Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Twelve horses are gone, Captain,” Dish Boggett said. “Indians got ’em.” Deets was looking hangdog, and the Spettle boy could only shake his head. Neither of them had heard a thing, they said.

“Well, you boys was singing opry loud enough to wake the deaf,” Augustus remarked. “I guess it was just their charity that they didn’t take the whole herd. Nobody would have noticed.” Call was vexed. He had been awake almost all night and had had no suspicion of Indians. All his years of trying to stay prepared hadn’t helped. “They must have been good with horses,” he said.

Deets felt it was mainly his fault, since it was his job to watch for Indian sign. He had always had a good ear for Indians, but he had sat by the wagon, listening to the singing, and had heard nothing.

“They came on foot, Captain,” he said. He had found their tracks, at least.

“That was bold,” Call said. “But they ain’t on foot now.” He decided to take only Augustus and Deets, though that left the camp without a really competent Indian fighter, in case the raid was a feint. On the other hand, whoever took the horses might have a good deal of help nearby. If it became necessary to take on an Indian camp, three men were about the minimum that could expect to succeed.

Ten minutes later the three men were ready to go. Call was well aware that they were leaving a camp full of scared men.

Augustus laughed at the sight. “You boys will get the drizzles if you don’t relax,” he said.

“If they got the dern horses they might decide to come back and get us,” Jasper Fant pointed out. “They got Custer, didn’t they? And he fought Indians his whole life.” Call was more worried about the grass situation. It was too sparse to support the herd for long.

“Graze ’em upriver,” he said. “Start tomorrow if we ain’t back, but don’t push ’em. Just let ’em graze along. You’ll make the Powder in a few days.” Newt felt very nervous when he saw the three men ride off. It was Lippy’s fault that he felt so nervous—all morning Lippy had done nothing but talk about how it felt to be scalped. Lippy hadn’t been scalped, and couldn’t possibly know, but that didn’t keep him from talking and scaring everybody.

The horsethieves had gone southwest. Call thought that with luck they might catch them within a day, but in that he was disappointed. The country grew more barren as they rode, and the only sign of life was an occasional buzzard and many, many rattlesnakes.

“If we was to settle around here we’d have to start a snake ranch,” Augustus said.

They rested only a little while at night, and by midmorning of the next day were a hundred miles from the herd, with no results in sight.

“Hell, they’ll be to the Wind River before we catch them,” Augustus said. “I’ve always heard the Wind River country was worse than the Pecos country, when it comes to being dry.” “We’re better mounted than they are,” Call said. “We’ll catch them.” It was another long day, though, before they closed the gap.

“You sure this is worth it for twelve horses?” Augustus asked. “This is the poorest dern country I ever saw. A chigger would starve to death out here.” Indeed, the land was bleak, the surface sometimes streaked with salt. There were ocher-colored ridges here and there, completely free of grass.

“We can’t start putting up with horse theft,” Call said.

Deets was ranging ahead, and in the afternoon they saw him coining back. The simmering heat waves made him appear larger than he was.“Camp’s up ahead,” he said. “They’re in a draw, with a little water.” “How many?” Call asked.

“Didn’t get no count,” Deets said. “Not many. Couldn’t be many and live out here.” “I say we wait for night and steal the nags back,” Augustus said. “It’s too hot to fight. Steal ’em back and let the red man chase the white for a while.” “If we wait for night we might lose half the horses,” Call said. “They’ll probably post a better guard than we had.” “I don’t want to argue with you in this heat,” Augustus said. “If you want to go now, okay. We’ll just ride in and massacre them.” “Didn’t see many men,” Deets said. “Mostly women and children. They’re real poor, Captain.” “What do you mean, real poor?” “Means they’re starving,” Deets said. “They done cut up one horse.” “My God,” Augustus said. “You mean they stole them horses for meat?” That proved to be the case. They carefully approached the draw where the camp was and saw the whole little tribe gathered around the dead horse. There were only some twenty Indians, mostly women, children and old men. Call saw only two braves who looked to be of fighting age, and they were no more than boys. The Indians had pulled the dead horse’s guts out and were hacking them into slices and eating them. Usually there were dogs around an Indian camp, but there were no dogs around this time.

“I guess these ain’t the mighty plains Indians we’ve been hearing about,” Augustus said. The whole little tribe was almost silent, each person concentrating on eating. They were all thin. Two old women were cutting meat off the haunch, meaning to dry it, and two young men, probably the ones who had stolen the horses, had caught another and were preparing to cut its throat. To prevent this, Call drew his pistol and fired into the air.

“Oh, let’s go,” Augustus said. “We don’t want to be shooting these people, although it would probably be a mercy. I don’t think they even have guns.” “I didn’t shoot nobody,” Call said. “But they’re our horses.” At the shot the whole tribe looked up, stunned. One of the young men grabbed an old single-shot rifle but didn’t fire. It seemed to be the only firearm the tribe possessed. Call fired in the air again, to scare them away from the horse, and succeeded better than he had expected to. Those who had been eating got to their feet, some with sections of gut still in their hands, and fled toward the four small ragged tepees that stood up the draw. The young man with the gun retreated too, helping one of the older women. She was bloody from the feast.

“They were just having a picnic,” Augustus said. “We had a picnic the other day without nobody shooting at us.” “We can leave them two or three horses,” Call said. “I just don’t want to lose that sorrel they were about to kill.” In the tribe’s flight a child had been forgotten—a little boy barely old enough to walk. He stood near the neck of the dead horse, crying, trying to find his mother. The tribe huddled in front of the tepees, silent. The only sound, for a moment, was the sound of the child’s crying.

“He blind,” Deets said.

Augustus saw that it was true. The child couldn’t see where he was going, and a second later tripped over a pile of bloody horse guts, falling into them.

Deets, who was closest to the dead horse, walked over and picked the child up. The little blind boy kept wailing.

“Hush now,” Deets said. “You a mess. You done rolled in all that blood.” At that moment there was a wild yell from the tepees and Deets looked up to see one of the young braves rushing toward him. He was the one who had picked up the rifle, but he had discarded the rifle and was charging with an old lance, crying his battle cry. Deets held out the baby and smiled—the young man, no older than Newt, didn’t need to cry any battle cry.

Deets kept holding the baby out toward the tribe and smiling, trusting that the young brave would realize he was friendly.