Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

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 nobody 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 tobe 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 grass 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.

“Why don’t you just shoot her?” he asked the little man. “She was willing to shoot you.” The little man didn’t answer. He was breathing hard but he continued to try and tie Janey’s wrists.

Roscoe had to admire Janey’s spunk. The situation looked hopeless, but she kept struggling, twisting around and scratching at the man when she could. Finally the big man stepped in and planted a muddy boot on one of her arms, enabling his companion to tie her wrists. The little man cuffed her again for good measure, and sat back to get his breath.

He looked around at Roscoe, his eyes as bad as ever.

“Where’d you get this feisty rabbit?” he asked. “She dern near shot me and she nicked Hutto.” “We’re from Arkansas,” Roscoe said. He felt foolish for having given Janey the pistol. After all, he was the deputy. On the other hand, if they had seen him shoot, the men might have shot back.

“Let’s just shoot them and take the horse,” Hutto, the big man said. “We could have done it this afternoon and saved all this time.” “Yeah, and the dern soldiers would have found them,” the other said. “You can’t just leave bodies lying right in the road no more. Somebody’s apt to take an interest.” “Jim, you’re too nervous,” Hutto said. “Anyway, this ain’t a road, and we ain’t far from the Territory. Let’s shoot ’em and take what they got.” “What have they got, by God?” Jim asked. “Go bring the horse.” Hutto brought Memphis and the two amused themselves for a few minutes by going through the bedroll and the saddlebags. One kept Roscoe covered with the shotgun while the other emptied the contents of the saddlebags carelessly on the wet grass. What they saw was very disappointing to them.