Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Hell, no, don’t shoot,” Dan said. “Do you think I’d ride all this way and swim a river just to miss the fun? Come on back when you find ’em.” Frog Lip was back in a few minutes.

“We nearly rode into them,” he said. “They’re close.” Dan Suggs had been smoking, but he quickly put his smoke out and dismounted.

“You hold the horses,” he said to little Eddie. “Come on once you hear the shooting.” “I can shoot as good as Roy,” little Eddie protested.

“Hell, Roy couldn’t hit his foot if it was nailed to a tree,” Dan said. “Anyway, we’re gonna let Jake shoot them—he’s the man with the reputation.” He took the rifle and walked off. Jake and the others followed. There was no sign of a campfire, no sign of anything but plains and darkness. Though Frog Lip had said the men were close, it seemed to Jake they walked a long time. He didn’t see the horses until he almost bumped into one. For a moment he thought of trying to grab a horse and run away bareback. The commotion would warn Wilbarger, and maybe one or two of the Suggs boys would get shot. But the horse quickly stepped away from him and the moment passed. He drew his pistol, not knowing what else to do. They had found the horses, but he didn’t know where the camp was. Frog Lip was near him, watching, Jake supposed.

When the first shot came, he didn’t know who fired it, though he saw a flash from a rifle barrel. It seemed so far away that he almost felt it must be another battle. Then gunfire flared just in front of him, too much to be produced by three men, it seemed. So much shooting panicked him for a second and he fired twice into the darkness, with no idea of whathe might be shooting at. He heard gunfire behind him—it was Frog Lip shooting. He began to sense running figures, although it was not clear to him who they were. Then there were five or six shots close together, like sudden thunder, and the sound of a running horse. Jake could see almost nothing—once in a while he would think he saw a man, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Frog, did you get him?” he heard Dan Suggs ask.

“No, he got me, damn him,” he heard the black man say. “I swear I put three into him but he made it to that horse anyway,” Dan said. “You alive, Roy?” “I’m alive,” Roy Suggs said, from back near the horse herd.

“Well, what are you doing over there?” Dan wanted to know. “The damn fight was over here.” “We want the horses, don’t we?” Roy asked, anger in his voice.

“I wanted that goddamn Wilbarger worse,” Dan said. “What about you, Spoon?” “Not hurt,” Jake said.

“Hell, you and Roy might as well have stayed in Dodge, for all the good you are in the dark,” Dan said.

Jake didn’t answer. He was just glad he had not been forced to shoot anybody. It seemed ridiculous, attacking men in the dark. Even Indians waited until sunup. He took some hope from the fact that Frog Lip claimed to have been hit, though how anybody knew where to shoot was a mystery to him.

“Where’s that goddamn kid?” Dan asked. “I told him to bring them horses. Old Wilbarger’s getting away. Where’d you get hit, Frog?” Frog Lip didn’t answer.

“Goddamn the old son of a bitch,” Dan said. “I guess he’s killed Frog. Go get Eddie, Roy.” “You told him to come, I guess he’ll come,” Roy said.

“You best go get him unless you think you’re bulletproof,” Dan said in a deadly voice.

“I ain’t going if Wilbarger’s out there,” Roy said. “You won’t shoot me neither—I’m your brother.” There were two more shots, so close that Jake jumped.

“Did I get you?” Dan asked.

“No, and don’t shoot no more,” Roy said, in a surprised voice. “Why would you shoot at me?” “There ain’t nobody else around to shoot at except Jake, and you know his reputation,” Dan said sarcastically.

They heard horses coming. “Boys?” little Eddie called out.

“No, mostly girls here tonight,” Dan said. “Are you waiting for election day or what? Bring the goddamn horses.” Little Eddie brought them. The dawn was behind him, very faint but coming. Soon it was possible to make out the results of the battle. Wilbarger’s two men were dead, still in their blankets. One was Chick, the little weasel Jake remembered seeing the morning they brought the horses in from Mexico. He had been hit in the neck by a rifle bullet, Frog Lip’s, Dan said. The bullet had practically torn his head loose from his body—the corpse reminded Jake of a dead rabbit, perhaps because Chick had rabbitlike teeth, exposed now in a stiff grimace.

The other dead man was just a boy, probably Wilbarger’s wrangler.

Of Wilbarger himself, there was no sign.

“I know I put three into him,” Dan Suggs said. “He must have slept with the damn reins in his hand or he’d have never got to His horse.” Frog Lip lay on the ground, still gripping his rifle. His eyes were wide open and he was breathing as heavily as a horse after a long run. His wound was in the groin—his pants were wet with blood. The rising sun shone in his face, which was bearded with sweat.

“Who shot Frog?” little Eddie asked in surprise.

“Why, that damn Wilbarger, who else?” Dan said. He had no more than glanced at Frog Lip—he was scanning the plains with his spyglass, hoping to catch a glimpse of the cowman. But the plains were empty.

“I never thought anybody would get Frog,” little Eddie said, unnerved by what he saw.