Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

Monkey John was probably as scared as she was. He sat silently by the fire, his rifle in his hands, pulling at his dirty beard.

Once in a while the Kiowas would jabber at him in their own language, but he didn’t answer.

Lying with her face almost on the ground, she was the first to hear the horses—only she didn’t really know what it was, or take any hope from it. It was something running—maybe Blue Duck was coming back to reclaim her.

The Kiowas, singing and drinking, two with bloody knives still in their hands, didn’t hear the running, but Monkey John suddenly heard it. He jumped to his feet and raised his rifle, but before he could fire she heard a gun go off in the darkness and Monkey John dropped the rifle and slumped to a sitting position, his mouth open as if he were about to say something.

Lorena saw that, and just as she saw it the two horses raced right over Monkey John without touching him and were into the Kiowas. One Kiowa screamed, a sound more hopeless and frightening even than the scream of Dog Face. Before she thought about it being Gus, she saw him yank his horse almost down right in the middle of the Kiowas. He shot the one that screamed and then the two that held the knives, shooting from his horse right into their chests. Another Kiowa grabbed the lance with Dog Face’s scalp on it, but Gus shot him before he could lift it. He shot another just as the man was picking up his rifle. The last Kiowa fled into the darkness, and Gus turned his horse after him. “Finish any that ain’t finished,” he said to the other man. But that man had barely dismounted before there was a shot in the darkness. He stood by his horse listening. There was another shot, and then the sound of a horse loping back. Lorena thought it was over but Monkey John shot with his pistol at the man standing by the fire. He missed completely and the man slowly raised his own pistol, but before he could fire Gus rode back into the firelight and shot with his rifle, knocking Monkey John back into the pack.

Then Gus turned her over and was holding her in his arms, his rifle still in one hand.

“Where’s Blue Duck, Lorie?” he asked. “Was he here tonight?” Lorena had a hard struggle to get her mind back to Blue Duck. She had stopped talking, and though she wanted to talk, the words wouldn’t come. She stared at Gus and began to cry but she couldn’t get out an answer to the question.

“Was he here tonight?” Gus asked again. “Just answer that and I won’t bother you no more until you feel better.” Lorena nodded. Blue Duck had been there. It was all she could do.

Gus stood up. “Go back to your party,” Gus said to the other man. “Go now.” “I didn’t shoot a one,” the other man said. “You shot the whole bunch.” “It ain’t important,” Augustus said. “I can’t leave this girl and she ain’t in shape to travel fast. Go back to your party. If Lorie can ride we’ll come when we can.” “Did you kill the one that ran off?” July asked.

“Yes,” Augustus said. “A man can’t outrun a horse. You get along. There’s a dangerous man loose along this river and I doubt that deputy of yours can handle him.” What if I can’t, either? July thought, looking down at Dog Face. He had managed to pull his genitals out of his mouth, and still lay breathing. Looking at the pool of blood he lay in, July felt his stomach start to come up. He turned away to keep from vomiting.

“I’ll tidy up these dead,” Augustus said. “I know this is a shock to you, Mr. Johnson. It’s different from a barroom scrape in Arkansas. But you got to choke it down and get back to your people.” “Are you going to kill him?” July asked, referring to Dog Face.

“Yes, if he don’t travel soon,” Augustus said.

Before July was over the second ridge, he heard the gun again.“RECKON WE’LL HEAR IT when they fight?” Joe asked.

“We won’t hear it much,” Roscoe said. “That campfire was way off. Anyway, maybe it’s just cowboys and there won’t be no fight.” “But we saw Indians,” Joe said. “I bet it’s them.” “It might be them,” Roscoe admitted. “But maybe they just kept running.” “I hope they didn’t run this direction,” Joe said. He hated to admit how scared he was, but he was a good deal more scared than he could remember being before in his life. Usually when they camped he was so glad to be stopped he just unrolled his blanket and went to sleep, but though he unrolled his blanket as usual, he didn’t go to sleep. It was the first time he had been separated from July on the whole trip, and he was surprised at how much scarier it felt. They had been forbidden to build a fire, so all they could do was sit in the dark. Of course it wasn’t cold, but a fire would have made things more cheerful.

“I guess July will kill ’em,” he said several times.

“That Texas Ranger done killed six,” Roscoe said. “Maybe he’ll kill ’em and July can save his ammunition.” Joe held his new rifle. Several times he cocked the hammer and then eased it back down. If the Indians came, he hoped they’d wait for daylight, so he’d have a better chance for a shot.

Janey sat off by herself. She had seen the Indians first and had run back to tell July. Roscoe hadn’t believed her at first, but July had. He had got off several shots once the Indians started firing.

Roscoe felt bothered by the fact that there were no more trees. All his life he had lived amid trees and had given little thought to what a comfort they were. Trees had been so common that it was a shock to ride out on the plains and discover that there was a part of earth where there weren’t any. Occasionally they might see a few along the rivers, but not many, and those were more bushes than trees. You couldn’t lean against them, which was a thing he liked to do. He had got so he could even sleep pretty well leaning against a tree.

But now July had left him on a river where there wasn’t even a bush. He would have to sleep flat out on the ground or else sit up all night. The sky was pale with moonlight, but it didn’t provide enough light to see well by. Soon Roscoe began to get very nervous. Everywhere he looked he began to see things that could have been Indians. He decided to cock his pistol, in case some of the things were Indians.

When he cocked his pistol, Joe cocked his rifle. “Did you see one?” he asked.

“It might have been one,” Roscoe said.

“Where?” Janey asked.

When Roscoe pointed, she immediately went running off toward it. Roscoe could hardly believe his eyes—but she had always been a wild girl.

“It was just a bush,” Janey said, when she came back.

“You better be glad of that,” he said. “If it had been an Indian you’d have got scalped.” “Reckon they’ve had the fight yet?” Joe asked. “I’ll be glad when they get back.” “It might be morning before they get back,” Roscoe said. “We better just rest. The minute July gets back he’ll wanta go on looking for your mother.” “I guess she’s found Dee,” Joe said. “She likes Dee.” “Then how come she married July, dern it?” Roscoe asked. “It was the start of all this, you know. We’d be back in Arkansas playing dominoes if she hadn’t married July.” Every time Roscoe tried to think back along the line of events that had led to his being in a place where there was no trees to lean against, he strayed off the line and soon got all tangled up in his thinking. It was probably better not to try and think back down the line of life.