“No, sir,” Wilbarger said. “My foreman died, south of Fort Worth. I have another herd somewhere ahead of me, but I can’t leave to go check on it. I don’t know that I’ll ever see it again, although I may.” “What’d he die of?” Augustus asked. “It’s a healthy climate down that way.” “He died of a horse falling over backwards on him,” Wilbarger said. “He would test the broncs.” “Foolish,” Augustus said. “A grown man ought to have sense enough to seek gentle horses.” “Many don’t,” Wilbarger pointed out. “That mare Captain Call wouldn’t trade me didn’t look that gentle, yet he’s a grown man.” “Grown, but not what you’d call normal,” Augustus said. “I put it down to lack of education. If he’d been trained in Latin he’d most likely have let you have that horse.” “Do you consider yourself normal, then?” Wilbarger asked.
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Wilbarger was as surprised as Augustus. He had seen two riders and supposed they were scouts for yet another herd. “By God, McCrae, you’re a surprise,” he said. “I thought you was three weeks behind me, and here you are attacking from the west. How far back is your herd, or do you have one?” “As you can see, I ain’t brought a cow,” Augustus said. “Call may still have a herd of them if he ain’t lost them or just turned them loose.” “If he would do that he’s a fool, and he didn’t act like a fool,” Wilbarger said. “He wouldn’t trade me that mare.” He tipped his hat to Lorena. “I don’t believe I’ve met the young lady,” he said.
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But no one heard him except the Hell Bitch, who grazed at the end of a long rope. Every night he slipped one end of the rope beneath his belt and then looped it around his wrist, so there would be no chance of her taking fright and suddenly jerking loose from him. Call had become so sensitive to her movements that if she even raised her head to sniff the air he would wake up. Usually it was no more than a deer, or a passing wolf. But the mare noticed, and Call rested better, knowing she would watch.
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“I didn’t like the horse Captain Gus took,” Po Campo said. “He won’t catch Blue Duck on that horse. Blue Duck always has the best horse in the country—that’s why he always gets away.” “He don’t have the best horse in this country,” Call said. “I do.” “Yes, that’s true, she is a fine mare,” Po said. “You might catch up with him but Captain Gus won’t. Blue Duck will sell the woman. Captain Gus might get her back if the Indians don’t finish him. I wouldn’t make a bet.” “I’d make one, if I had money,” Deets said. “Mister Gus be fine.” “I didn’t think there was much left in the way of Indians,” Call said.
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He rode east all morning, a bad feeling in his heart. He had meant to catch Blue Duck within a day, but he hadn’t. The renegade had out-traveled him. It would have been rough on Lorie, such traveling. He should have borrowed Call’s mare, but the thought hadn’t occurred to him until too late. By this time Lorie could be dead, or ruined. He had helped recover several captives from the Comanches in his rangering days, and often the recovery came too late if the captives were women. Usually their minds were gone and they were only interested in dying, which they mostly did once they got back to people who would let them die.
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The next day he found the carcass of Lorie’s mare. By the end of the day he was out of the scrub. When he crossed the Wichita he angled west. He had not seen Blue Duck’s tracks in two days but he didn’t care. He had always had confidence in his instincts and felt he knew where the man would stop. Possibly he was bound for Adobe Walls, one of the Bents’ old forts. This one, on the Canadian, had never been much of a success. The Bents had abandoned it, and it became a well- known gathering place for buffalo hunters, as well as for anyone crossing the plains.
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“I guess who ever picked this one was just planning to ride to church,” Blue Duck said. He untied Lorena and put her on the pack-horse. They rode off and left the mare. The pack-horse lasted only a day, and when he stopped, Blue Duck made her get up behind him on the big sorrel. If it bothered the horse to carry two riders, he didn’t show it. Lorena held to the saddle strings and tried not to touch Blue Duck, although he paid her no mind.
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“Only I told the boys I’d bring them a woman,” he said. “I doubt they thought I’d find the likes of you. They’ll probably give me most of their money and all their hides when they see you.” That day her mare played out. She had been stumbling more and more, as she tired. In the heat of the afternoon she stopped and stood with her head down.
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He trotted what he judged to be about a half a mile from Lorena’s camp before stopping and dismounting. His new plan for watching Lorena involved leaving Mouse—if he tried to sneak back on Mouse, Lorena’s mare might nicker. He would have to tie Mouse and sneak back on foot, a violation of a major rule of cowboying. You were never supposed to be separated from your horse. The rule probably had to do with Indian fighting, Newt supposed: you would obviously be done for if the Indians caught you on foot.
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Behind him the mare kicked restlessly at the earth for a moment as if annoyed, and then began to graze.
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Call was unsaddling the mare. At the mention of the Comanchero he stopped.
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“Well, your little plan failed,” he said to the mare. He knew that with a little better luck she would have been loose and gone. She didn’t fight at all when he remounted, and she showed no sign of wanting to buck anymore. Call kept her in a trot for a mile or two before letting her go back to the lope. He didn’t expect her to try it again. She was too intelligent to waste her energies at a time when she knew he would be set for trouble. Somehow she had sensed that he had his mind on other things when she exploded. In a way it pleased him—he had never cared for totally docile horses. He liked an animal that was as alert as he was—or, in the mare’s case, even more alert. She had been aware of his preoccupations, whereas he had had no inkling of her intentions.
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He put the Hell Bitch into a lope—it was a pleasure to watch the easy way the mare ate up the miles. With such a horse under him he could soon forget most of his vexations.
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But no matter how uncomfortable the nights, the sky usually cleared in the morning. She liked to sit on the blankets and feel the sun getting warmer. She watched her arms getting slowly tanned and felt that a life of travel was what she was meant for. Her mare had gotten used to the travel too and no longer looked back toward Lonesome Dove.
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“Don’t forget to hobble that mare,” he said. “I guess she ain’t as tired of Lonesome Dove as we are. She was on her way home when I came across her.” “I’ll hobble her,” Lorena said. She gave Gus a grin—Jake’s little flare-up had not affected her good spirits.
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While she was resting, who should come riding up with her mare but Gus.
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JAKE HAD FORGOTTEN to hobble the horses—he remembered it when the first lightning struck and Lorena’s young mare suddenly snapped her rein and ran off. It was dark and the sand was still blowing. He managed to get the hobbles on his own horse and the pack mule, but had to let the mare go.
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When he took the reins Lorena felt a deeper fright than she had ever known. She gripped the horse’s mane so tightly the horsehairs cut into her hands. Then she shut her eyes—she couldn’t bear to see the water coming over her. The mare took a leap, and there was a different feeling. They were swimming. She heard the black man’s voice talking soothingly to the mare. The water lapped at her waist, but it came no higher; after a moment she opened her eyes. They were nearly across the river. The black man was looking back watchfully, lifting her reins a bit so as to keep the horse’s head out of the water. Then there was the suck of the water against her legs as they started to climb out of the river. With a smile, the black man handed her back her wet reins. She was gripping the mane so tightly it took an act of will to turn her hands loose.
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The third time the mare turned, the black man was suddenly beside her. “Let me have her,” he said.
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It was a good thing Deets had offered to help. Lorena’s mare balked and wouldn’t take the water. She would go in chest- deep and then whirl and climb back up the bank, showing the whites of her eyes and trying to run. Despite herself, Lorena felt her fear rising. Once, already, the mare had nearly fallen. She might really fall, trapping Lorena beneath the green water. She tried to control her fear—she would have to get across many rivers if she was to get to San Francisco—but the mare kept flouncing and trying to turn and Lorena couldn’t help being afraid. She could see Jake on the other bank. He didn’t look very concerned.
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“Most certainly,” Augustus said. “I’ve lived about a hundred to your one. I’ll be a little riled if I end up being the one to die in the line of duty, because this ain’t my duty and it ain’t yours, either. This is just fortune hunting.”“Well, we wasn’t finding one in Lonesome Dove,” Call said. He saw Deets returning from the northwest, ready to lead them to the bed-ground. Call was glad to see him—he was tired of Gus and his talk. He spurred the mare on off the hill. It was only when he met Deets that he realized Augustus hadn’t followed. He was still sitting on old Malaria, back on the little hill, watching the sunset and the cattle herd.
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“Make it twenty-six hundred cattle and two pigs,” he said. “I guess we’ve seen the last of the dern Rio Grande. One of us ought to make a speech, Call. Think of how long we’ve rode this river.” Call was not willing to indulge him in any dramatics. He mounted the mare and went over to help the boys get the cattle started. It was not a hard task. Most of the cattle were still wild as antelope and instinctively moved away from the horsemen. In a few minutes they were on the trail, strung out for more than a mile. The point riders soon disappeared in the low brush.
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Call himself spent the day on the mare, weeding out the weaker stock, both cattle and horses. He worked with Deets.
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“I guess we’ll try to find a ridge to camp on,” Jake said. “It would be nice to be upwind from these smelly beasts.” “Good God, Jake, if you’re that finicky you ought to have been a barber,” Augustus said. “Then you could smell hair oil and toilet water all day and never be offended.” He walked over and helped Lorena mount. The brown mare was restless and kept slinging her head.
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