Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove

Then he heard the person panting and knew it was Janey.

"I couldn't keep up no longer," she said. "I thought he'd slow down but he just keeps going."

Joe was so startled to see a girl materialize behind Roscoe that he didn't say a word. He found it hard to credit that the person who had thrown the rocks could be a girl. Yet he had seen the rocks hit the men. How could a girl throw so hard and straight?

July had appropriated Hutto's shotgun, loaded it and put it across his saddle-he assumed it would make the prisoners think twice before starting trouble. His one thought was to get back to Fort Worth, turn the men over and start at once to look for Elmira.

They rode all night, and when the plains got gray they were no more than five miles from Fort Worth. He glanced back at the prisoners and was startled to see the girl, riding behind Roscoe. She looked very young. Her bare legs were as thin as a bird's. Roscoe was slumped over the horn, asleep, and the girl held the reins. She was also watching the two prisoners, both of whom were plenty wide-awake. July got down and checked Hutto's knots, which indeed were slipping.

"I guess you're Janey," he said to the girl. She nodded. July handed her the shotgun to hold while he retied Hutto.

"My God, don't do that, she's apt to cut us in two," Jim said. His voice had a husky croak from the blow on his throat-it pained him to speak, but the sight of the girl with the shotgun clearly pained him more.

Joe had managed to get the sleep out of his eyes, and was rather aggrieved that July had given the gun to the girl. She was no older than he was and she was female. He felt he ought to have been given the shotgun.

"You don't give a man much of a chance, do you?" Hutto said, as July retied him. He was a messy sight from all the dried blood on his mouth and his beard, but he seemed cheerful.

"Nope," July said.

"If they don't hang us, you better watch out for Jim," Hutto said. "Jim hates to have anyone point a gun at him. He's got a vengeful nature, too."

Jim did seem vengeful. His eyes were shining with hatred, and he was looking at the girl. The look was so hot that many men would have flinched from it, but the girl didn't.

All the while Roscoe slumped over his horse's neck, snoring away. They were nearly on the outskirts of Fort Worth before he woke up, and it was not until July handed the prisoners over to the sheriff that he began to feel alive.

Janey had acted like she wanted to bolt when they came into town-the sight of so many wagons and people clearly upset her-but she held on. July found a livery stable, for it would be necessary to rest the horses for a while. It was run by a woman, who kindly offered to scrape up a little breakfast for the youngsters. It consisted of corn bread and bacon, which they ate sitting on big washtubs outside the woman's house.

Roscoe's clothes were practically in ribbons, so much so that the woman laughed when she saw him. She offered to mend his clothes for another fifty cents, but Roscoe had to decline, since he had nothing to wear while the work was being done.

"This is a big-looking town," Roscoe said. "I guess I can buy myself some clothes."

"Not for no fifty cents," the woman said. "That's nothing but a sack the girl's wearing. You ought to get her something decent to wear while you're buying."

"Well, I might," Roscoe said. It was true that Janey's dress was a mere rag.

Janey seemed to think Forth Worth was quite a sight. She was over her fright, and she looked around with interest.

"Is that girl your daughter?" the woman asked.

"No," Roscoe said. "I never saw her till last week."

"Well, she's somebody's daughter and she deserves better than a sack to wear," the woman said. "That boy's dressed all right, how come you skimped on the girl?"

"No opportunity," Roscoe said. "I just found her up in the country."

The woman had a red face, and it got redder when she was angry, as she now clearly was. "I don't know what to think of you men," she said, and went in her house and slammed the door.

"Where did you get her?" July asked.

"I didn't get her, exactly," Roscoe said. He felt on the defensive. It was clear that people would think the worst of him, whatever he did. No doubt in Fort Smith the word would be out that instead of sticking to orders he had run off with the first young girl he could find.

"She run off and followed me," he added. July looked noncommittal.

"A dern old man beat her and used her hard, and that's why she run off," Roscoe elaborated. "Can we go to a saloon? I'd sure fancy a beer."

July took him to a saloon and bought him a beer. Now that he had Roscoe alone he felt curiously reluctant to mention Elmira. Even hearing her name spoken would be painful.

"What about Ellie?" he said finally. "Peach said she left."

"Well, Peach is right," Roscoe said. "Or if she didn't leave, then she's hiding. Or else a bear got her."

"Did you see bear tracks?" July asked.

"No," Roscoe admitted.

"Then a bear didn't get her," July said.

"She probably left on the whiskey boat," Roscoe said, trying to hide behind his beer glass.

"I don't see why," July said softly, almost to himself. He didn't see why. He had never done anything to disturb her that he could remember. He had never hit her, or even spoken harshly to her. What would prompt a woman to run off when nothing was wrong? Of course, it wasn't true that nothing had been wrong. Something had been. He just didn't know what. He didn't know why she had married him if she didn't like him, and he had the sense that she didn't. It was true that Peach had hinted a few times that peop]e got married for reasons other than liking, but Peach was known to be cynical.

Now, in the saloon, he remembered Peach's hints. Maybe Ellie had never liked him. Maybe she had married him for reasons she hadn't wanted to mention. Thinking about it all made him feel very sad.

"Did you talk to her at all after I left?" he asked Roscoe.

"No," Roscoe admitted.

July didn't speak for five minutes. Roscoe turned over in his mind various excuses for not seeing Elmira, but in truth, it had never once occurred to him to go and see her. He slowly drank his beer.

"What about Jake?" he asked.

"He's to the south," July said. "He's coming with a trail herd. I want to find Eflie. Once that's done we'll look for Jake."

He fished some money out of his pocket and paid for the beers. "Maybe you ought to take the young ones and go back to Arkansas," he said. "I'm going after Ellie."

"I'll come with you," Roscoe said. Now that he had found July, he had no intention of losing him again. He had had plenty of trouble coming, and yet worse might occur if he tried to go back on his own.

"I expect if we paid that woman she'd board the girl," July said. "You go buy some duds. You'll be a laughingstock if you try to travel in those you got on."

The woman at the livery stable agreed to board Janey for three dollars a month. July paid for two months. When told she was to stay in Fort Worth, Janey didn't say a word. The woman spoke to her cheerfully about getting some better clothes, but Janey sat on the washtub, silent.

The woman offered to take Joe, too, and board him free if he would help out around the livery stable. July was tempted, but Joe looked so unhappy that he relented and decided to let him stay with them. Then Roscoe showed up, in clothes that looked so stiff it was a wonder he could even walk in them.

"I guess you might break them clothes in by Christmas," the liverystable woman said, laughing. "You look like you're wearing stovepipes."

"I can't help it if they're black," Roscoe said. "It was all they had that fit."

He felt sorry about leaving Janey. What if old Sam got well and tracked them to Fort Worth and found her? He offered her two dollars in case she had expenses, but Janey just shook her head. When they rode off, she was still sitting on the big washtub.