Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“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.

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 nobody 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.” “I doubt it,” Blue Duck said. “I expect tomorrow he’ll walk in and finish the rest of you, unless he does it tonight.” “I hurt bad,” Dog Face said. “Go on and shoot me.” Blue Duck laughed. “You won’t catch me wasting a bullet on you,” he said. “Monkey can cut your damn throat if he wants to.” But Monkey wouldn’t come near him. Monkey John was worried, and so were the Kiowas. They all kept cocking and uncocking their pistols. They asked for whiskey, but Blue Duck wouldn’t give them any.

Dog Face looked at the girl. She sat with her arms wrapped around her knees. Blue Duck went and saddled his horse.

When he came back to the fire he kicked the girl. He kicked her several times, until she fell over and lay curled up.

“What’d she do?” Dog Face asked.

Blue Duck walked over and kicked him in the side, causing him to scream with pain and roll off the blanket.

“Mind your own goddamn business,” Blue Duck said.

“You gonna leave?” Monkey John asked nervously.

“That’s right,” Blue Duck said. “I aim to look for a better crew. The whole bunch of you couldn’t kill one man. You never even attacked that second bunch. It was probably just a cowboy or two.” Dog Face tried to roll back on his blanket, but his strength was gone. The Kiowas had already taken his gun and divided his ammunition among themselves, so he couldn’t even shoot himself. He had a razor in his pack and might have managed to cut his own throat, but his pack was on the other side of the fire and he knew he would never be able to crawl to it.

Blue Duck kicked Lorena twice more. “You ain’t worth selling,” Blue Duck said. “The Kiowas can have you.” “What about me?” Monkey John asked. “What about my half interest?” “I won back your half interest,” Blue Duck said. “I won the Kiowas’ half too.” “Then how come you’re giving her to the goddamn Kiowas?” Monkey John said. “Give her to me.” “No, I want them to carve her up,” Blue Duck said. “It might put some spirit in them, so they can go out tomorrow and run that old Ranger to ground.” “Hell, I’m as mean as they are,” Monkey John said. “I can finish him, if he comes around here.” Blue Duck mounted. “You ain’t half as mean as they are,” he said. “And if McCrae comes around here you better step quick or you’ll be plugged. He got Ermoke, and Ermoke was three times the fighter you are.” He opened his pack, took out a bottle of whiskey and pitched it to the Indians. Then he said something to them in their language and rode away toward the river.

Lorena lay where she had fallen, listening to Dog Face moan. With each breath he let out a throaty moan. His wound had bloody bubbles on it. Lorena got up on her hands and knees and vomited from fear. The Kiowas were all looking at her as they drank. She wanted to run but felt too weak. Anyway, they would soon catch her if she ran. She crawled away from the vomit and sank back, too tired and scared to move. Monkey John sat back from the fire, clutching his rifle. He didn’t even look at her—he wouldn’t help her. She was just in for it.

“Help her, Monkey,” Dog Face said weakly.

“Hell, I can’t help her,” Monkey John said. “You heard him. He gave her to them.” One of the Kiowas understood the talk and was angered. He pulled his knife and stood over Dog Face threateningly. Dog Face continued to moan. Then the Kiowa sat on his chest and Dog Face screamed, a weak scream. The rest of the Indians jumped for him. He was too weak even to lift a hand. One Kiowa cut his belt and two more pulled his pants off. Before Lorena could even turn her head, they castrated him. Another slashed a knife across his forehead and began to rip off his hair. Dog Face screamed again, but it was soon muffled as the Kiowas held his head and stuffed his own bloody organsinto his mouth, shoving them down his throat with the handle of a knife. His hair was soon ripped off and the Kiowa took the scalp and tied it to his lance. Dog Face struggled for breath, a pool of blood beneath his legs. Yet he wasn’t dead.

Lorena had her face in her arms, but she could still hear him moan and gurgle for breath. She wished he would die—it shouldn’t take so long just to die.

She expected any minute they would fall on her, but they didn’t. What they had done to Dog Face put them in a good mood, and they passed around the whiskey bottle.