There were no more attacks that day, but there was no doubt that the Indians were still there. Before sundown they raised their war cries again. This time Augustus didn’t answer.
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“You can’t carry me to the herd, and I doubt I can walk it,” Augustus said. “I’m running such a fever I’m apt to go out of my head any time. You’ll probably have to trot back and bring some of the boys, or maybe the wagon. Then I can ride back in style.” The thought struck Pea Eye for the first time that Gus might die. He had no color, and he was shaking. It had never been suggested that Gus might die. Of course, he knew any man could die. Pea himself had seen many die. Yet it was a condition he had never associated with Gus McCrae, or with the Captain either. They were not normal men, as he understood normal, and he had never reckoned with the possibility that either of them might die. Now, when he looked at Gus and saw his pallor and his shakes, the thought came into his mind and wouldn’t leave. Gus might die. Pea knew at once that he had to do everything possible to prevent it. If he went back to the wagon and reported that Gus was dead, there was no telling what the Captain would say.
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“I doubt it,” Augustus said. “The eyesight of your average Indian is overrated. They spend too much time in them smoky tepees. The bulk of them can’t see in the dark no better than we can, if as well. So it’s a big chance for them, sneaking up on sharpshooters like us.” “Well, I ain’t a sharpshooter,” Pea Eye said. “I need to take a good aim or else I miss.” “You’re near as depressing as Jasper Fant,” Augustus said.
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“I was just thanking them for the concert,” Augustus said. “Remember that old Comanche that went blind and used to hang around the Fort? He taught me that. I doubt they’ve ever heard Comanche up in these parts. It might spook them a little.” “Reckon they’ll sneak up in the dark?” Pea asked. That was his lifelong worry—being snuck up on in the dark by an Indian.
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“My lord, Gus, you’re shot too,” Pea Eye said. When Augustus bent over to twist the arrow, Pea noticed that the back of his shirt, down low near his belt, was caked with blood. The dirt from their diggings had covered it, but there was no doubt that it was blood.
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Finally he decided to send Augustus. “I hate to give you the first look, but somebody’s got to look,” he said. “Would you want to go?” “Oh, sure,” Augustus said. “I’d be happy to get away from all this tedious conversation. Maybe I’ll trot through this Miles City community and see if anyone stocks champagne.” “Take the look around first, if you can be bothered,” Call said. “I doubt the main street of Miles City would make a good ranch, and I doubt you’ll get any farther, once you spot a saloon. We need to find a place and get some shelters built before winter hits. Take a man with you, in case you get into trouble,” Call suggested.
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“Looks like you’d be satisfied,” Jasper said. “Ain’t we traveled enough? I’d like to step into a saloon in good old Fort Worth, myself. I’d like to see my home again while my folks are still alive.” “Why, that ain’t the plan,” Augustus said. “We’re up here to start a ranch. Home and hearth don’t interest us. We hired you men for life. You ought to have said goodbye to the old folks before you left.” “What are we going to do, now that we’re here?” Lippy asked. The question was on everyone’s minds. Usually when a cattle drive ended the men just turned around and went back to Texas, but then most drives stopped in Kansas, which seemed close to home compared to where they were now. Many of them harbored secret doubts about their ability to navigate a successful return to Texas. Of course, they knew the direction, but they would have to make the trip in winter, and the Indians that hadn’t been troublesome on the way north might want to fight as they went south.
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“Do you want me to carry him out?” July asked, hoping to feel useful. “He could sleep in a wagon just as well.” “Let him lie,” Clara said, thinking it had been an odd day. “I doubt it’s the first time he’s slept on a floor, and anyway he isn’t your lookout.” She knew July was in love with her and was irritated that he was so awkward about it. He was as innocent as Bob, but she didn’t feel moved to patience, in July’s case. She would save her patience for his son, who slept at her breast, whimpering now and then. Soon she got up with the baby and went to her room, leaving July sitting silently in a chair while the drunken minister snored on the floor.
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“Hell, I don’t care if they shoot at one another,” Augustus said. “None of them can hit anything. I doubt we’ll lose many.” He studied the bear for a time. The bear was not making any trouble, but he apparently had no intention of moving either. “I doubt that bear has ever seen a brindle bull before,” Augustus said. “He’s a mite surprised, and you can’t blame him.” “Dern, that’s a bit big bear,” Call said.“Yes, and he put the whole outfit to flight just by walking up out of the creek,” Augustus said.
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“You better tie them three,” he said. “Otherwise they’ll follow us.” “I doubt they speak English, Woodrow,” Augustus said. “I imagine they speak Ute. Anyway, we killed their best warrior; they’re done for now unless they find some better country. Three horses won’t last them through the winter.” He looked around at the parched country, the naked ridges where the earth had split from drought. The ridges were varicolored, smudged with red and salt-white splotches, as if the fluids of the earth had leaked out through the cracks.
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Call slept a distance out of camp, as was his habit. He knew the men were in a good mood, for he could hear them singing most of the night. Now that he had the leisure to sleep, he found he couldn’t, much. He had always thought his energies equal to any situation, but he had begun to have doubts. A tiredness clung to his bones, but not a tiredness that produced sleep. He felt played out, and wished they were already in Montana. There were only a few hundred miles left, but it seemed farther to him than all the distance they had come.
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“I ain’t been scorched by lightning, but I doubt it could be hotter than being scorched by you,” he said.
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“I doubt she’d stay,” he said.
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“I doubt you can get Woodrow Call to go to your picnic,” Augustus said. “He’ll be wanting to get back to work.” But Call went. He had come back to the house, still trying to think of a way to talk Clara down on the horses, only to find the girls loading a small wagon, Lorena holding a baby, and Gus carrying a crock of buttermilk.
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Clara looked at him coolly. “I don’t judge women that harsh,” she said. “I might have done the same under some circumstances.” “I doubt it,” he said.
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“We hung your man for you,” Call said. “He fell in with a bad bunch. We caught them up in Kansas.” For a second, July didn’t remember what he was talking about. It seemed a life ago that he had left Fort Smith in pursuit of Jake Spoon. He had long since ceased to give the man any thought. The news that he was dead did not affect him.“I doubt I would have caught him myself,” July said. “I had horse trouble, up around Dodge.” When Clara got back to the house she was in high color. The way Call had stood there silently, not even asking a question or making an offer, just waiting for her to come down on the price, struck her as arrogant. The more she thought about it, the less hospitable she felt toward the man.
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When she came down from washing her face, she heard talk from the back and stopped dead on the stairs, for there was no doubt who was talking. The chord of memory that had been weakly struck by the sight of the horsemen resounded through her suddenly like an organ note. No sound in the world could have made her happier, for she heard the voice of Augustus McCrae, a voice like no other. He sounded exactly as he always had—hearing his voice so unexpectedly after sixteen years caused her eyes to fill. The sound took the years away. She stood on the stairs in momentary agitation, uncertain for a second as to when it was, or where she was, so much did it remind her of other times when Augustus would show up unexpectedly, and she, in her little room over the store, would hear him talking to her parents. Only now he was talking to her girls. Clara regretted not changing blouses—Gus had always appreciated her appearance. She walked on down the stairs and looked out the kitchen window. Sure enough, Gus was standing there, in front of his horse, talking to Betsey and Sally. Woodrow Call sat beside him, still mounted, and beside Call, on a bay horse, was a young blond woman wearing men’s clothes. A good-looking boy on a brown mare was the last of the group.Clara noted that Gus had already charmed the girls—July Johnson would be lucky to get another bowl of soup out of them as long as Gus was around.
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“She ought to have loved him,” Sally said.“Ought don’t count for as much as a gnat, when you’re talking about love,” Clara said. “She didn’t. You seen her. She didn’t even care for Martin. We’ve already given July and Martin more love than that poor woman ever gave them. I don’t say that to condemn her. I know she had her troubles, and I doubt she was often in her right mind. I’m sorry she had no more control of herself to run off from her husband and child and get killed.” She stopped, to let the girls work on the various questions a little. It interested her which they would pick as the main point.
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“It’s Ellie,” he added. “That soldier said the Indians killed a woman and a buffalo hunter about sixty miles east of town. I have no doubt it was her. They were traveling that way.” “Come on up to the house,” she said. He was almost too weak to walk and was worthless for several days, faint with grief over a woman who had done nothing but run away from him or abuse him almost from the day they married.
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Something about the men coming from the north struck a key in her memory, but struck it so weakly that she only paused for a moment to wonder who it could be. She finished her task and then washed her face, for the dust was blowing and she had gotten gritty coming back from the lots. It was the kind of dust that seemed to sift through your clothes. She contemplated changing blouses, but if she did that, the next thing she knew she would be taking baths in the morning and changing clothes three times a day like a fine lady, and she didn’t have that many clothes, or consider herself that fine. So she made do with a face wash and forgot about the riders. July and Cholo were both working the lots and would no doubt notice them too. Probably it was just a few Army men wanting to buy horses. Red Cloud was harrying them hard, and every week two or three Army men would show up wanting horses.
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“I doubt it took a minute, once she got me washed,” he said.
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“I doubt you’ve had a chance to get much, but it won’t hurt to check,” she said.
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“Why, that’s a leg pull,” Jimmy Rainey said. “How could one come off?” “Oh, well, if it don’t come plumb off it’ll drip worse than my stomach,” Lippy said. “You boys oughtn’t to doubt me. I was living with whores before any of you sprouted.” “How do we get the beer?” Newt asked. He was almost as intrigued by the thought of beer as by the thought of whores.
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“Let’s ask him where the whores are,” Ben suggested. “I doubt we can find any by ourselves.” They caught up with Dish by the livery stable. He didn’t look to be in high spirits, but at least he was walking straight, which was more than could be said for the men who had returned to camp.
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“I’m not interested in Ogallala,” Weaver said. “I’m interested in Red Cloud.” “We don’t know this Red Cloud,” Augustus said. “But if he’s much of a war chief you better hope you don’t catch him. I doubt an Indian would even consent to eat them ponies you’re riding. I never saw a worse-mounted bunch of men.” “Well, we’ve been out ten days, and it’s none of your concern,” Weaver said, trembling with indignation. Although Augustus was doing most of the talking, it was Call whom he looked at with hatred.
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