Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove

Nobody saw July come. Hutto was reaching in his pocket for shells and Jim was trying to fish those he had dropped out of the mud. Roscoe was watching Jim, whom he liked least. He was hoping to see a big rock hit Jim right between the eyes, perhaps cracking his skull. It wouldn't stop Hutto from killing him, but it would be some consolation if Jim got his skull cracked first.

Then, at the same moment, Jim, Hutto, and he himself all became aware that someone was there who hadn't been. It was July Johnson, standing behind Jim with his pistol drawn and cocked.

"You won't need them shells," July said quietly. "Just leave 'em lie."

"Well, you son of a bitch," Jim said, "what gives you the right to pull a gun on me?"

Jim looked up, and just as he did, the rock Roscoe had been hoping for sailed in and hit him right in the throat. He dropped his gun and fell over backwards. He lay there clutching his throat and trying desperately to draw breath.

Hutto had two shotgun shells in his hand but he didn't try to shove them in the shotgun. "I've had bad luck before, but nothing to top this," he said, ignoring July and looking at Roscoe. "Can't you at least make that gal stop throwing rocks?"

Roscoe was having trouble believing what he saw. He felt he had missed a step or two in the proceedings somehow.

"Are you gonna get your clothes on or are you just going to stand there?" July asked.

It sounded like July, and it looked like July, so Roscoe was forced to conclude that he was saved. He had been in the process of adjusting to impending death, and it seemed to him a part of him must already have left for the other place, because he felt sort of absent and dull. Ordinarily he would not have stood around on a muddy prairie naked, and yet in some ways it was easier than having to pick up the pieces of his life again, which meant, first off, having to literally pick up pieces of his clothes.

"They cut up my duds," he said to July. "I doubt I'll ever be able to get them boots back on, wet as they are."

"Joe, bring the handcuffs," July said.

Joe walked into camp with two sets of handcuffs. It shocked him to see Roscoe naked.

"I never seen so many young 'uns," Hutto said. "Can this one throw rocks too?"

"Who is throwing the rocks?" July asked. He had been about to step in before the rock-throwing started, but the rock-thrower's accuracy had been so startling that he had waited a few minutes to watch the outcome.

"That's Janey," Roscoe said, buttoning up what was left of his best shirt. "She practices chunking varmints. It's how we been getting our grub."

July quickly handcuffed Jim, who was still writhing around on the grass. The blow to the throat seemed to have damaged his windpipe-he gasped loudly for air, like a drowning man.

"You might shoot me, but you ain't putting no dern cuffs on me," Hutto said when July approached him.

"This is July Johnson, and I wouldn't fight him," Roscoe said. For some reason he felt rather friendly to Hutto, though it was Hutto who had been most inclined to kill him.

Hutto didn't fight but neither did he get handcuffed, for the simple reason that his wrists were too big. July was forced to tie him with a saddle string, a method he would rather have avoided. A man as large as Hutto would eventually stretch out any rope or piece of rawhide if he kept trying.

Roscoe managed to get his pants to hold together pretty well although they were full of holes. As predicted, he could not get his boots on. Joe helped, but the two of them made no headway.

"It's a good thing you shot," Joe said. "We was already camped, but July recognized your gun."

"Oh, was that it?" Roscoe said, reluctant to admit that it had been Janey who shot.

Once the men were handcuffed and tied, July got them onto their horses and tied their feet to the stirrups. Hutto and Jim he knew by reputation, for they had harried the east Texas trails for the last year or two, mostly robbing settlers but occasionally killing those who put up a fight. He had expected to find Roscoe eventually, but not the two bandits. Now something would have to be done with them before he could even ask Roscoe all the questions he wanted to ask about Elmira. Also, there was the rock-thrower-Janey, Roscoe had called her. Why was a Janey traveling with Roscoe? Indeed, where was she? The rock-throwing had stopped but no one had appeared.

Now that the danger was past, Roscoe began to feel that there were many awkward matters awaiting explanation. He had forgotten about Elmira and her departure for several days, although her departure was the reason he was in Texas. Also, he would have to explain to July why he was traveling with a young girl. It seemed better to talk about the miracle of July's appearance, but July didn't want to say much about it.

"I never expected to see you right then," Roscoe said. "Then there you were, pointing that gun."

"This is the main trail to Texas from Fort Smith," July pointed out. "If I was looking for you that's where I'd likely be."

"Yeah, but I didn't know you was looking for me," Roscoe said. "You don't usually."

"Peach wrote and told me you was on the way," July said. It was all the explanation he planned to offer until he could get Roscoe alone.

"I guess we're caught, but what next?" Hutto asked. He did not like to be left out of conversations. Jim, who still had to suck hard to get his breath, showed no inclination to talk.

"You say there's a girl?" July asked.

"Yep, Janey."

"Call her in," July said.

Roscoe made an effort, but it went awkwardly. "Come on, July's here," he said loudly into the darkness. "It's safe, he's the sheriff I work for," he added, just as loudly.

There was no sound from the darkness, and no sign of Janey. Roscoe could tell July was impatient. It made him nervous. He remembered how Janey had disappeared for two hours that afternoon. If she thought July would wait two hours, she didn't know much about him.

"Come on in, we've got these men tied," he said, without much hope that Janey would obey.

She didn't. There was not a sound to be heard, except for some coyotes singing about a mile away.

"I suspect that girl has Indian blood," Hutto said. "She had us ambushed, fair and square, and if she was as good with a pistol as she is with a rock we'd be dead."

"What's the matter with her?" July asked. "Why won't she come?"

"I don't know," Roscoe said. "She don't take to company, I guess."

July thought it a very odd business. Roscoe had never been one to womanize. In fact, around Fort Smith his skill in avoiding various widow women had often been commented on. And yet he had somehow taken up with a girl who could throw rocks more accurately than most men could shoot.

"I don't intend to spend the night here," July said. "Has she got a horse?"

"No, but she's quick of foot," Roscoe said. "She's been keeping ahead of me without no trouble. Where are we going?"

"To Fort Worth," July said. "The sheriff there will probably be glad to get these men."

"Yes, he will, the son of a bitch," Hutto said.

Roscoe felt bad about going off and leaving Janey, but he couldn't think what to do about it. July tied the two outlaws' horses to a single lead rope and instructed Roscoe and Joe to stay close behind them. It had clouded up and was almost pitch-dark, but that had no effect on July's pace, which was fast. Having to deliver the outlaws to justice was taking him out of his way, but there was nothing else for it.

When they had been riding about an hour, Roscoe got the scare of his life, for suddenly someone jumped on the horse behind him. For a terrifying second he thought Jim must have gotten loose and come to strangle him or stick a knife in him. Memphis was startled, too, and jumped sideways into Joe's horse.