Lonesome Dove (67 page)

71

“I’LL BE GLAD to get to Dodge,” Jake said. “I’d like a bath and a whore. And a good barber to shave me. There’s a barber there named Sandy that I fancy, if nobody ain’t shot him.”

“You’ll know tomorrow, I guess,” Dan Suggs said. “I’ve never liked barbers myself.”

“Dan don’t even like whores,” Roy Suggs said. “Dan’s hard to please.”

Jake was cheered by the thought that Dodge was so close. He was tired of the empty prairie and the sullen Suggses, and was looking forward to jolly company and some good card games. He had every intention of wiggling loose from the Suggses in Dodge. Gambling might be his ticket. He could win a lot of money and tell them he’d had enough of the roving life. They didn’t own him, after all.

It was a sunny day, and Jake rode along happily. Sometimes he got a lucky feeling—the feeling that he was meant for riches and beautiful women and that nothing could keep him down for long. The lucky feeling came to him as he rode, and the main part of it was his sense that he was about to get free of the Suggs brothers. They were hard men, and he had made a bad choice in riding with them, but nothing very terrible had come of it, and they were almost to Dodge. It seemed to him he had slid into bad luck in Arkansas the day he accidentally shot the dentist, and now he was about to slide out of it in Kansas and resume the kind of enjoyable life he felt he deserved. Frog Lip was riding just in front of him, and he felt how nice it would be not to have to consort with such a man again. Frog Lip rode along silently, as he had the whole trip, but there was menace in his silence, and Jake was ready for lighter company—a whore, particularly. There were sure to be plenty of them in Dodge.

In the afternoon, though, Dan Suggs, the man who was hard to please, saw something he liked: a herd of about twenty-five horses being driven south by three men. He rode over to a ridge and inspected the horses through his spyglasses. When he came back he had a pleased look on his face. At the sight of it Jake immediately lost his lucky feeling.

“It’s old Wilbarger,” Dan said. “He’s just got two hands with him.”

“Why, I’ve heard of him,” Jake said. “We returned some of his horses to him, out of Mexico. Pedro Flores had them. I never met Wilbarger myself.”

“I’ve met him, the son of a bitch,” Dan said. “I rode for him once.”

“Where’s he goin’ with them horses, back to Texas?” Roy asked.

“He’s probably sold his lead herd in Dodge and has got another bunch or two headed for Denver. He’s taking his boys some fresh mounts.”

Wilbarger and his horses were soon out of sight, but Dan Suggs made no move to resume the trip to Dodge.

“I guess Dan’s feeling bloody,” Roy said, observing his brother.

“I thought Wilbarger was rough,” little Eddie said.

“He is, but so am I,” Dan Suggs said. “I never liked the man. I see no reason why we shouldn’t have them horses.”

Roy Suggs was not greatly pleased by his brother’s behavior. “Have ’em and do what with ’em?” he asked. “We can’t sell ’em in Dodge if Wilbarger’s just been there.”

“Dodge ain’t the only town in Kansas,” Dan said. “We can sell ’em in Abilene.”

With no further discussion, he turned and rode southwest at a slow trot. His brothers followed. Jake sat for a moment, his lucky feeling gone and a sense of dread in its place. He thought maybe the Suggs brothers would forget him and he could ride on to Dodge, but then he saw Frog Lip looking at him. The black man was impassive.

“You coming?” he asked—the first time on the whole trip that he had spoken to Jake directly. There was an insolence in his voice that caused Jake to flare up for a moment despite himself.

“I guess if you watch you’ll find out,” Jake said, bitter that the man would address him so.

Frog Lip just looked at him, neither smiling nor frowning. The insolence of the look was so great that for a moment Jake contemplated gunplay. He wanted to shoot the look off the black man’s face. But instead he touched his horse lightly with the spurs and followed the Suggs brothers across the plain. He felt angry—the barber and the whore he had been looking forward to had been put off. Soon he heard the black man’s horse fall in behind him.

Dan Suggs traveled at a leisurely pace; they didn’t see Wilbarger or his horses again that day. When they spotted a spring with a few low trees growing by it, Dan even stopped for a nap.

“You don’t want to steal horses in the daytime,” he remarked when he awoke. “It works better at night. That way you can put it off on Indians, if you’re lucky.”

“We better pull the shoes off these horses then,” Roy Suggs said. “Indians don’t use horseshoes much.”

“You’re a stickler for details, ain’t you?” Dan said. “Who’s gonna track us?” He lay back in the shade and put his hat over his eyes.

“Wilbarger might, if he’s so rough,” little Eddie said.

Dan Suggs just chuckled.

“Hell, I thought we come up here to rob banks and regulate settlers,” Jake said. “I don’t remember hiring on to steal horses. Stealing horses is a hanging crime, as I recall.”

“I never seen such a bunch of young ladies,” Dan said. “Everything’s a hanging crime up here in Kansas. They ain’t got around to making too many laws.”

“That may be,” Jake said. “Horse stealing don’t happen to be my line of work.”

“You’re young, you can learn a new line of work,” Dan said, raising up on an elbow. “And if you’d rather not learn, we can leave you here dead on the ground. I won’t tolerate a shirker.” With that he put his hat back over his face and went to sleep.

Jake knew he was trapped. He could not fight four men. The Suggs brothers all took naps, but Frog Lip sat by the spring all afternoon, cleaning his guns.

Late in the afternoon Dan Suggs got up and took a piss by the spring. Then he lay down on his belly and had a long drink of water. When he got up, he mounted his horse and rode off, without a word to anyone. His brothers quickly mounted and followed him, and Jake had no choice but to do the same. Frog Lip, as usual, brought up the rear.

“Dan’s feeling real bloody,” little Eddie said.

“Well, he gets that way,” Roy said. “I hope you don’t expect me to preach him a sermon.”

“He don’t want them horses,” little Eddie said. “He wants to kill that man.”

“I doubt he’ll turn down free horses, once he has them,” Roy said.

Jake felt bitter that the day had turned so bad. It was his bad luck again—he couldn’t seem to beat it. If Wilbarger had been traveling even half a mile further west, they would never have seen him and his horses, and they would be in Dodge, enjoying the comforts of the town. On that vast plain, spotting three men and some horses was a mere accident—as much a matter of luck as the bullet that killed Benny Johnson. Yet both had happened. It was enough to make a man a pessimist, that such things had started occurring regularly.

They soon struck Wilbarger’s trail and followed it west through the sunset and the long dusk. The trail led northwest toward the Arkansas, easy to follow even in the twilight. Dan Suggs never slowed. They struck the river and swam it by moonlight. Jake hated to ride sopping wet, but was offered no choice, for Dan Suggs didn’t pause. Nobody said a word when they came to the river; nobody said one afterward. The moon was well over in the west before Dan Suggs drew rein.

“Go find them, Frog,” he said. “I doubt they’re far.”

“Do I shoot or not?” the black man asked.

“Hell, no, don’t shoot,” Dan said. “Do you think I’d ride all this way and swim a river just to miss the fun? Come on back when you find ’em.”

Frog Lip was back in a few minutes.

“We nearly rode into them,” he said. “They’re close.”

Dan Suggs had been smoking, but he quickly put his smoke out and dismounted.

“You hold the horses,” he said to little Eddie. “Come on once you hear the shooting.”

“I can shoot as good as Roy,” little Eddie protested.

“Hell, Roy couldn’t hit his foot if it was nailed to a tree,” Dan said. “Anyway, we’re gonna let Jake shoot them—he’s the man with the reputation.”

He took the rifle and walked off. Jake and the others followed. There was no sign of a campfire, no sign of anything but plains and darkness. Though Frog Lip had said the men were close, it seemed to Jake they walked a long time. He didn’t see the horses until he almost bumped into one. For a moment he thought of trying to grab a horse and run away bareback. The commotion would warn Wilbarger, and maybe one or two of the Suggs boys would get shot. But the horse quickly stepped away from him and the moment passed. He drew his pistol, not knowing what else to do. They had found the horses, but he didn’t know where the camp was. Frog Lip was near him, watching, Jake supposed.

When the first shot came, he didn’t know who fired it, though he saw a flash from a rifle barrel. It seemed so far away that he almost felt it must be another battle. Then gunfire flared just in front of him, too much to be produced by three men, it seemed. So much shooting panicked him for a second and he fired twice into the darkness, with no idea of what he might be shooting at. He heard gunfire behind him—it was Frog Lip shooting. He began to sense running figures, although it was not clear to him who they were. Then there were five or six shots close together, like sudden thunder, and the sound of a running horse. Jake could see almost nothing—once in a while he would think he saw a man, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Frog, did you get him?” he heard Dan Suggs ask.

“No, he got me, damn him,” he heard the black man say. “I swear I put three into him but he made it to that horse anyway,” Dan said. “You alive, Roy?”

“I’m alive,” Roy Suggs said, from back near the horse herd.

“Well, what are you doing over there?” Dan wanted to know. “The damn fight was over here.”

“We want the horses, don’t we?” Roy asked, anger in his voice.

“I wanted that goddamn Wilbarger worse,” Dan said. “What about you, Spoon?”

“Not hurt,” Jake said.

“Hell, you and Roy might as well have stayed in Dodge, for all the good you are in the dark,” Dan said.

Jake didn’t answer. He was just glad he had not been forced to shoot anybody. It seemed ridiculous, attacking men in the dark. Even Indians waited until sunup. He took some hope from the fact that Frog Lip claimed to have been hit, though how anybody knew where to shoot was a mystery to him.

“Where’s that goddamn kid?” Dan asked. “I told him to bring them horses. Old Wilbarger’s getting away. Where’d you get hit, Frog?”

Frog Lip didn’t answer.

“Goddamn the old son of a bitch,” Dan said. “I guess he’s killed Frog. Go get Eddie, Roy.”

“You told him to come, I guess he’ll come,” Roy said.

“You best go get him unless you think you’re bulletproof,” Dan said in a deadly voice.

“I ain’t going if Wilbarger’s out there,” Roy said. “You won’t shoot me neither—I’m your brother.”

There were two more shots, so close that Jake jumped.

“Did I get you?” Dan asked.

“No, and don’t shoot no more,” Roy said, in a surprised voice. “Why would you shoot at me?”

“There ain’t nobody else around to shoot at except Jake, and you know his reputation,” Dan said sarcastically.

They heard horses coming. “Boys?” little Eddie called out.

“No, mostly girls here tonight,” Dan said. “Are you waiting for election day or what? Bring the goddamn horses.”

Little Eddie brought them. The dawn was behind him, very faint but coming. Soon it was possible to make out the results of the battle. Wilbarger’s two men were dead, still in their blankets. One was Chick, the little weasel Jake remembered seeing the morning they brought the horses in from Mexico. He had been hit in the neck by a rifle bullet, Frog Lip’s, Dan said. The bullet had practically torn his head loose from his body—the corpse reminded Jake of a dead rabbit, perhaps because Chick had rabbitlike teeth, exposed now in a stiff grimace.

The other dead man was just a boy, probably Wilbarger’s wrangler.

Of Wilbarger himself, there was no sign.

“I know I put three into him,” Dan Suggs said. “He must have slept with the damn reins in his hand or he’d have never got to His horse.”

Frog Lip lay on the ground, still gripping his rifle. His eyes were wide open and he was breathing as heavily as a horse after a long run. His wound was in the groin—his pants were wet with blood. The rising sun shone in his face, which was bearded with sweat.

“Who shot Frog?” little Eddie asked in surprise.

“Why, that damn Wilbarger, who else?” Dan said. He had no more than glanced at Frog Lip—he was scanning the plains with his spyglass, hoping to catch a glimpse of the cowman. But the plains were empty.

“I never thought anybody would get Frog,” little Eddie said, unnerved by what he saw.

Dan Suggs was snarling with frustration. He glared at his brothers as if they were solely responsible for Wilbarger’s escape.

“You boys ought to go home and teach school,” he said. “It’s all you’re good for.”

“What did you expect me to do?” Roy asked. “I can’t see in the dark.”

Dan walked over and looked down at Frog Lip. He ignored his brothers. He knelt down and pulled the Negro’s bloodstained shirt loose from his pants, exposing the wound. After a second he stood up.

“Frog, I guess this was your unlucky day,” he said. “I guess we better just shoot you.”

Frog Lip didn’t answer. He didn’t move or even blink his eyes.

“Shoot him and let’s go,” Dan said, looking at little Eddie.

“Shoot Frog?” little Eddie said, as if he had not heard quite right.

“Yes, Frog’s the one with the slug in his gut,” Dan said. “He’s the one that needs to finish up dying. Shoot him and let’s ride.”

“I hate to shoot Frog,” little Eddie said in a dazed tone.

“I guess we’ll just leave him for the buzzards then, if you’re so squeamish,” Dan said. He removed the rifle from the Negro’s hand and took the big pistol out of his belt.

“Ain’t you gonna let him keep his guns?” Roy asked.

“Nope,” Dan said. “He won’t need ’em, but we might.”

With that he mounted and rode over to look at the horse herd they had captured.

“You shoot him, Roy,” little Eddie said. “I hate to.”