The only thing to do in town besides drink was to admire the new courthouse, three stories high and with a gallows at the top, from which Blue Duck would be hung. The courthouse had fine glass windows and polished floors.
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Everyone in the Territory wanted to see Blue Duck hanged, it seemed. The little town was full of cowhands, with women and children sleeping in wagons. There was much argument, most of it in favor of hanging Blue Duck instantly lest he escape. Parties were constantly forming to present petitions to the sheriff, or else storm the jail, but the latter were unenthusiastic. Blue Duck had ranged the llano for so long, and butchered and raped and stolen so often, that superstitions had formed around him. Some, particularly women, felt he couldn’t die, and that their lives would never be safe.
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He regretted that he had to take Gus to the women, but felt it was part of his obligation to deliver the notes Gus had written when he was dying. The Platte was so full of ducks and geese that he heard their gabbling all day, though he rode a mile from the river.
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She didn’t miss the fear, either—the fear that someday Gus would be off somewhere and Blue Duck would come back.
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Newt, with the Rainey boys, was holding the drags, as usual. The wind howled across the flat plain, and the sand seemed to sing as it skimmed the ground. Newt found that looking into the wind blinded him almost instantly. He mostly ducked his head and kept his eyes shut. The horses didn’t like the sand either. They began to duck and jump around, irritated at being forced into such a wind.
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“What are we waiting on?” Lippy asked. “We’re three miles behind already.” Po Campo stood by the water’s edge, looking across the Platte to the south. He was thinking of his dead sons, killed by Blue Duck on the Canadian. He didn’t think often of his sons, but when he did, a feeling of sadness filled him, a feeling so heavy that it was an effort for him to move. Thinking of them in their graves in New Mexico made him feel disloyal, made him feel that he should have shot himself and been buried with them, for was it not the duty of a parent to stay with the children? But he had left, first to go south and kill his faithless wife, and now to the north, while Blue Duck, the killer, still rode free on the llano—unless someone had killed him, which Po Campo doubted. Lippy’s fears about Indians did not move him—the sight of flowing water moved him, stirring feelings in him which, though sad, were deep feelings. They made him want to sing his saddest songs.
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Lorena sat at the kitchen table with the girls, playing draughts. July watched, but could not be persuaded to take part in the game. Even Betsey, his favorite, couldn’t persuade him, and Betsey could usually get July to do anything she wanted him to do. Lorena’s presence made him shy. He enjoyed sitting and looking at her in the lamplight, though. It seemed to him he had never seen anyone so beautiful. He had only seen her before on that dreadful morning on the plains when he had had to bury Roscoe, Joe and Janey, and had been too stricken to notice her. Then she had been bruised and thin from her treatment by Blue Duck and the Kiowas. Now she was neither bruised nor thin.
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Pete Spettle, anger in his face, leaped in and tried to get the quirt, but Dixon backhanded him and Pete went down—it turned out his nose was broken.Newt tried to hunker close to the mare. At first Dixon was mainly quirting his hands, to make him turn loose, but when that was unsuccessful he began to hit Newt wherever he could catch him. One whistling blow cut his ear. He tried to duck his head, but Sugar was scared and kept turning, exposing him to the quirt. Dixon began to whip him on the neck and shoulders. Newt shut his eyes and clung to the bit. Once he glanced at Dixon and saw the man smiling—he had cruel eyes, like a boar pig’s. Then he ducked, for Dixon attempted to cut him across the face. The blow hit Sugar instead, causing the horse to rear and squeal.
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“Yes, she’ll know you’re a human being,” Augustus said. “You don’t have to duck your head to nobody. Half the women in this country probably started out like you did, working in saloons.” “She didn’t,” Lorena said. “I bet she was always a lady. That’s why you wanted to marry her.” Augustus chuckled. “A lady can slice your jugular as quick as a Comanche,” he said. “Clara’s got a sharp tongue. She’s tomahawked me many a time in the past.” “I’ll be afraid to meet her, then,” Lorena said. “I’ll be afraid of what she’ll say.” “Oh, she’ll be polite to you,” Augustus assured her. “I’m the one that will have to watch my step.” But no matter what he said, he couldn’t soothe the girl’s agitation. She felt she would lose him, and that was that. She offered her body—it was all she knew to do. Something in the manner of the offer saddened him, though he accepted it.
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Pursuit was what he and the Captain did best, and now he was wishing he could pursue Blue Duck.
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“What do you boys know of this Blue Duck?” Jake asked, mainly to change the subject.
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“Newt can go with me and learn to be a ladies’ man,” Augustus said. “You won’t claim him anyway, and the last boy that got near Blue Duck had his head smashed in with a rifle butt.” “Nope,” Call said. “I’m primed to see Montana. If we’re the first ones there we can take our pick of the land.” “You take your pick,” Augustus said. “I’m in the mood to travel. Once you boys get settled I may go to China, for all you know.” And with that he rode off. Call smoked a while, feeling odd and a little sad. Jake had proved a coward and would never be part of the old crew again. Of course, he hadn’t been for ten years—the old crew was mostly a memory, though Pea and Deets were still there, and Gus, in his strange way. But it was all changing.
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“Certainly have,” Augustus said. “Take these cattle over to the nearest cow town and sell ’em. Pay off whatever boys is still alive.” “Then what?” “I’ll go deal with the ladies for a while,” Augustus said. “You take Pea and Deets and ride up the Purgatory River until you find Blue Duck. Then either you’ll kill him or he’ll kill all of you.” “What about the boy?” Call asked.
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“What will?” Call asked. His mind had been on Blue Duck.
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Lorena knew the cowboys were near, but she didn’t look out of the tent. Gus had assured her he would be back soon, and she trusted him—though sometimes when he was gone for an hour looking for game, she still got the shakes. Blue Duck wasn’t dead. He might come back and get her again, if Gus didn’t watch close. She remembered his face and the way he smiled when he kicked her. Gus was the only thing that kept the memories away, and sometimes they were so fresh and frightening that she wished she had died so her brain would stop working and just leave her in the quiet. But her brain wouldn’t stop—only Gus could distract it with talk and card games. Only his presence relaxed her enough that she could sleep.
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“I don’t know, we ain’t there yet,” Augustus said. “What’s the word on Jake?” “He was in Fort Worth when we passed by,” Call said. “I guess he’s mainly card playing.” “I met that sheriff that’s after him,” Augustus said. “He’s ahead of us somewhere. His wife run off and Blue Duck killed his deputy and two youngsters who were traveling with him. He’s got other things on his mind besides Jake.” “He’s welcome to Jake, if he wants him,” Call said. “I won’t defend a man who lets a woman get stolen and just goes back to his cards.” “It was wisdom,” Augustus said. “Blue Duck would have scattered Jake over two counties if he had run into him.” “I call it cowardice,” Call said. “Why didn’t you kill Blue Duck?” “He’s quick,” Augustus said. “I couldn’t follow him on this piece of soap I’m riding. Anyway, I had Lorie to consider.” “I hate to let a man like that get away,” Call said.
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“I’ll send the cook over with some breakfast,” he said. “By the way, you didn’t cross the path of a young sheriff from Arkansas, did you? He’s up this way somewhere, and I’ve been worried about him.” “You must be referring to July Johnson,” Augustus said. “We left him four days ago. He was headed on north.” “Well, he had a funny crew with him. I was just a little uneasy,” Wilbarger said. “I found him a likable man, but inexperienced.” “He’s got more experience now,” Augustus said. “Blue Duck killed his crew.” “Killed all three of them?” Wilbarger asked, startled. “I even offered that young boy a job.” “He should have took it,” Augustus said. “We buried them west of here.” “That Duck must be a hard son of a bitch,” Wilbarger said.He sat on his horse a moment, looking into the night. “I had a feeling young Johnson was inexperienced,” he said, and trotted off.
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“Certainly,” Augustus said. “I never met a soul in this world as normal as me.” “And yet here you sit, far out on the naked plain, with a shy woman you had to rescue,” Wilbarger pointed out. “How many skunks did you have to kill in order to rescue her?” “A passel,” Augustus said. “I got the peons but the jefe got away. A bandit named Blue Duck, whom I’d advise you to give a wide berth unless you’re skilled in battle.” “You think he’s around? I’ve heard of the scamp.” “No, I think he’s headed for the Purgatory River,” Augustus said. “But then, I underestimated him once, which is why the lady got abducted. I’m out of practice when it comes to figuring out bandits.” “She’s a little peaked, that girl,” Wilbarger said. “You ought to take her back to Fort Worth. There’s not much in the way of accommodations or medical care north of here.” “We’ll ease along,” Augustus said. “Where shall I return this tent?” “I have business in Denver, later in the year,” Wilbarger said. “That’s if I live, of course. Send it over to Denver, if you have a chance. I don’t use the dern thing much, but I might next winter, if I’m still out where it’s windy.” “I’m enjoying this whiskey,” Augustus said. “A man is foolish to give up the stable pleasure of life just to follow a bunch of shitting cattle.” “You have a point, and it’s a point I’ve often taxed myself with,” Wilbarger said. “If you’re such a normal boy then how come you done it?” “Unfinished business in Ogallala, Nebraska,” Augustus said. “I’d hate to grow old without finishing it.” “I see,” Wilbarger said. “Another shy lady who must have got abducted.” They drank until the bottle was empty.
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When Gus saw that she was tiring he made a pallet for her by the fireplace and sat by her while she napped. Her bruises were healing. She was much thinner than she had been when Blue Duck took her away—her cheeks had hollowed.
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A thought that nagged Call was that he had let Gus go off alone to do a job that was too big for him—a job they ought to have done together. Often, during the day, as he rode ahead of the herd, he would look to the northwest, hoping to see Gus returning. More and more the thought came to him that Gus was probably dead. Men simply vanished into the llano to die somewhere and lie without graves, their bones eventually scattered by varmints. Of course, Gus was a famous man, in his way. If Blue Duck had killed him he might brag, and word would eventually get back. But what if some young renegade who didn’t know he was famous killed him? Then he would simply be gone.
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“There are young renegades,” Po said. “Blue Duck always finds them. Some are left. The llano is a big place.” That was certainly true. Call remembered the few times they had ventured on it. After a day or two the men would grow anxious because of the emptiness. “There’s too much of this nothing,” Pea said. He would say it two or three times a day, like a refrain, as the mirages shimmered in the endless distances. Even a man with a good sense of direction could get lost with so few surface features to guide him. Water was always chancy.
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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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“I lived on the llano once,” he said. “I wanted to raise sheep but I was foolish. The wolves killed them and the Comanches killed them and the weather killed them. Then Blue Duck killed my three sons. After that I left the llano.” “Why don’t you think Gus will catch him?” Call asked.
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Po Campo didn’t go to Fort Worth either. He sat with his back to one of the wheels of the wagon, whittling one of the little female figures he liked to carve. As he walked along during the day he kept his eye out for promising chunks of wood and, if he saw one, would pitch it in the wagon. Then at night he whittled. He would start with a fairly big chunk, and after a week or so would have it whittled into a little wooden woman about two inches high.“I hope he comes back,” Po Campo said. “I enjoy his acquaintance, although he doesn’t like my cooking.” “Well, we wasn’t used to eating bugs and such when you first came,” Pea Eye said. “I expect he’ll work up a taste for it when he comes back. It never used to take him so long to catch a bandit.” “He won’t catch Blue Duck,” Po Campo said.
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Call began to be very worried about Gus. It was unusual for him to be gone so long with only one man to chase. Of course, Blue Duck might have had a gang waiting, and Gus might have ridden into an ambush. He had not done any serious fighting in years. Even Pea Eye had begun to worry about him.
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