Part 49 (2/2)

”That'd be them,” Augustus said. ”I guess they ain't worried about us, or they wouldn't be so bold with their campfire. They don't know it, but the wrath of the Lord is about to descend upon them. I dislike bold criminals of whatever race, and I believe I'll go see that they pay their debts.”

”I'd best go with you,” July said. ”You don't know how many there are.”

”Let's go make camp,” Augustus said. ”Then we'll think it out.”

They rode upriver a mile, stopping where the mouth of a canyon sloped down to the riverbed.

”This is as good as we'll get,” Augustus said. ”What I'd like is the loan of a horse for the night. I'll have him back by breakfast, and maybe a few others to boot.”

”You want to go at them alone?” July asked.

”It's my job,” Augustus said. ”I doubt there's many of them. I just hope Blue Duck is there.”

Roscoe could not believe what he was hearing. He felt very scared as it was, and yet this stranger was preparing to ride off by himself.

”Why, there could be ten of them,” he said. ”Do you think you could kill ten men?”

”They're easier to scare at night,” Augustus said. ”I expect I'll just run most of them off. But I do intend to kill Mr. Duck if I see him. He's stole his last woman.”

”I think I ought to go,” July said. ”I could be of some help. Roscoe can stay here with the young ones.”

”No, I'd rather you stay with your party, Mr. Johnson,” Augustus said. ”I'd feel better about it in my mind. You've got an inexperienced deputy and two young people to think about. Besides, you said you had urgent business. These things are chancy. You might stop a bullet and never get your business finished.”

”I think I ought to go,” July said. It was in his mind that Ellie could even be in the camp. Somebody could have stolen her her as easily as the Texas woman. The whiskey traders wouldn't have put up much fight. Of course, it wasn't likely she was there, but then what was likely anymore? He felt he ought to have a look, at least. as easily as the Texas woman. The whiskey traders wouldn't have put up much fight. Of course, it wasn't likely she was there, but then what was likely anymore? He felt he ought to have a look, at least.

In any case, the man could use help, and it should be no great risk to leave Roscoe and the young ones in camp for a few hours. They all needed the rest.

Augustus realized he could probably use help, since he didn't know how many men he was facing. However, he didn't have a high opinion of the average man's ability as a fighter. The majority of men couldn't fight at all and even most outlaws were the merest amateurs when it came to battle. Few could shoot well, and even fewer had any mind for strategy.

The problem was that Blue Duck was evidently one of the few who could think. He had planned the theft of Lorena perfectly. Also, he had survived twenty years or more in a rough country, at a rough game, and could be expected to be formidable, if he was around.

But probably he wasn't there. Probably he had sold the woman and left, sending a few Kiowas down the trail to take care of whoever came along. It would likely just be a matter of shooting down two or three renegade buffalo hunters who had been too lazy to find honest work once the herds petered out.

Augustus was undecided as to whether he would be better off by himself or with a country sheriff from Arkansas. All he knew about the sheriff was that Jake Spoon had run from him, which wasn't much to go on. The young man had had no experience with plains fighting and perhaps not much with any fighting. There was no telling if he could even take care of himself in a sc.r.a.pe. If he couldn't, he would be better left-but then, who would know until the fighting started?

”What happens to us if you two both get kilt?” Roscoe asked. It was a question that loomed large in his mind.

”Head back southeast as fast as you can,” Augustus said. ”Once you make it down below the Red River you'll probably be all right. If you go east a ways you ought to run into some herds.”

”Why, we'll be back,” July said. ”I ought to go help Captain McCrae, but we'll be back.”

Augustus didn't feel right about it, but he made no further effort to stop July Johnson. They let the horses rest for an hour, then put Augustus's saddle on Roscoe's big gelding, and left. When they rode up on the ridge above the river they saw again the little spark of light to the east, and made for it.

”If it ain't prying, what is this urgent business you're on?” Augustus asked.

July was hesitant about answering. Roscoe and Joe had both looked at him strangely as he left, and the look bothered him. It was as if both of them were his children-both looked to him for care. Only Janey seemed comfortable being left on the Canadian.

”Well, sir, it's my wife,” July said. ”She's gone from home. It might be that she got stolen too.”

Augustus felt that was interesting. They were both chasing women across the plains. He said no more. A man whose wife had left was apt to be sore about it and touchy. He changed the subject at once.

”It was your brother Jake shot?” he asked.

”Yes,” July said. ”I guess it was accidental, but I've got to take him back. Only I'd like to find Elmira first.”

They rode in silence for seven or eight miles over broken country. Augustus was thinking what a curious man Jake Spoon was, that he would let a woman be stolen and just go on playing cards, or whatever he was doing.

Every time they topped a ridge and saw the tiny flame of the campfire, July tried to calm himself, tried to remind himself that it would be almost a miracle if Elmira were there. Yet he couldn't help hoping. Sometimes he felt so bad about things that he didn't know if he could keep going much longer without knowing where she was.

Finally, with the camp not more than a mile away, Augustus drew rein. He dismounted to listen. In the still night, on the open plain, voices could carry a ways, and he might be able to get a sense of how many they were up against.

July dismounted, too, and waited for Augustus to tell him what the plan was. They were only a hundred yards from the river, and while they were listening they heard something splash through the water downstream from where they stood.

”It could be a buffalo,” July whispered. ”We seen a few.”

”More likely a horse,” Augustus said. ”Buffalo wouldn't cross that close to camp.”

He looked at the young man, worried by the nervousness in his voice. ”Have you done much of this kind of thing, Mr. Johnson?” he asked.

”No,” July admitted. ”I ain't done none. About the worst we get in Arkansas are robbers.”

”Let's walk our horses a little closer,” Augustus said. ”Don't let 'em whinny. If we can get within a hundred yards of their camp we're in good shape. Then I favor charging right into them. They'll hear us before they see us, which will scare them, and we'll be on them before they have time to think. Use your handgun and save your rifle-this'll be close-range work. If there's any left, we'll turn and make a second run at them.”

”We mustn't trample the women,” July said.

”We won't,” Augustus said. ”Have you ever killed?”

”No,” July said. ”I've never had to.”

I wish you'd stayed with your party, Augustus thought, but he didn't say it.

57.

DOG FACE WAS DYING, and he knew it. A bullet had hit a rib and turned downward into his gut. The bullet hadn't come out, and n.o.body was trying to get it out, either. He lay on a saddle blanket in his death sweat, and all Blue Duck wanted to know was how many men there had been in the party that shot him.

”Three horses,” one of the Kiowas said, but Dog Face couldn't remember if it had been two or three.

”It was gettin' dark,” he said. One whole side of his body was wet with blood. He wanted to see the girl, but Blue Duck squatted by his side, blocking his view.

”You never hit McCrae?” he asked.

”He forted up behind his horse,” Dog Face said. ”I might have put one in him. I don't know.”

”We'll kill him tomorrow,” Monkey John said. ”He ain't got no horse and maybe he's crippled.”

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