Pea Eye at once started walking as fast as he could. Though it had stopped raining, it was still cloudy, and he could not see one star or the moon or, for that matter, anything either on heaven or earth. The awful thought struck him that, rolling around and around in the water, he might even have confused north and south and crawled up the wrong bank. He might be walking north, in which case he was as good as dead, but he couldn’t stop to worry about it. He had to move. He had lost his pack and his gun in the river, and as soon as the river sank to being a normal stream again, they would all be lying in the creek bed, in plain sight. If the Indians found them they would know he was gone, and that Gus was alone, which would make things hot for Gus. If they were in a tracking mood it would also make things hot for him. They had horses and could run him down in a matter of hours. The faster he traveled, the better chance he had.
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“That could have been another way of saying she wanted a change of scene,” Clara said. “People get a hankering to quit what they’re doing. They think they want to try something else. I do it myself. Half the time I think I’d like to pack up these girls and go live with my aunt in Richmond, Virginia.” “What would you do there?” July asked.
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“This is like living in a hotel, Lorie,” Augustus said. “We got people toting us meals as fast as we can eat them.” At that point the cook got careless and the little pack mule took a kick at him which barely missed.
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“We’re about to eat,” he said. “It’s a free country, so my advice to you would be to make camp where you choose. I’ll borrow a pot from our cook and bring you some grub once you get settled.” “I’m much obliged,” Augustus said. “Noticed a tree in these parts?” “No, sir,” Wilbarger said. “If there was a tree in these parts I’d be sitting under it.” They made camp on the plain. Wilbarger was as good as his word. In an hour he returned with a small pack mule. Besides an ample pot of beefsteak and beans he brought a small tent.
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“There was a woman here during that fight, I recollect,” he said. “I guess she took off so fast she left her button box.” There were all sizes of buttons—it gave Augustus an idea. He had a pack of cards in his saddlebags, which he quickly produced. “Let’s play a few hands,” he said. “The buttons can be our money.” He spread a blanket near the fireplace and sorted the buttons into piles according to size. There were some large horn buttons that must have been meant for coats.
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Lorena saw that, and just as she saw it the two horses raced right over Monkey John without touching him and were into the Kiowas. One Kiowa screamed, a sound more hopeless and frightening even than the scream of Dog Face. Before she thought about it being Gus, she saw him yank his horse almost down right in the middle of the Kiowas. He shot the one that screamed and then the two that held the knives, shooting from his horse right into their chests. Another Kiowa grabbed the lance with Dog Face’s scalp on it, but Gus shot him before he could lift it. He shot another just as the man was picking up his rifle. The last Kiowa fled into the darkness, and Gus turned his horse after him. “Finish any that ain’t finished,” he said to the other man. But that man had barely dismounted before there was a shot in the darkness. He stood by his horse listening. There was another shot, and then the sound of a horse loping back. Lorena thought it was over but Monkey John shot with his pistol at the man standing by the fire. He missed completely and the man slowly raised his own pistol, but before he could fire Gus rode back into the firelight and shot with his rifle, knocking Monkey John back into the pack.
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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.
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“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.
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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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“I guess that’ll hold you,” he said, and caught the pack-horse.
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“Buenos dias,” Po Campo said to the group at large. “If that donkey ever gets here we’ll have breakfast.” “Why can’t we have it now?” Augustus asked. “You’re here and I see you brought the eggs.” “Yes, but I need my skillet,” Po Campo said. “I’m glad I spotted those plovers. It’s not every day I find this many plover’s eggs.” “It’s not every day I eat them,” Augustus said. “What’d you say your name was?” “Po Campo,” the old man said. “I like this boy here. He helped me gather these eggs, although he’s bunged up from gettin’ throwed.” “Well, I’m Augustus McCrae,” Augustus said. “You’ll have to do the best you can with this rough old crew.” Po Campo whistled at his donkey. “Plover’s eggs are better than quail’s eggs,” he said. “More taste, although quail’s eggs aren’t bad if you boil them and let them cool.” He went around the camp shaking hands with each man in turn. By the time he had finished meeting the crew the donkey had arrived, and in a remarkably short time Po Campo had unpacked a huge skillet, made himself a little grill with a couple of branding irons laid across two chunks of firewood, and had scrambled up sixty or seventy plover’s eggs. He sprinkled in a few spices from his pack and cooked the eggs until they could be cut in slices, like an egg pie. After sampling his own wares and grunting cryptically, he gave each man a slice. Some, like Jasper, were reluctant to sample such exotic fare, but once they had eaten a bite or two their reluctance disappeared.“Dern, this is the best bird-egg pie I ever tasted,” Jasper admitted. “It’s better than hen’s eggs.” “Don’t you even know an omelet when you see one, Jasper?” Augustus said. He was miffed to see the new cook become a hero in five minutes, whereas he had cooked excellent biscuits for years and drawn little praise.
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“Looky there,” Pea said. “I reckon that’s the new cook.” Newt had let his eyelids fall. It was not easy to get them up again, even to see the new cook. He was so sleepy things looked blurred when he did open his eyes. Then he saw a donkey with a pack on its back, walking slowly along.
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“Pack up, Lorie,” Augustus said. “You best stay near us for a night or two.” “Who is he?” she asked.“One we ought to have hung ten years ago,” Augustus said. “Couldn’t catch him. He’s a Comanchero. He’s got a greasy bunch of murderers and child-stealers. He used to work the Red River country from New Mexico all the way across to Arkansas, hitting settlers. They’d butcher the grownups and take the horses and kids.” “Why couldn’t you catch him?” she asked.
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“No, it’s just Lorie,” Augustus said. “She’s resting by a tree. I bet Jake’s gone to town and left her.” Call looked again, but the camp was a half a mile away and all he could see was the horses and the pack mule.
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“Don’t he have a horse?” “No, it foundered,” she said. “Besides, I took the big pan and whacked him across the knees to keep him still a few days.” “My goodness,” Roscoe said. “You’re a rough customer, I guess.” The girl shook her head. “I ain’t rough,” she said. “Old Sam was rough.” She took the utensils to the creek and washed them before putting them back in the packs.
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The girl beat him to the creek and began making mud poultices and spitting in them. She immediately dismantled a couple of crawdad houses to get the kind of mud she required. Fortunately the creek had a high bank, which cast a little shade. Roscoe sat in the shade and allowed the girl to pack the mud poultices over the stings on his face. She even managed to get one on the swelling near his eye.
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“Dern you, why can’t you talk?” he said one night as she was making the campfire. Deets, who stopped by their camp almost every day to see that they were all right, had shown her how to make a fire. He had also taught her how to pack the mule and do various other chores that Jake mostly neglected.
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“Let me have your rope,” July said to Joe. He tied their two ropes together and managed to fling the man a line. After that it was no great trouble to drag the horse and the pack mule out. The man waded out with them.
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From Roscoe, Joe had heard terrible stories about quicksand—in the stories, men and horses and even wagons were slowly swallowed up. He had suspected the stories were exaggerated, and the man and his animals proved it. All might be bogged, but none were sinking. The man wore a tall beaver hat and a long frock coat. Both animals had numerous parcels tied to them, and the man was amusing himself by untying the parcels and pitching them into the river. One by one they began to float away. To their astonishment he even threw away his bedroll.“The man must be a lunatic,” July said. “He must think that horse will float if he gets off some weight. That horse ain’t gonna float.” The man noticed them and gave a friendly wave, then proceeded to unburden the mule of most of its pack. Some floated and some merely lay in the shallow water.
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“I guess that’s the Red,” July said. “That means we’re about to Texas.” When they rode up to the banks of the river they were greeted by an amazing sight. Though running freely, the river was shallow and evidently boggy. Evidence for the bogginess was visible in the form of a tall man over toward the far bank. He was standing in knee-high water, between a gaunt horse and a little brown pack mule, both of which had sunk past their hocks in the river mud.
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“You oughtn’t to provoke me like that,” he said, looking a little hangdog. He tried putting his hands on her, but Lorena shrugged them off and went to the other side of the pack mule.
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“Whoa, now,” Augustus said. “I’m just eating my bite of bacon. But I will say you should have brought a tent if you mean to take a sprightly girl like Lorie out in the weather.” Jake didn’t intend to spend any time bantering about women with Gus. It was good they had the horse back, of course. “I reckon we’ll pack up and move on to San Antonio,” he said, just as Lorena came back with an armful of dry clothes.
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AS SOON AS THE SUN got high enough to be warm, Lorena spread their gear on trees and bushes to dry. It seemed astonishing to her that she was alive and unhurt after such a night. Her spirits rose rapidly and she was even reconciled to having to ride the pack mule. But Jake wouldn’t hear of that. His own spirits were low.
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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 sat up, she eased out from under him. He looked around with no recognition. She dressed and helped him dress, then got him propped against a big shade tree. She made a little fire, thinking some coffee might help him. While she was getting the pot out of the pack she heard a splashing and looked up to see a black man ride his horse into the river from the other side. Soon the horse was swimming, but the black man didn’t seem frightened. The horse waded out, dripping, and the black man dismounted and let it shake itself.
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