Newt had once seen a Mexican girl who had pulled up her skirt to wade in the Rio Grande. She wore nothing under the skirt. When she noticed he was watching she merely giggled. Often, after that, he had slipped down to the river when nothing much was happening, hoping to see her cross again. But he never had; that one glimpse was all he had to go on when it came to naked women. He had run it through his mind so many times it was hardly useful.
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July felt that his head would burst. He didn’t care what she called him. It hurt so that he could hardly walk straight on the stairs. He bumped into the door at the foot of the stairs. Above them, the baby was squalling.
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“You didn’t hardly have no blood in you when you got here.” Elmira wished there was a window shade so she couldn’t see Zwey staring at her. He stared for hours. She could feel his eyes on her, but she was too weak to turn her head away. Luke seemed to be gone—at least he never showed up.
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“She won’t hardly even look at me,” Dish said. He said it mildly, but he didn’t feel it mildly. Lorena’s indifference pained him more than anything he had ever experienced.
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“If that woman was your wife, I guess this child is yours,” Clara said. “She had it the night she was here. Then she left. She was very anxious to get to town. I don’t believe she realized what a fine boy she had. We all took to him right away around this place.” July had not really looked at the baby. He had supposed it belonged to Clara—she had said her name was Clara. She was watching him closely with her kind gray eyes. But what she said seemed so unlikely that he couldn’t really credit it. Elmira had said nothing to him about wanting a baby, or planning to have one, or anything. To him, so tired he could hardly sit straight, it just meant another mystery. Maybe it explained why Elmira ran away—though it didn’t to him. As for the little boy, wiggling in Clara’s lap, he didn’t know what to think. The notion that he had a son was too big a notion. His mind wouldn’t really approach it. The thought made him feel lost again, as he had felt out on the plains.
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IT SEEMED TO JULY that he was nearly as cursed as Job when it came to catching Elmira. Despite his caution, he kept having accidents and setbacks of a kind that had never happened at home in Fort Smith. Three days out of Dodge, the new horse he had bought, which turned out not to be well-broken, fell and crippled himself trying to throw a hobble. July waited a day, hoping it wasn’t as bad as he thought it was—but the next day he saw it was even worse. It hardly seemed possible to lose two horses on one trip, when he had never lost a horse before in his life, but it was a fact he had to face.
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“It’s just me,” Elmira whispered. She was beginning to feel scared—she felt so weak she could hardly hold her eyes open, and she wanted more than anything to talk to Dee. She didn’t want to faint before they had their talk, and yet she was afraid she might.
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Ellie didn’t know what was wrong. He could see it was her, and yet he hardly looked at her. He seemed scared, and his hair had little pieces of cotton ticking in it from a tear in the thin mattress he slept on. The scruffy growth of whiskers made him seem a lot older than she had remembered him.
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“Wake up, Boot,” he said. “You got visitors.” The sleeping man immediately sprang up with a wild look. Ellie saw that it was him, although he hardly looked like the dapper man she remembered. He glanced at the window fearfully, then just stood and stared.
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Elmira didn’t answer. She didn’t want to talk to this woman. Her breasts were so full they hurt; she didn’t care that the baby took the milk, she just didn’t want to look at it. She wanted to get up and make Zwey take her to town, to Dee, but she knew she couldn’t do it yet. Her legs were so weak she could hardly move them on the bed. She would never get downstairs unless she crawled.
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Clara had lived, and stayed, though she had a look in her gray eyes that frightened Bob every time he saw it. He didn’t really know what the look meant, but to him it meant she might leave if he didn’t watch out. When they first came to Nebraska, he had had the drinking habit. Ogallala was hardly even a town then; there were few neighbors, and almost no socials. The Indians were a dire threat, though Clara didn’t seem to fear them. If they had company, it was usually soldiers—the soldiers drank, and so did he. Clara didn’t like it. One night he got pretty drunk, and when he got up in the morning she had that look in her eye. She made him breakfast, but then she looked at him coldly and lay down a threat. “I want you to stop drinking,” she said. “You’ve been drunk three times this week. I won’t live here and get dirt in my hair for the love of a drunkard.” It was the only threat she ever had to make. Bob spent the day worrying, looking at the bleak plains and wondering what he would do in such a place without her. He never touched whiskey again. The jug he had been working on sat in the cupboard for years, until Clara finally mixed it with sorghum molasses and used it for cough medicine.
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Dish could hardly believe his luck when Augustus told him to take Lorena her meals and look after her. The thought that he would be allowed to go over to the tent made him a little dizzy.
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Jake hardly knew what to think. He had just seen two men shot in the space of seconds. He had no idea why. By the time he got near the tent Dan Suggs had drug a little trunk outside and was rifling it. He pitched the clothes which were in the trunk out on the grass. His brothers rode over to join the fun, and were soon holding up various garments, to see if they fit. Jake rode over too, feeling nervous. Dan Suggs was clearly in a killing mood. Both farmers lay dead on the grass near their mule team, which was quietly grazing. Both had bullet holes in their foreheads. Dan had shot them at point-blank range.
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“Did you know Ellie?” he asked. “I heard you knowed her.”It was Jennie’s turn to be surprised. Elmira had been her best friend for three years, and she hardly expected a drunken young cowboy to mention her name.
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“That’s it, sonny, it’s only cash we want,” Dan said. “Tell your pa to pay us and we’ll help him guard his crops.” Jake hardly expected a scared boy to believe that, but the boy did stop crying. He spoke to his father in the old tongue, and the man, whose face ran with tears, composed himself a little and jabbered at the boy.
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When they got up into Kansas they began to see the occasional settler, sod-house nesters, mostly. Jake hardly thought any of them could have enough money to be worth the trouble of robbing, but the younger Suggs brothers were all for trying them.
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“Them punkin’ rollers,” Dan Suggs said contemptuously. “If they was to follow we’d thin them out in a hurry.” Jake fell into a gloom—it seemed he could do nothing right. He hardly asked for more in life than a clean saloon to gamble in and a pretty whore to sleep with, that and a little whiskey to drink. He had no desire to be shooting people—evenduring his years in the Rangers he seldom actually drew aim at anyone, although he cheerfully threw off shots in the direction of the enemy. He certainly didn’t consider himself a killer: in battle, Call and Gus were capable of killing ten to his one.
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Then they rode over a ridge so low it hardly seemed like a ridge, and there was the herd and the cowboys too. They were two or three miles away, but it was them—he could even see the wagon. Instead of stealing him, the Indians had just been keeping him from getting lost, for he had been angling off in the wrong direction. He realized then that the young Indians were laughing because he was so dumb he didn’t even know which way his own cattle were. He didn’t blame them. Now that he was safe, he felt like laughing too. He wanted to thank the Indians, but he didn’t know their words. All he could do was smile at them.
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Lorena didn’t say anything. She felt so sleepy that she could hardly sit up, and after a moment she leaned against Gus and shut her eyes. He put his arms around her. His arms were warm and the sun on her face was warm. Sleep had pulled at her so much lately that it seemed she was never fully awake, but it didn’t matter so long as Gus was there to talk to her and sleep close beside her. If he was there she could let go and slide into sleep. He didn’t mind. Often she would rest in his arms, while he held forth, talking almost to himself, for she only half heard. Only when she thought of coming to a town did she feel worried. She stayed in her sleeps as long as she could, so as not to have to worry about the towns.
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“You could take him with you when you hunt, like you used to,” she said. “He couldn’t pester me if he’s with you.” She had hardly spoken when a shot rang out. It passed between the two of them and hit the turkey, knocking it off its stick into the ashes. They both scrambled for the cover of the wagon and waited. An hour later they were still waiting.
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“I believe I’ll just stay,” he told the foreman. “I like the view.” He also liked a long-legged whore named Sally Skull—at least that was what she called herself. She ran the whoring establishment for Bill Sloan, who owned the saloon. There were five girls but only three rooms, and with the herds coming through in such numbers the cowboys were in the place practically all the time. Sally had alarm clocks outside the rooms—she gave each man twenty minutes, after which the big alarm clocks went off with a sound like a firebell. When that happened, Sally would throw the door open and watch while the cowboys got dressed. Sally was skinny but tall, with short black hair. She was taller than all but a few of the cowboys, and the sight of her standing there unnerved most of the men so much they could hardly button their buttons. The majority of them were just boys, anyway, and not used to whorehouse customs and alarm clocks.
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“Dern, we should be herding fish,” he said, a little later, holding the point nonetheless, though he hardly felt like it. If Lorena was indeed dead, he meant to stay clear of other women and grieve for her for a lifetime.
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When Roscoe pointed, she immediately went running off toward it. Roscoe could hardly believe his eyes—but she had always been a wild girl.
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“What’s your plan, Mr. Johnson?” Augustus asked politely. “If your business is urgent you might not want to slow down long enough to help me catch this Blue Duck.” That was true. July didn’t want to slow down at all until he found Elmira. If he had been alone, he would have traveled twenty hours a day and rested four. But he was hardly alone. Roscoe was nervous as a cat and spent all day talking about his worries. Joe didn’t complain, but the hard traveling had worn him out and he rode along in a doze most of the time and slept like a dead thing when they stopped.
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Monkey John looked awful. He had a bloody lump on his head, and a hangover. He had slept with his face in the dirt all night and an ant had stung him several times, leaving one eye swollen nearly shut. He got to his feet but he could hardly stand.
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