Part 49 (1/2)

The third time he stopped, he thought he heard voices. They were faint, but they were white, an encouraging sign. He went cautiously toward them, trying to make as little noise as possible. It was hard to carry a saddle without it creaking some, but he was afraid to put it down for fear he could not find his way back to it in the dark. Then he heard a horse snort and another horse jingle his bit. He was getting close. He stopped to wait for the moon to rise. When it did, he moved a little closer, hoping to see something. Instead he heard what sounded like a subdued argument.

”We don't know how many there is,” one voice said. ”There could be five hundred Indians around here, for all we know.”

”I can go find them,” another voice said. It was a girlish voice, which surprised him.

”You hush,” the first voice said. ”Just because you can catch varmints don't mean you can sneak up on Indians.”

”I could find 'em,” the girlish voice insisted.

”They'll find you and make soup of you if you ain't lucky,” was the reply.

”I don't think there's no five hundred,” a third voice said. ”I don't think there's five hundred Indians left in this part of the country.”

”Well, if there was even a hundred, we'd have all we could do,” the first voice pointed out.

”I'd like to know who they were shooting at when we rode up,” the other man said. ”I don't believe it was buffalo, though I know it was a buffalo gun.”

Augustus decided he wouldn't get a better opportunity than that, so he cleared his throat and spoke in the loudest tones he could muster without actually shouting.

”They were shooting at me,” he said. ”I'm Captain McCrae, and I'm coming in.”

He took a few steps to the side when he said it, for he had known men to shoot from reflex when they were frightened. Nothing was more dangerous than walking into the camp of a bunch of men who had their nerves on edge.

”Don't get nervous and shoot, I'm friendly,” he said, just as he saw the outline of their horses against the sky.

”I hate this walking around in the dark,” he added loudly-not that it was much of an observation. It was designed to keep the strangers from getting jumpy.

Then he saw four people standing by the horses. It was too dark to tell much about any of them, but he dumped the saddle on the ground and went over to shake hands.

”Howdy,” he said, and the men shook hands, though none of them had yet said anything. The surprise of his appearance had evidently left them speechless.

”Well, here we are,” Augustus said. ”I'm Augustus McCrae and I'm after an outlaw named Blue Duck. Have you seen any sign of the man?”

”No, we just got here,” one of the men said.

”I know about him, though,” July said. ”My name is July Johnson. I'm sheriff from Fort Smith, Arkansas, and this is my deputy, Roscoe Brown.”

”July Johnson?” Augustus asked.

”Yes,” July said.

”By G.o.d, that's a good one,” Augustus said. ”We were expecting you down in Lonesome Dove, and here you are practically in Kansas. If you're still after Jake Spoon, you've missed him by about three hundred miles.”

”I have more urgent business,” July said rather solemnly.

To Augustus he seemed young, although it was hard to tell in the dark. Mainly it was his voice that seemed young.

”I see you brought family,” Augustus said. ”Most lawmen don't travel with their children. Or did you pick up these two sprats along the way?”

n.o.body answered. They simply stood, as if the question was too complicated for an answer.

”Did the Indians kill your horse?” July asked.

”No, I killed him,” Augustus said. ”Used him for a fort. There ain't much to hide behind on these plains. I heard shooting. Did you kill any more of them bucks?”

”Don't think so,” July said. ”I might have hit the buffalo hunter. We never expected to find Indians.”

”I killed six this afternoon,” Augustus said. ”I think there was twelve to begin with, not counting the buffalo hunter. I expect they work for Blue Duck. He stole a woman and I'm after him. I think he sent them bucks to slow me down.”

”I hope there ain't too much of a bunch,” Roscoe said. ”I never kilt one before.”

In fact he had never killed anyone before, or even given the possibility much thought. Sudden death was not unknown in Fort Smith, but it was not common, either. It had been a big shock when the Indians turned their guns on them and began to shoot at them. Not until he saw July draw his rifle and start firing did it dawn on him that they were under attack. He had hastily drawn his pistol and shot several times-it had not affected the Indians but it angered July.

”You're just wasting bullets, they're way out of pistol range,” he said. But then the Indians ran, so it didn't matter so much.

”What's your plan, Mr. Johnson?” Augustus asked politely. ”If your business is urgent you might not want to slow down long enough to help me catch this Blue Duck.”

That was true. July didn't want to slow down at all until he found Elmira. If he had been alone, he would have traveled twenty hours a day and rested four. But he was hardly alone. Roscoe was nervous as a cat and spent all day talking about his worries. Joe didn't complain, but the hard traveling had worn him out and he rode along in a doze most of the time and slept like a dead thing when they stopped.

The only one who didn't suffer from the pace was Janey, who mainly walked. July had to admit that she was unusually helpful. When they stopped, she did whatever ch.o.r.es there were to do without being asked. And she was always up and ready to leave when he was, whereas Joe and Roscoe were so sluggish in the morning that it took them half an hour just to get their horses saddled.

Now, out of the blue, a Texas Ranger had showed up-one of the very ones who had partnered with Jake Spoon. He was afoot and a long way from help, and they couldn't just ride off and leave him. Besides, there were hostile Indians around, which made the whole situation more worrisome.

”I haven't planned, very much,” July said honestly. ”Seems like every time I make a plan something happens to change it.”

”Well, life's a twisting stream,” Augustus said. ”Speaking of which, the Canadian river ain't but a short way to the north. Them bucks are probably camped somewhere on it.”

”What would you advise?” July asked. ”You know the country.”

”It's a steep-banked river,” Augustus said. ”If we have to fight Indians we'd be in a lot better position there than out on this plain.”

”You say the man stole a woman?” July asked.

”Yes,” Augustus said. ”A girl who was traveling with us.”

”We best go on to the river, I guess,” July said. ”You can ride with me and Roscoe can tote your saddle.”

”If this boy ain't armed, maybe he'd like a rifle,” Augustus said. ”One of them bucks I shot had a pretty good Winchester, and this boy looks old enough to shoot.”

He handed the rifle to Joe, who was so stunned by the gift that he could barely say thank you. ”Is it loaded already?” he asked, rubbing the smooth stock with one hand.

”You dern right it's loaded,” Augustus said. ”Just make sure you shoot one of them, and not one of us.”

He climbed up behind July and they all rode north. Joe felt intensely proud, now that he was armed. He kept one hand on the stock of the rifle, expecting that any minute the Indians might attack.

But the ride to the river was uneventful. It seemed they had not been riding long before they saw the silver band of the river in the moonlight. July stopped so abruptly that Joe almost b.u.mped into his horse. He and Mr. McCrae were looking at something downriver. At first Joe couldn't see anything to look at, but then he noticed a tiny flame of light, far downriver.