Part 44 (1/2)
The only problem with her at all, from Roscoe's point of view, was that she was tormented by bad dreams and whimpered at night. Roscoe loaned her a blanket, thinking she might be cold, but that wasn't it. Even wrapped in a blanket she still whimpered, and because of that didn't sleep much. He would awake in the grayness just before dawn and see Janey sitting up, stirring the little campfire and scratching her ankles. She was barefoot, of course, and her ankles and s.h.i.+ns were scratched by the rough gra.s.s she went through each day.
”Did you never have any shoes?” he asked once.
”Never did,” Janey said, as if it didn't matter.
The only times she would consent to crawl up on the horse was when they had a sizable creek to cross. She didn't like wading in deep water.
”'Fraid of them snappers,” she said. ”If one of them was to bite me I'd die.”
”They're mighty slow,” Roscoe said. ”It's easy to outrun em.
”I dream about them,” Janey said, not rea.s.sured. ”They just keep coming, and I can't run.”
Except for snapping turtles and sleep, she seemed to fear nothing. Many times coiled rattlers would sing at them as they traveled, and Janey would never give the snakes a glance. Old Memphis was more nervous about snakes than she was, and Roscoe more nervous than either one of them. He had once heard of a man being bitten by a rattlesnake that had gotten up in a tree. According to the story, the snake had dropped right off a limb and onto the man and had bitten him in the neck. Roscoe imagined how unpleasant it could be to have a snake drop on one's neck-he took care to ride under as few limbs as possible and was glad to see the trees thinning out as they rode west.
It seemed they were on a fairly good trail, for every day they encountered three or four travelers, sometimes more. Once they caught up with a family plodding along in a wagon. It was such a large family that it looked like a small town on the move, particularly if you wanted to count the livestock. The old man of the family, who was driving the team, didn't seem talkative, but his wife was.
”We're from Missouri,” she said. ”We're going west and I guess we'll stop when we feel like it. We've got fourteen young 'uns and are hoping to establish a farm.”
Eight or nine of the young ones were riding in the wagon. They stared at Roscoe and Janey, as silent as owls.
Several times they met soldiers going east toward Fort Smith. The soldiers were a taciturn lot and pa.s.sed without much talk. Roscoe attempted to inquire about July, but the soldiers made it clear that they had better things to do than keep a lookout for Arkansas sheriffs.
Janey was shy of people. She had keen eyesight and would usually see other travelers before Roscoe did. Often when she saw one she disappeared, darting off the trail and hiding in weeds and tall gra.s.s until the stranger pa.s.sed.
”What are you hiding for?” Roscoe asked. ”Them soldiers ain't after you.”
”Bill might be with them,” Janey said.
”Bill who?”
”Bill,” she repeated. ”He gave me to old Sam. I ain't going with Bill again.”
She continued to hide at the approach of strangers, and once in a while Roscoe had to admit that it was well she did. There were some rough customers traveling the trail. One day they met two dirty-looking men with greasy beards and six or seven guns between them. Roscoe had an anxious moment, for the men stopped him and asked to borrow tobacco. The fact that he was traveling without any didn't sit well with them, and they looked as if they might contest the issue.
”I reckon you're lying,” one said. He was a small fellow but had mean little eyes and was generally more frightening than his companion, a man the size of an ox, who seemed to take no interest in the conversation.
”Why would a man travel without nothing to smoke?” the little one asked.
”It never agreed with me,” Roscoe explained. ”I had to give it up.”
”If you was more dried up I guess we could smoke you,” the little one said, with mean intent.
But the men rode on, and Roscoe soon forgot about them and began to feel drowsy. The day was muggy, and occasionally he would see lightning flicker in the west.
After a while it struck him that something was missing, and he figured out that it was Janey. Usually, once the travelers were out of sight, she reappeared. Memphis had come to trust her and would follow her like a pet goat.
Only this time she wasn't there to follow. Roscoe looked all around and there wasn't a soul in sight, though the plain stretched out and he could see for miles. He was alone, and by no means sure of his direction. It scared him. He had come to depend on the girl, even though she was a loud sleeper. He yelled a time or two, but got no response. The fact that he could see so far scared him a little. He had been raised in a land of trees and was not used to country that looked so long and empty. How he could have lost Janey in such an open place was a mystery to him. He sat still for a while, hoping she would pop up, but she didn't, and finally he rode on at a slow walk.
An hour pa.s.sed, and then another, and Roscoe was forced to consider the possibility that he might have lost the girl. One of the snakes she took so little notice of could have bitten her. She could be dying somewhere back along the trail.
If she wasn't going to reappear it was his duty to go back and find her, and, as sunset was not far off, and it looked like thunderstorms were on the way, he had better hurry.
He turned and started back at a trot, but had not gone twenty paces before Janey popped up from behind a bush and jumped right up on Memphis.
”They're followin',” she said. ”I been watching. I guess they want to kill you.”
”Well, they won't find no tobacco, even if they do,” Roscoe said.
Still, the little one had had a bad pair of eyes, and he could easily believe they meant to harm him. He wheeled the horse around and started to put him into a run, but Janey jerked on the reins.
”They're in front of us,” she said. ”They got around you while you was poking along.”
Roscoe had never felt so at a loss. There was not so much as a tree in sight, and it was a long way back to Fort Smith. He didn't see how the men could expect to ambush him in the open plain.
”Dern,” he said, feeling hopeless. ”I can't figure which way to run.”
Janey pointed north. ”Up that way,” she said. ”There's a gully.”
Roscoe couldn't see what good a gully would do but he took her advice, and they set off north at a dead run. Memphis was shocked to be spurred into a run, but once he got started he ran with a will.
Once again, Janey was right. They had only been running half a mile when they struck a big gully. Roscoe stopped and looked around. Not a soul was in sight, which made him feel silly. What were they to do next?
”Can you shoot?” Janey asked.
”Well, I have shot,” Roscoe said. ”There ain't been n.o.body much to shoot at in Fort Smith. Sometimes July and I shoot at pumpkins, or bottles and things. July's a good shot, but I'm just fair. I expect I could hit that big fellow but I don't know about the little one.”
”Gimme the pistol, I'll shoot 'em for you,” Janey said.
”What'd you ever shoot?” he asked, surprised.
”Give it to me,” Janey said, and when he slowly handed it over, she hopped off the horse, climbed out of the gully and disappeared.
Five minutes later, before he could even untie his tarp, it began to rain. Lightning started hitting the ground, and it rained torrents. Roscoe got totally soaked. In ten minutes there was a little river running down the middle of the gully, though the gully had been bone dry when they rode up. The thunder crashed and it grew dark.
Roscoe felt that he had never hated travel so much, not even when the pigs chased him. He was alone and likely either to be drowned or shot before the night was over, or even well begun.
He remembered how snug and secure the jail was, back in Fort Smith, how nice it was to come in slightly drunk and have a comfortable couch to lie on. It was a life he fervently wished he had never left.
The rain increased until it seemed to Roscoe it was raining as hard as it could possibly rain. He didn't try to seek shelter, for there was none. It was uncomfortable to be so soaked, but since the water was probably all that was keeping him from being murdered by the little man with the mean eyes, it was silly to complain. Roscoe just sat, hoping that the little creek that filled the gully wouldn't rise enough to drown him.
The storm turned out to be just a heavy shower. In ten minutes the rain lightened, and soon it was barely sprinkling. The sun had set, but to the west there was a clear band of sky under the clouds, and the clouds were thinning. The band of sky became red with afterglow. Above it, as the clouds thinned, there was a band of white, and then a deep blue, with the evening star in it. Roscoe dismounted and stood there dripping, aware that he ought to be planning some form of defense but unable to think of any. It seemed to him the storm might have discouraged the two men-maybe one of them had even been struck by lightning.
Before he could draw much comfort from that line of speculation he heard his own gun go off. A second or two later it went off again, and then again. The sound came from just north of the gully. As he could not be any wetter, and could not stand the suspense of not knowing what was going on, he waded the little creek and climbed the bank, only to look and see the barrels of a shotgun not a yard from his face. The ox of a man held the shotgun; in his big hands it looked tiny, though the barrels in Roscoe's face seemed as big as cannons.
”Clamber on up here, traveler,” the big man said.
July had told him never to argue with a loaded gun, and Roscoe had no intention of disobeying his instructions. He climbed up the muddy bank and saw that Janey was involved in a tussle with the little outlaw. He had her down and was astraddle of her and was trying to tie her, but Janey was wiggling desperately. She was covered with mud, and in the wet, slick gra.s.s was proving hard to subdue. The man cuffed her twice, but the blows had no effect that Roscoe could see.
The big man with the shotgun seemed to find the tussle amusing. He walked over for a closer look, though he continued to keep the shotgun pointed at Roscoe.