Blue Duck said. Ermoke got up, holding his side.
While they retied her ankles, the laughing bugler blew a few more notes.
50.
IT WAS JULY JOHNSON'S VIEW that all gamblers were lazy, and most of them c.o.c.ky; Jake Spoon was known to be both. Maybe instead of riding all the way to south Texas he would decide to test his luck in Fort Worth, it being a fair-sized cow town.
July thought it was a possibility worth investigating, for if he could run into Jake there it would save himself and little Joe hundreds of miles. It would also mean he could get back to Elmira quicker. Getting back to Elmira occupied his mind a lot more than catching Jake Spoon. He rode along all day thinking about her, which made him a poor companion for Joe, who didn't seem to miss her at all.
Actually, as much as anything, July wanted to stop in Fort Worth to post her a letter he had written. It seemed to him she might be getting lonesome and would enjoy some mail. Yet the letter he composed, though he had labored over it several nights, was such a poor composition that he had debated sending it. He hesitated, for if it struck her wrong she would make fun of it. But he felt a need to write and lamented the fact that he was such a poor hand at it. The letter was very short.