ground.
'They didn't kill Governor Pease--there he stands,' Augustus said, as they turned into the main street. 'I expect he'll be glad to see us back.' 'We didn't do what we was sent to do--he may fire us,' Call said.
'I doubt that,' Gus said. 'He won't have nobody who can fight at all, if he fires us.' The Governor stood in shirtsleeves and black suspenders on the steps of what had been the Forsythe store. He was loading a shotgun when they rode up, and he looked grim.
'Hello, Governor,' Call said. 'Are the Indians still around?' 'No, but the coons are,' the Governor said.
'The coyotes got most of my hens, after the raid. The coons don't bother the hens but they're ruining me in the egg department.' He sighed, and cast a quick glance at the little troop.
'Lose any men?' he asked.
'No sir, but we didn't find the Captain,' Call said. 'When we heard about the raid we thought we better just get home.' The Governor's buggy stood in the street, but Bingham, who usually drove him, wasn't in it.
'I just came down to get some shotgun shells,' the Governor said. 'I need to do something about those coons.' Governor Pease was usually clean shaven, but now had a white stubble on his cheeks; he looked tired.
'Where's Bingham, Governor?' Augustus asked.
'Dead ... they killed most of our niggers,' Governor Pease said. 'They stole that yellow girl who worked for Inez Scull--she was down by the springhouse and they took her.' Just then Long Bill gave a yell. They all turned and saw why. Pearl, the wife he had given up for dead, was in plain view far up the street, hanging out washing.
'It's my Pearl, she ain't dead!' Long Bill said. The cares of the last weeks fell away from him in an instant--he wheeled his horse and was off in a run.
'That's one happy ending, I guess,' Augustus said.
The Governor did not smile. 'She's alive but she was outraged,' he said, before going to his buggy. He drove off holding his shotgun, his eggs on his mind.
Call saw that the house where Maggie lived was partially burned but still standing, which was a relief. He thought he glimpsed someone at her window but could not be quite positive. Maggie was ever discreet. She would never lean out her window and look down at him--she didn't feel it was right.
He quickly crossed the street and saw her coming down the steps behind the house. She looked so glad to see him that he had to dismount and hug her; when he did she cried so hard that she wet the front of his shirt, just as she had when he was leaving.
'Now hush, I'm back,' he said.
He had never before touched her outside her room. After a moment he got nervous, and Maggie did too.
'They didn't get you ... that's good ... and they didn't get Pearl, either ... Bill's been about worried to death,' he said.
Maggie's face clouded, for a moment. 'They shot four arrows into her, and that ain't all,' she said. 'But they didn't touch me--I hid where you told me, Woodrow.' 'I'm glad you hid,' Call said. Maggie didn't say more. She still had tears in her eyes.
Call went back to the rangers, who were still in the street, where he had left them. Gus had dismounted and was sitting on the steps in front of the Forsythe store, a dejected look on his face.
'We ought to get the boys settled and see to the horses,' Call said. Jake Spoon and Pea Eye Parker both looked as if they might go to sleep in their saddles. Even Deets, who seldom flagged, looked very weary.
'You do it, Woodrow,' Gus said. He stood up and handed his bridle reins to Deets as he went by him. Call turned and followed Gus a step or two, curious as to what was the matter.
'I guess you're going drinking,' he said.
'By God, you're a genius, Woodrow,' Augustus said. 'I ain't even close to a saloon, but you figured it out.' Call knew it was Clara, or the fact that she was absent, that caused Gus to look so low. It was usually Clara at the bottom of Gus's dark moods.
'She's alive, at least,' he said. 'You ought to be glad she's alive.' 'Oh, I am glad she's alive,' Gus said. 'I'm mighty glad. But the point is, she ain't here. Your girl is here, Billy's wife is alive, but my girl's married and gone to Nebraska.' Call didn't argue--there would be no point. He turned back to the rangers, and Augustus McCrae went on across the street.
Ahumado had never had a captive who behaved like the small americano, Captain Scull. Most captives despaired once they realized they were in a place they could never get out of, except by death. In his experience, Americans made poor captives. He had had old Goyeto try to skin several Americans--traders, miners, travellers who happened to travel the wrong road--but they all died before Goyeto had got very far with the skinning.
Even if he only skinned an arm or a leg the Americans usually died. They were weak captives, the whites. Once he had had a small Tarahumara Indian from the north who had stood at the skinning post without making a sound while Goyeto took his whole skin off--t Tarahumara had been an exceptional man.
Ahumado decided to shelter him and feed him well--he thought it was possible that the man might grow a new skin; but the man took no food and didn't profit much from the shade he was given.
He died after three days, without having grown any new skin.
Once or twice Ahumado had tried sticking Americans on the sharpened trees, but there again they had turned out to be disappointing captives, dying after much screaming before the sharpened tree had penetrated very far into their bowels. The Comanches and Apaches he captured on the whole did much better, although it was not unknown for one of them to disgrace himself. Once, though, he put an Apache who had stolen a woman on the sharpened tree and the Apache lived for two days even after the sharp point of the tree had come out behind his shoulder blade. No Comanche and so far no whites had done so well.
It was clear, though, that the white man Scull, the ranger, was an americano of a different order. Scull had mettle, so much mettle that Ahumado was surprised; and surprise was a thing he rarely experienced.
