Lonesome Dove (70 page)

74

WHEN THEY FOUND Wilbarger’s man Chick and the boy who had been traveling with them, there wasn’t much left to bury. The coyotes and buzzards had had a full day at them. As they rode toward the little knoll where the buzzards swarmed, they passed a fat old badger carrying a human hand—a black hand at that. Newt was stunned—he assumed they would shoot the badger and get the hand back so it could be buried, but no one seemed concerned that the badger had someone’s hand.

“He had a hand,” he pointed out to Pea Eye.

“Well, whosever it was won’t be using it no more, and that old badger had to work for it with all them dern buzzards around,” Pea Eye said. “A hand is mostly just bone, anyway.”

Newt didn’t see what that had to do with it—it was still a human hand.

“Yes, that’s interesting,” Augustus said. “That old badger made a good snatch and got himself a few bones. But the ground will get his bones too, in a year or two. It’s like I told you last night, son. The earth is mostly just a boneyard.

“But pretty in the sunlight,” he added.

It was a fine, bright day, but Newt didn’t feel fine. He wanted to go catch up with the badger and shoot him, but he didn’t. There seemed to be hundreds of buzzards on the knoll. Suddenly a big coyote ran right out of the midst of them, carrying something—Newt couldn’t see what.

“I guess the buzzards outnumber the coyotes in these parts,” Augustus said. “Usually the buzzards have to wait until they get through.”

When they rode up on the knoll, the smell hit them. A few of the buzzards flew off, but many stood their ground defiantly, even continuing to feed. Captain Call drew rein, but Augustus rode up to them and shot two with his pistol. The rest reluctantly flew off.

“You like to eat, see how you like being eaten,” he said to the dead buzzards. “There’s that bad black man. Wilbarger did get him.”

The smell suddenly got to Newt—he dismounted and was sick. Pea Eye dug a shallow grave with a little shovel they had brought. They rolled the remains in the grave and covered them, while the buzzards watched. Many stood on the prairie, like a black army, while others circled in the sky. Deets went off to study the thieves’ tracks. Newt had vomited so hard that he felt lightheaded, but even so, he noticed that Deets didn’t look happy when he returned.

“How many are we up against?” Call asked.

“Four,” Deets said. “Just four.”

“Hell, there’s five of us,” Augustus said. “There’s less than one apiece of the horsethieves, so what are you so down about?”

Deets pointed to a horse track. “Mr. Jake is with them,” he said. “That’s his track.”

They all looked at the track for a moment.

“Well, they’re horsethieves and murderers,” Augustus reminded them. “They could have stolen Jake’s horse—they could have even murdered him for it.”

Deets was silent. They could speculate all they wanted—he knew. A different man would have resulted in a different track. Mr. Jake tended to ride slightly sideways in the saddle, which the track showed. It was not just his horse—it was him.

The news hit Call hard. He had stopped expecting anything of Jake Spoon, and had supposed they would travel different routes for the rest of their lives. Jake would gamble and whore—he always had. No one expected any better of him, but no one had expected any worse, either. Jake hadn’t the nerve to lead a criminal life, in Call’s estimation. But there was his track, beside the tracks of three killers.

“Well, I hope you’re wrong,” he said to Deets.

Deets was silent. So, for once, was Augustus. If Jake was with the killers, then there was no hope for him.

“I wish he’d had the sense to stay with Lorie,” Augustus said. “She might have aggravated him some, but she wouldn’t have led him to this.”

“It’s his dern laziness,” Call said. “Jake just kind of drifts. Any wind can blow him.”

He touched the mare and rode on—he didn’t need Deets in order to follow the tracks of nearly thirty horses. He put the mare into a slow lope, a gait she could hold all day if necessary.

Newt rode beside Pea Eye, who appeared to be solemn too. “Do you think it’s Jake?” Newt asked.

“I can’t read a dern track,” Pea Eye said. “Never could. But Deets can read ’em easier than I could read a newspaper. I guess it’s Jake. It’d be a pity if it’s us that has to hang him,” he added, a little later.

“We couldn’t,” Newt said, startled. It had not dawned on him that Jake could have put himself in that bad a position.

Pea Eye looked at him, an unhappy expression on his face. It was unusual for Pea to change expressions. Usually he just looked puzzled.

“The Captain would hang you, if he caught you with a stolen horse,” Pea Eye said. “So would Gus.”

A few hours later they came upon the dead settlers, still hanging, shreds of charred clothes clinging to their bodies. A coyote was tugging at the foot of one of them, trying to pull the body down. It ran when the party approached. Newt wanted to be sick again, but had nothing in his stomach. He had never expected to see anything more awful than the buzzard-torn bodies they had buried that morning, and yet it was still the same day and already there was a worse sight. It seemed the farther they went through the plains, the worse things got.

“Those boys are bad ones, whoever they are,” Augustus said. “Hung those poor bastards and burned them too.”

Call had ridden in for a closer look. “No,” he said. “Shot ’em, then hung ’em, then burned them.”

They cut the men down and buried them in one grave.

“Hell, gravediggers could make a fortune in these parts,” Augustus said. “Pea, you ought to buy you a bigger spade and go in business.”

“No, I’ll pass, Gus,” Pea Eye said mildly. “I’d rather dig wells.”

Call was thinking of Jake—that a man who had ridden with them so long could let such a thing happen. Of course he was outnumbered, but it was no excuse. He could have fought or run, once he saw the caliber of his companions.

Deets had ridden on, to evaluate the trail. They overtook him a few hours later. His face was sad.

“They’re close,” he said. “Stopped at a creek.”

“Probably stopped to baptize one another,” Augustus said. “Did you see ’em, or just smell ’em?”

“I seen ’em,” Deets said. “Four men.”

“What about Jake?” Call asked.

“He’s one,” Deets said.

“Are they just watering the stock, or have they camped?” Call wanted to know.

“They’re camped,” Deets said. “They killed somebody in a wagon and he had whiskey.”

“More work for the gravediggers,” Augustus said, checking his rifle. “We better go challenge them before they wipe out Kansas.”

Pea Eye and Newt were left with the horses. Deets led Call and Augustus on foot for a mile. They crept up the crest of a ridge and saw Wilbarger’s horses grazing three or four miles away on the rolling prairie. Between them and the horse herd was a steep banked creek. A small wagon was stopped on the near bank, and four men were lounging on their saddle blankets. One of the men was Jake Spoon. The corpse of the man who had been driving the wagon lay some fifty yards away. The men on the blankets were amusing themselves by shooting their pistols at the buzzards that attempted to approach the corpse. One man, annoyed at missing with his pistol, picked up a rifle and knocked over a buzzard.

“They’re cocky, I’d say,” Call said. “They don’t even have a guard.”

“Well, they’ve killed the whole population of this part of the country except us, and we’re just wandering through,” Augustus said.

“Let’s wait awhile,” Call said. “When they’re good and drunk we’ll come along the creek bed and surprise ’em.”

Augustus watched for a few minutes. “I hope Jake makes a fight,” he said.

“He can’t fight, and you know it,” Call said.

“The point is, I’d rather shoot him than hang him,” Augustus said.

“I wouldn’t relish hanging him,” Call said. “But there he is.”

He walked back and explained the situation to Pea Eye and Newt. There was nothing they need do except bring the horses fast when they heard shooting.

“Jake with them?” Pea Eye asked.

“He’s there,” Call said. “It’s a bad situation, but he put himself in it.”

They waited until late afternoon, when the sun was angling down toward the horizon. Then, walking a wide circle to the east, they struck the creek a mile below where the men were camped and walked quietly up the creek bed. The banks were high and made a perfect shelter. They saw three horses watering at the creek, and Call feared the animals would give them away, but the horses were not alarmed.

Soon they heard the faint talk of the men—they were still lounging on their saddle blankets.

Call, in the lead, crept a little closer.

“Let’s stay the night,” he heard a man say. “I’m too full of liquor to be chousing horses in the dark.”

“It’ll sober you up,” another voice said. “It’s cooler traveling at night.”

“Why travel?” the first man said. “Some more wagons might come along and we could rob ’em. It’s easier than banks.”

“Eddie, you’re as lazy as Jake,” the second voice said. “Neither one of you pulls your weight in this outfit.”

“I’d have to be quick to beat you at killing people, Dan.’ little Eddie said.

Call and Augustus looked at one another. Dan Suggs was the name Wilbarger had mentioned—he had called his killers accurately.

Jake was lying on his saddle blanket feeling drunk and depressed. Dan Suggs had shot the old man driving the wagon at a hundred yards’ distance, without even speaking to him. Dan had been hiding in the trees along the creek, so the old man died without even suspecting that he was in danger. He only had about thirty dollars on him, but he had four jugs of whiskey, and they were divided equally, although Dan claimed he ought to have two for doing the shooting. Jake had been drinking steadily, hoping he would get so drunk the Suggses would just go off and leave him. But he knew they wouldn’t. For one thing, he had eight hundred dollars on him, won in poker games in Fort Worth, and if Dan Suggs didn’t know it, he certainly suspected it. They wouldn’t leave him without robbing him, or rob him without killing him, so for the time being his hope was to ride along and not rile Dan.

He had been lying flat down, for he felt very weary, but he raised up on his elbow to take another swig from the jug, and he and little Eddie saw the three men at the same moment: three men with leveled rifles, standing on the riverbank with the sun at a blinding angle right behind them. Jake had taken off his gun belt—he couldn’t rest comfortably with it on. Little Eddie had his pistol on and grabbed for it, but a rifle cracked and a bullet took him in the shoulder and kicked him back off the saddle blanket.

Dan and Roy Suggs were sitting with their backs to the creek, each with a jug between their legs. They were caught cold, their rifles propped on their saddles well out of reach.

“Sit still, boys,” Call said, as soon as the crack of the shot died. Deets, who had the best angle, had shot little Eddie.

Dan Suggs leaped to his feet and turned to see the bright sun glinting on three rifle barrels.

“Who are you?” he asked. “We’re horse traders, so hold your damn fire.”

He realized it would be suicide to draw and decided a bluff was his best chance, though the shock, plus the whiskey he had just drunk, made him unsteady for a moment. It was a moment too long, for a black man with a rifle stepped behind him and lifted his pistol. Roy Suggs was sitting where he was, his mouth open, too surprised even to move. Little Eddie lay flat on his back, stunned by his shoulder wound.

Augustus took little Eddie’s pistol as he stepped over him, and in a moment had Roy’s. Deets got the rifles. Call kept his gun trained right on Dan Suggs, who, because of the sun, still could not see clearly whom he faced.

Deets, with a downcast look, picked up Jake’s gun belt.

“Why, Deets, do you think I’d shoot you?” Jake asked, though he knew too well where he stood, and if he had moved quicker would have shot, whatever the cost. A clean bullet was better than a scratchy rope, and his old partners could shoot clean when they wanted to.

Deets, without answering, removed the rifle from Jake’s saddle scabbard.

“Get your boots off, boys,” Call said, coming closer.

“Goddamned if we will,” Dan Suggs said, his anger rising. “Didn’t you hear me? I told you we were horse traders.”

“We’re more persuaded by that dead fellow over there,” Augustus said. “He says you’re murderers. And Mr. Wilbarger’s good horses says you’re horsethieves to boot.”

“Hell, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dan Suggs said. He was genuinely furious at having been taken without a shot, and he used his anger to try and carry the bluff.

“I bought these horses from Wilbarger,” he said. “I gave him thirty dollars apiece.”

“You’re a black liar,” Augustus said calmly. “Take off your boots, like Captain Call said. It’s time to collect the boot guns.”

Dan Suggs stood quivering, for it galled him to be caught and galled him more to be coolly given orders, even if it was Augustus McCrae who was giving them. Besides, he had a derringer in his right boot, and knew it was his last hope. One of his brothers was shot and the other too drunk and too stunned to take in what was happening.

“I’ll be damned if I’ll go barefoot for you or any man,” Dan said.

Augustus drew his big dragoon Colt and jammed the barrel into Dan’s stomach.

“You can keep your socks, if you’re that refined,” he said.

Call quickly knelt behind Dan Suggs and got the derringer.

“Just ask Jake if we didn’t buy these horses,” Dan said. “Jake’s a friend of yours, ain’t he?”

“Did you buy that old man?” Call asked. “Did you buy them two farmers you burned? Did you buy Wilbarger and his man and that boy?”

Little Eddie sat up. When he saw that his shirt was drenched with blood, his face went white. “I’m bleeding, Dan,” he said.

Jake looked at Call and Augustus, hoping one or the other of them would show some sign of concern, but neither would even look at him. Call covered Roy Suggs while Deets tied his hands with his own saddle strings. Augustus stood calmly, the barrel of the big Colt still stuck into Dan Suggs’s stomach. Dan’s face was twitching. Jake could see he longed to go for his gun—only he had no gun. Jake thought Dan might go anyway, his whole frame was quivering so. He might go, even if it meant getting shot at point-blank range.