Lonesome Dove

everything. Squint as he could, Newt could see nothing but dark land and white dust. Of course the sun would soon solve the problem, but what would he see when he could see? The Captain and Pea could be ten miles away, and he himself could be riding into Mexico with Pedro Flores' vaqueros.

Then, coming over a little rise in the ground, he saw something that gave him heart: a thin silver ribbon to the northwest that could only be the river. The fading moon hung just above it. Across it, Texas was in sight, no less dark than Mexico, but there. The deep relief Newt felt at the sight of it washed away most of his fear. He even recognized the curve of the river-it was the old Comanche crossing, only a mile above Lonesome Dove. Whoever he was with had brought him home.

To his dismay, the sight of such a safe, familiar place made him want to cry. It seemed to him that the night had lasted many days-days during which he had been worried every moment that he would do something wrong and make a mistake that meant he would never come back to Lonesome Dove, or else come back disgraced. Now it was over and he was almost back, and relief seemed to run through him like warm water, some of which leaked out his eyes. It made him glad it was still dark-what would the men think, if they saw him? There was so much dust on his face that when he quickly wiped away the tears of relief his fingers rubbed off moist smears of dirt.

In a few minutes more, as the herd neared the river, the darkness loosened and began to gray. The red on the eastern horizon was no longer a line but spread upward like an opened fan. Soon Newt could see the horses moving through the first faint gray light-a lot of horses. Then, just as he thought he had brought the flood within himself under control, the darkness loosened its hold yet more and the first sunlight streamed across the plain, filtering through the cloud of dust to touch the coats of the tired horses, most of whom had slowed to a rapid trot. Ahead, waiting on the bank of the river, was Captain Call, the big Henry in the crook of his arm. The Hell Bitch was lathered with sweat, but her head was up and she slung it restlessly as she watched the herd approach-even pointing her keen ears at Mouse for a moment. Neither the Captain nor the gray mare looked in the least affected by the long night or the hard ride, yet Newt found himself so moved by the mere sight of them sitting there that he had to brush away yet another tear and smudge his dusty cheek even worse.

Down the river aways he could see Pea, sitting on the rangy bay they called Sardine. Of the hostile vaqueros they had met there was no sign. There were so many questions Newt wanted to ask about what they had done and where they had been that he hardly knew where to begin; yet, when he rode up to the Captain, keeping Mouse far enough away from the Hell Bitch that she wouldn't try to take a bite out of him, he didn't ask any questions. They would have poured out of him if it had been Mr. Gus or Deets or Pea, but since it was the Captain, the questions just stayed inside. All he said, at the end of the most exciting and important night of his life, was a simple good morning.

'It is a good one, ain't it?' Call said, as he watched the huge herd of horses-well over a hundred of them-pour over the low banks and spread out down the river to drink. Pea had ridden Sardine into the water stirrup deep to keep the herd from spreading too far south.

Call knew that it had been rare luck, running into the four Mexican horsethieves and getting most of the horses they had just brought over from Texas. The Mexicans had thought they had run into an army-who but an army would have so many horses?-and had not really stayed to make a fight, though he had had to scare off one vaquero who kept trying to turn the herd.

As for the boy, it was good that he had picked up a little experience and come through it all with nothing worse than a dirty face.

They sat together silently as the top half of the sun shot long ribbons of light across the brown river and the drinking horses, some of whom lay down in the shallows and rolled themselves in the cooling mud. When the herd began to move in twos and threes up the north bank, Call touched the mare and he and the boy moved out into the water. Call loosened his rein and let the mare drink. He was as pleased with her as he was with the catch. She was surefooted as a cat, and far from used up, though the boy's mount was so done in he would be worthless for a week. Pea's big bay was not much better. Call let the mare drink all she wanted before gathering his rein. Most of the horses had moved to the north bank, and the sun had finished lifting itself clear of the horizon.

'Let's ease on home,' he said to the boy. 'I hope Wilbarger's got his pockets full of money. We've got horses to sell.'

12.

IF WILBARGER WAS IMPRESSED at the sight of so many horses, he gave no sign of it. The small herd had already been penned, and he and Deets and the man called Chick were quietly separating out horses with the H I C brand on them. Dish Boggett worked the gate between the two corrals, letting Wilbarger's horses run through and waving his rope in the face of those he didn't claim. Jake Spoon was nowhere in sight, nor was there any sign of Augustus and the Irishmen.

The new herd was far too large to pen. Call had always meant to fence a holding pasture for just such an eventuality, but he had never gotten around to it. In the immediate case it didn't matter greatly; the horses were tired from their long run and could be left to graze and rest. After breakfast he would send the boy out to watch them.

Wilbarger paused from his work a moment to look at the stream of horses trotting past, then went back to his cutting, which was almost done. Since there was already enough help in the pen, there was nothing for Newt to do but stand by the fence and watch. Pea had already climbed up on what they called the 'opry seat'-the top rail of the corral-to watch the proceedings. His bay and Newt's Mouse, just unsaddled, took a few steps and then lay down and rolled themselves in the dust.

Call was not quite ready to rest the mare. When Wilbarger finished his sorting and came over to the fence, it was her, not the Captain, that he had his eye on.

'Good morning,' he said. 'Let's trade. You keep them thirty-eight splendid horses I just sorted out and I'll take that mean creature you're astraddle of. Thirty-eight for one is generous terms, in my book.'

'Keep your book,' Call said, not surprised at the offer.

Pea Eye was so startled by what he was hearing that he almost fell off the fence.

'You mean you'd give up all them horses for the chance of having a hunk bit out of you?' he asked. He knew men fancied the Captain's mare, but that anyone would fancy her to that extent was almost more than he could credit.

Dish Boggett walked over, slapping the dust off his chaps with a coiled rope.

'Is that your last word on the subject?' Wilbarger asked. 'I'm offering thirty-eight for one. You won't get a chance like that every day of your life.'

Dish snorted. He fancied the gray mare himself. 'It'd be like tradin' a fifty-dollar gold piece for thirty-eight nickels,' he said. He was in a foul temper anyway. The minute they had the horses penned, Jake Spoon had unsaddled and walked straight to the Dry Bean, as if that were where he lived.

Wilbarger ignored him too. 'This outfit is full of opinion,' he said. 'If opinions was money you'd all be rich.' He looked at Call.

'I won't trade this mare,' Call said. 'And that ain't an opinion.'

'No, it's more like a damn hard fact,' Wilbarger said. 'I live on a horse and yet I ain't had but two good ones my whole life.'

'This is my third,' Call said.

Wilbarger nodded. 'Well, sir,' he said, 'I'm obliged to you for getting here on time. It's plain the man you deal with knows where there's a den of thieves.'

'A big den,' Call said.

'Well, let's go, Chick,' Wilbarger said. 'We won't get home unless we start.'

'You might as well stay for breakfast,' Call said. 'A couple more of your horses are on their way.'

'What are they doing, traveling on three legs?' Wilbarger asked.

'They're with Mr. McCrae,' Call said. 'He travels at his own pace.'

'Talks at it, too,' Wilbarger said. 'I don't think we'll wait. Keep them two horses for your trouble.'

'We brought in some nice stock,' Call said. 'You're welcome to look it over, if you're still short.'

'Not interested,' Wilbarger said. 'You won't rent pigs and you won't trade that mare, so I might as well be on