But whatever it was, there was a difference in the way he and the Captain were, and it made Pea Eye all the more homesick. He felt he had been foolish, after all, to leave home. The Captain had promptly recruited another deputy, and he had the Yankee, Brookshire, as well. The Yankee seemed to be fairly competent. He had made the campfires, both nights, and had done it well. The other deputy was no good at packing horses or mules, but was handy enough at unpacking them. There was not much for Pea Eye to do. Standing watch was one area where his experience would have been useful, but he had gone right off to sleep and hadn't even heard the shots that killed Ben Lily's dogs, if they were Ben Lily's dogs.
All this made Pea Eye feel gloomy.
He felt that he had stopped knowing how to be useful. He often felt that way at home, too. Lorie was as good at what she did as the Captain was at what he did. Pea Eye wasn't as good as either one of them, at anything. It made him wonder why the Captain had wanted him along in the first place.
Call was sufficiently alarmed by the sound of so much gunfire that he woke Brookshire and Deputy Plunkert. He also put out the fire.
In the brilliant darkness, on the long plain, even a speck of fire as small as theirs could be spotted by an experienced eye from many miles away; as many miles, at least, as an experienced ear could hear a dog bark.
Call could sometimes distinguish calibers of weapons, if the firing was slow, but the men who shot the dogs hadn't been firing slow. The forty shots had been fired in a minute or two. Call thought he heard six or seven guns, but that was a guess. There could have been ten or more, or there could have been only three or four.
Famous Shoes had not returned to camp. The man seldom waited for instructions, and he was apt to rove all night, when he was on a scout.
'Where's our Indian?' Brookshire asked.
He had taken a liking to the old man, although he wasn't exactly businesslike. When he noticed that Brookshire had a book or two in his baggage, Famous Shoes had started pestering him to teach him to read. The old man seemed to think it was something he could start doing immediately, if only he were given the right clues. Famous Shoes had even insisted that Brookshire dismount, so he could show the Yankee a number of animal tracks and identify them. He seemed to think that Brookshire ought to be able to instruct him in reading just as quickly. When Brookshire attempted to explain that the two things weren't the same, Famous Shoes became irritated. Then Brookshire made the mistake of mentioning sentences. Famous Shoes immediately started asking him to explain what sentences were. Brookshire felt sure that he knew what a sentence was, but he found it damnably difficult to explain the sentence to the old Indian.
He liked the old man, though. It astonished him that a man Famous Shoes' age could travel faster on foot than the rest of them traveled horseback. He stayed ahead of them all day, moving at his strange little trot.
The four of them watched the rest of the night, but there was no more shooting. About dawn, Call thought he heard something, a kind of cry or keening. But he couldn't figure out what might be making it.
'Could it be an eagle?' he asked Pea Eye. 'They say eagles scream, but I've never heard one.' Pea Eye heard the sound only faintly.
He had no idea what it was.
Before it was fully light, Call had them headed toward the east.
'What about Famous Shoes?' Brookshire asked. 'Shouldn't we wait for him?' 'He's a tracker, we don't have to wait for him,' Call said. 'He'll find us.' Famous Shoes did find them, about an hour later. He was down in a little ravine, and he had Ben Lily with him. The old hunter was shaggy, filthy, and mad.
'It was the manburner,' Famous Shoes said, as he trotted up out of the ravine. 'He has seven men with him.' 'He burnt my best dog,' Ben Lily said. 'Kilt all nine of them, and burnt one alive.' 'That's what we heard, I guess,' Call said. 'That's the sound a dog makes when it's being burned alive.' 'He wanted to burn me,' Ben Lily said.
'I hid in a snake den. His men shot my dogs. They roped old Flop and burnt him.' 'Not to eat, though,' Famous Shoes said. 'You can see--the dog is a little ways ahead.' Ben Lily sat on a rock, unkempt and bewildered. Call offered to let him ride one of the pack horses, if he wanted to come with them, but the old man didn't even answer. He sat on the rock, shaking his head and mumbling.
'I think he's gone loco,' Famous Shoes said quietly, to Call.
'He's always been loco,' Call said. 'Now he's old, and he's lost his dogs. If I were him I'd quit, but I ain't him.' Call went over to the old hunter, who seemed stunned by the calamity that had befallen him in the night. He held an old Winchester; apart from two cartridge belts, he seemed to have no equipment. Ben Lily was reputed to be an exceptional shot, exceptional enough to have killed more than two thousand bears and an unreckoned number of mountain lions. Call remembered him as having keen, mean eyes. This morning, his eyes seemed vague.
'He burnt old Flop,' Ben Lily said.
'Old Flop was my best dog.' 'You're lucky he didn't burn you, Mr.
Lily,' Call said. 'You'd better follow along with us for a day or two, until we know where he is and where he's going. Next time, you might not make it to the snake den.' The old man shook his head. He wore a ragged cap, which looked as if it had been made from a wolf skin. He kept putting it on, and then taking it back off.
'I'm going to Santa Fe,' he said. 'I got to get some new dogs.' 'You won't need them, if Mox Mox catches you,' Call said. 'You better come with us until we stop him.' 'I got to get some dogs,' Ben Lily repeated. 'I can't run no bears or tree no lions without some dogs.' 'I can't take you against your will, Mr. Lily, but you'd be wiser to come with us,' Call said. 'This man's not your ordinary killer. He's the manburner.' Ben Lily paid no attention; he was looking to the southwest, toward the distant mountains. His eyes seemed blurred and tired, but Call supposed they might clear quickly enough if he had a lion, or better yet, a bear in his sights.
'Them mountains are full of lions, but there ain't no bear,' he said. 'I be going on to Wyoming, I guess. There's bear up there in Wyoming.' He stood up and looked around, as if surprised to see that he was among people and not dogs.
'That killer kilt my dogs,' he repeated.
'I best go to Santa Fe.' His eyes turned to the northwest; he stared at the distances.
'You could go with us to Roy Bean's,' Call suggested. 'He usually has a few dogs.' 'No, I don't like Bean,' Ben Lily said. 'His dogs are just hounds. One mean lion could run them all off. I won't hunt with dogs that run from lions.' 'Be careful, then,' Call said, but the old man either didn't hear him, or didn't care to respond. He put his
