They got back to Wilbarger a little after sundown, before the plains had begun to lose the long twilight. He had reached the Arkansas before collapsing, and lay under the shade of the bank on a blanket Deets had left him. He was too weak to do more than raise his head when they rode up; even that exhausted him.
"Well, you just keep turning up," he said to Augustus, with a wan smile. "I've been lying here trying not to bleed on this good blanket your man left me."
Augustus stooped to examine him and saw at once there was no hope.
"I've bled so much already I expect I'm white as snow," Wilbarger said. "I'm a dern mess. I took one in the lung and another seems to have ruint my hip. The third was just a flesh wound."
"I don't think we can do anything about the lung," Call said.
Wilbarger smiled. "No, and neither could a Boston surgeon," he said.
He raised his head again. "Still riding that mare, I see," he said. "If I could have talked you out of her I probably wouldn't be lying here shot. She'd have smelled the damn horsethieves. I do think she's a beauty."
"How many were there?" Call asked. "Or could you get a count?"
"I expect it was Dan Suggs and his two brothers, and a bad nigger they ride with," Wilbarger said. "I think I hit the nigger."
"I don't know the Suggses," Call said.
"They're well known around Fort Worth for being murdering rascals," Wilbarger said. "I never expected to be fool enough to let them murder me. It's humbling. I lived through the worst war ever fought and then got killed by a damn sneaking horsethief. That galls me, I tell you."
"Any of us can oversleep," Augustus said quietly. "If you was to lie quiet that lung might heal."
"No sir, not likely," Wilbarger said. "I saw too many lung-shot boys when we were fighting the Rebs to expect that to happen. I'd rather just enjoy a little more conversation."
He turned his eyes toward the Hell Bitch and smiled — the sight of her seemed to cheer him more than anything.
"I do admire that mare," he said. "I want you to keep that mean plug of mine for your troubles. He's not brilliant, but he's sturdy."
He lay back and was quiet for a while, as the dusk deepened.
"I was born on the Hudson, you know," he said, a little later. "I fully expected to die on it, but I guess the dern Arkansas will have to do."
"I wish you'd stop talking about your own death," Augustus said in a joking tone. "It ain't genteel."
Wilbarger looked at him and chuckled, a chuckle that brought up blood. "Why, it's because I ain't genteel that I'm bleeding to death beside the Arkansas," he said. "I could have been a lawyer, like my brother, and be in New York right now, eating oysters."
He didn't speak again until after it was full dark. Newt stood over with the horses, trying not to cry. He had scarcely known Mr. Wilbarger, and had found him blunt at first, but the fact that he was lying there on a bloody blanket dying so calmly affected him more than he had thought it would. The emptiness of the plains as they darkened was so immense that that affected him too, and a sadness grew in him until tears began to spill from his eyes. Captain Call and Mr. Gus sat by the dying man. Deets was on the riverbank, a hundred yards away, keeping watch. And Pea Eye stood with Newt, by the horses, thinking his own thoughts.
"How long will it take him to die?" Newt asked, feeling he couldn't bear such a strain for a whole night.
"I've seen boys linger for days," Pea Eye said quietly — he had always thought it impolite to talk about a man's death within his hearing. Gus's joke had shocked him a little.
"But then sometimes they just go," he added. "Go when they're ready, or even if they ain't. This man's lost so much blood he might go over pretty soon."
Call and Augustus knew there was nothing to do but wait, so they sat beside Wilbarger's pallet, saying little. Two hours passed with no sound but Wilbarger's faint breathing.
Then, to Call's surprise, Wilbarger's hand reached out and clutched him for a moment.
"Let's shake, for the favors you've done me," Wilbarger said weakly. When Call had given him a handshake, Wilbarger reached for Augustus, who shook his hand in turn.
"McCrae, I'll give you credit for having written a damn amusing sign," he said. "I've laughed about that sign many a time, and laughing's a pleasure. I've got two good books in my saddlebags. One's Mister Milton and the other's a Virgil. I want you to have them. The Virgil might improve your Latin."
"I admit it's rusty," Augustus said. "I'll apply myself, and many thanks."
"To tell the truth, I can't read it either," Wilbarger said. "I could once, but I lost it. I just like to look at it on the page. It reminds me of the Hudson, and my schooling and all. Now and then I catch a word."
He coughed up a lot of blood and both Call and Augustus thought it was over, but it wasn't. Wilbarger was still breathing, though faintly. Call went over and told Pea Eye and Newt to start digging the grave — he wanted to get started after the horsethieves as soon as it was light enough to track. Restless, he walked over and helped Deets keep watch.
To Augustus's surprise, Wilbarger raised his head. He had heard the digging. "Your friend's efficient, ain't he?" he said.
"Efficient," Augustus agreed. "He likes to chase horse-thieves too. Seems like we're always having to get your horses back, Wilbarger. Where do you want 'em delivered this time?"
"Oh, hell, sell 'em," Wilbarger said, in shaky tones. "I'm done with the cow business, finally. Send the money to my brother, John Wilbarger, Fifty Broadway, New York City."
He coughed again. "Keep the tent," he said. "How's the shy young lady?"
"She's improved," Augustus said.
"I wish we'd met sooner, McCrae," Wilbarger said. "I enjoy your conversation. I hope you'll bury my man Chick and that boy that was with us. I wish now I'd never hired that boy."
"We'll tend to it," Augustus said.
An hour later, Wilbarger was still breathing. Augustus stepped away for a minute, to relieve himself, and when he came back Wilbarger had rolled off the blanket and was dead. Augustus rolled him on his back and tied him in the blanket. Call was down by the river, smoking and waiting. He looked up when Augustus approached.
"He's gone," Augustus said.
"All right," Call said.
"He said he was traveling with a man and a boy," Augustus said.
"Let's go, then," Call said, standing up. "We won't have to backtrack him, we can just look for the buzzards."
Augustus was troubled by the fact that he could find nothing with which to mark Wilbarger's grave — the plains and the riverbank were bare. He gave up and came to the grave just as Pea Eye and Deets were covering the man with dirt.
"If he had a family and they cared to look, they'd never find him," Augustus said.
"Well, I can't help it," Call said.
"I know something," Deets said, and to everyone's surprise mounted and loped off. A few minutes later he came loping back, with the skull of a cow buffalo. "I seen the bones," he said.
"It's better than nothing," Augustus said as he sat the skull on the grave. Of course, it wasn't much better than nothing — a coyote would probably just come along and drag the skull off, and Wilbarger too.
Deets had found Wilbarger's rifle, and offered it to Augustus.
"Give it to Newt," Augustus said. "I got a rifle."
Newt took the gun. He had always wanted a rifle, but at the moment he couldn't feel excited. It was such a strain, people always dying. He had a headache, and wanted to cry or be sick or go to sleep — he didn't know which. It was such a strain that he almost wished he had been left with the wagon, although being selected to go had been his greatest pride only a few hours before.
Augustus, riding beside him, noticed the boy's downcast look. "Feeling poorly?" he asked.
Newt didn't know what to say. He was surprised that Mr. Gus had even noticed him.
"You've been on too many burying parties," Augustus said. "Old Wilbarger had a sense of humor. He'd laugh right out loud
if he knew he had the skull of a buffalo cow for a grave marker. Probably the only man who ever went to Yale College who was buried under a buffalo skull."
How he died hadn't been funny, Newt thought.
"It's all right, though," Augustus said. "It's mostly bones we're riding over, anyway. Why, think of all the buffalo that have died on these plains. Buffalo and other critters too. And the Indians have been here forever; their bones are down there in the earth. I'm told that over in the Old Country you can't dig six feet without uncovering skulls and leg bones and such. People have been living there since the beginning, and their bones have kinda filled up the ground. It's interesting to think about, all the bones in the ground. But it's just fellow creatures, it's nothing to shy from."
It was such a startling thought — that under him, beneath the long grass, were millions of bones — that Newt stopped feeling so strained. He rode beside Mr. Gus, thinking about it, the rest of the night.
73
AS SOON AS HE HAD the herd well settled, Dish decided to see if there was anything he could do for Lorena. It had been months since the afternoon in Lonesome Dove when he had got so drunk, and in all that time he had not even spoken to her. He was out of practice — in fact, had never been in practice, though that was not his fault. He would cheerfully have talked to Lorena all day and all night, but she didn't want it and they had never exchanged more than a few words. His heart was beating hard, and he felt more fearful than if he were about to swim a swift river, as he approached her tent.
Gus had set up the tent before he left, but it was supper time, so Dish got a plate of beef for Lorena's supper. He took his responsibilities so seriously that he had tried to pick out the best piece, in the process holding up the line and irritating the crew, none of whom were the least impressed with his responsibilities.
"That gal don't need beefsteak, she can just eat you if she's hungry, Dish," Jasper said. "I expect you'd make about three good bites for a woman like her."
Dish flared up at Jasper's insulting tone, but he had the plate in his hand and was in no position to fight.
"I'll settle you when I come back, Jasper," he said. "You've provoked me once too often."
"Hell, you better run for the border, then, Jas," Soupy Jones said. "With a top hand like Dish after you, you won't stand a chance."
Dish had to mount holding the plate, which was awkward, but no one offered to help.
"Why don't you walk?" Po Campo suggested. "The tent is not very far."
That was true, but Dish preferred to ride, which he did, managing not to spill any of Lorena's food. She was sitting just inside the tent, with the flaps open.
"I've come with some food," Dish said, still on his horse.
"I'm not hungry," Lorena said. "I'll wait till Gus gets back."
It seemed to Dish that she was as grudging in her tone as ever. He felt foolish sitting on a horse holding a plate of beefsteak, so he dismounted.
"Gus is after them horsethieves," he said. "He might not be back for a day or two. I'm supposed to look after you."
"Send Newt," Lorena said.
"Well, he went, too," Dish said.
Lorena came out of the tent for a moment and took the plate. Dish was paralyzed to be so close to her after so many months. She went right back into the tent, "You don't need to stay," she said. "I'll be all right."
"I'll help you with the tent in the morning," he said. "Captain said we're to ease on north."
Lorena didn't answer. She closed the flaps of the tent.
Dish walked back toward the campfire, but he stopped about halfway and staked his horse. He didn't want to go back to camp, even to eat, for he would just have to box Jasper Fant if he did. It was full dusk, but to his irritation Lippy spotted him and came walking over.
"Did you get a good look at her, Dish?" Lippy asked.
"Why, yes," Dish said. "I delivered her supper, if you don't mind."
"Is she still as beautiful?" Lippy asked, remembering their days together at the Dry Bean, when she had come down toward noon every day. He and Xavier would both wait for her and would feel better just watching her walk down the stairs.
"Why, yes," Dish said, not wanting to discuss it, though at least Lippy had spoken respectfully.
"Well, that Gus, he would end up with her," Lippy said. "Gus is too sly for the girls."
"I'd like to know what you mean by that," Dish said.
"I seen him trick her once," Lippy said, remembering the extraordinary wager he had witnessed. "He offered to cut the cards for a poke and he won. Then he paid her fifty dollars anyway. And he paid me ten not to tell Jake. He didn't pay me nothing not to tell you, though, Dish," Lippy added. It occurred to him suddenly that Gus might consider that they had breached their bargain.
"Fifty dollars?" Dish said, genuinely astonished. He had never heard of such extravagance in his life. "Did he actually pay it?"
"Well, he give me the ten," Lippy said. "I imagine he give Lorie the fifty, too. Gus ain't cheap, he's just crazy."
Dish remembered the night before he had hired on with the Hat Creek outfit, when Gus had lent him two dollars for the same purpose on which he had apparently spent fifty. There was no figuring the man out.
"You oughtn't to blabbed," he told Lippy.
"I ain't told nobody else," Lippy said, realizing himself that he shouldn't have blabbed.
Lippy soon went back to the wagon, subdued by his own indiscretion, but not before assuring Dish that the story would go no further.
Dish unsaddled his horse and got his bedroll. He lay on the blanket all night, his head on his saddle, thinking of Lorie, wondering if his chance with her would ever come.
The Kansas sky was thickly seeded with stars. He listened to the Irishman sing the sad songs that seemed to soothe the cattle. He spent the whole night thinking about the woman in the tent nearby, imagining things that might happen when they finally came to Montana and were through with the trail. He didn't sleep, or want to sleep, for there was no telling when he would get a chance to spend another night close to her. His horse grazed nearby on the good grass, which grew wet with dew as the morning came.
Dish saddled a little before sunup and rode out to look at the herd, which was perfectly peaceful. Then he went to the wagon, ignoring Jasper and Soupy, who were as insolent as ever. He wanted to teach them both a lesson, but couldn't afford the time. The herd had to be set moving, and somebody would have to hold the point. It was a ticklish problem, for he couldn't hold the point and help Lorie too. He fixed a plate for Lorena and just grabbed a hunk of bacon for himself.
"Why, look at him, he's taking her breakfast," Jasper said. "Dish, you're so good at toting food, you ought to work in a hotel."
Dish ignored this sally and walked over to the tent with the plate of food. He was hoping she would be in a talking mood. All night, as he had lain awake, he had thought of things he might say to her, things that would make her see how much he loved her or convince her how happy he could make her. If he could just get her talking for five minutes he might have the opportunity to change everything.
But when he walked up to the tent, Lorena was already standing outside it, buttoning her shirt. She turned and he stopped and blushed, fearful that he had ruined everything by approaching at the wrong time. All the speeches he had practiced in the night left him at once.
"I brought your breakfast," he said.
Lorena saw that he was embarrassed, although she had only had the top button to go on her shirt. It was just a second of awkwardness, but it brought back memories of her old life and reminded her how it had once pleased her to embarrass men. They might pay her, but they could never really get their money's worth, for being embarrassed. She had only to look them in the eye for it to happen — it was her revenge. It didn't work on Gus, but there were precious few like Gus.
"I'll take down the tent while you eat," Dish said.
Lorena sat on her saddle and ate. It took Dish only a few minutes to roll up the tent
and carry it to the wagon. Then he came back and saddled her horse for her.
"I've got to ride the point," he said. "Just follow along with the wagon. Lippy and the cook will look after you. If you need anything, send for me."
"I need Gus," Lorena said. "I wish he hadn't left. Do you think he'll come back?"
"Oh, why, of course he will," Dish said. It was the friendliest she had ever talked to him, though it was about Gus.
"I get shaky," she said. "Gus knows why. I hope he gets back tonight."
"It depends on how big a start the horsethieves had," Dish said.
The day passed, and there was no sign of Gus. Lorena rode close to the wagon. Every few minutes Lippy turned and looked back at her as if he had never seen her before. Almost every time he did, he tipped his hat, which was even filthier than it had been when he worked in the saloon. Lorena didn't acknowledge him — she remembered how he had always tried to look up her skirts when she came downstairs. She just rode along, watching the horizon to see if she could spot Gus returning. The horizon shimmered so that it would have been hard to see Gus in any case.
They crossed a little creek about noon. There were a few scraggly bushes growing along the line of the creek. Lorena didn't pay them much attention, but Po Campo did. When the herd had moved on, he came walking over to her, his sack half full of wild plums.
"These plums are sweet," he said, handing her a few.
She dismounted and ate the plums, which indeed were sweet. Then she walked over and washed her face in the creek. The water was green and cold.
"Snow water," Po Campo said.
"I don't see no snow," she said.
"It comes from up there," Po Campo said, pointing west. "From those mountains you can't see."
Lorena looked but could only see the brown plain. She ate a few more of the wild plums.
"I've been finding onions," Po said. "That's good. I'll put them in the beans."
I wish you'd find Gus, she thought, but of course that was impossible. They rode into the dusk, but Gus did not return. Soon after the herd was bedded, Dish came and unrolled the little tent. He could tell from Lorena's face that she was sad. She had unsaddled, and she sat by her saddle in the grass. It pained him to see her look so alone and so tired. He tried to think of something to say that might cheer her up, but words had deserted him again. They always seemed to desert him just when he needed them most.