"I wanted that goddamn Wilbarger worse," Dan said. "What about you, Spoon?"

"Not hurt," Jake said.

"Hell, you and Roy might as well have stayed in Dodge, for all the good you are in the dark," Dan said.

Jake didn't answer. He was just glad he had not been forced to shoot anybody. It seemed ridiculous, attacking men in the dark. Even Indians waited until sunup. He took some hope from the fact that Frog Lip claimed to have been hit, though how anybody knew where to shoot was a mystery to him.

"Where's that goddamn kid?" Dan asked. "I told him to bring them horses. Old Wilbarger's getting away. Where'd you get hit, Frog?"

Frog Lip didn't answer.

"Goddamn the old son of a bitch," Dan said. "I guess he's killed Frog. Go get Eddie, Roy."

"You told him to come, I guess he'll come," Roy said.

"You best go get him unless you think you're bulletproof," Dan said in a deadly voice.

"I ain't going if Wilbarger's out there," Roy said. "You won't shoot me neither-I'm your brother."

There were two more shots, so close that Jake jumped.

"Did I get you?" Dan asked.

"No, and don't shoot no more," Roy said, in a surprised voice. "Why would you shoot at me?"

"There ain't nobody else around to shoot at except Jake, and you know his reputation," Dan said sarcastically.

They heard horses coming. "Boys?" little Eddie called out.

"No, mostly girls here tonight," Dan said. "Are you waiting for election day or what? Bring the goddamn horses."

Little Eddie brought them. The dawn was behind him, very faint but coming. Soon it was possible to make out the results of the battle. Wilbarger's two men were dead, still in their blankets. One was Chick, the little weasel Jake remembered seeing the morning they brought the horses in from Mexico. He had been hit in the neck by a rifle bullet, Frog Lip's, Dan said. The bullet had practically torn his head loose from his body-the corpse reminded Jake of a dead rabbit, perhaps because Chick had rabbitlike teeth, exposed now in a stiff grimace.

The other dead man was just a boy, probably Wilbarger's wrangler.

Of Wilbarger himself, there was no sign.

"I know I put three into him," Dan Suggs said. "He must have slept with the damn reins in his hand or he'd have never got to his horse."

Frog Lip lay on the ground, still gripping his rifle. His eyes were wide open and he was breathing as heavily as a horse after a long run. His wound was in the groin-his pants were wet with blood. The rising sun shone in his face, which was beaded with sweat.

"Who shot Frog?" little Eddie asked in surprise.

"Why, that damn Wilbarger, who else?" Dan said. He had no more than glanced at Frog Lip-he was scanning the plains with his spyglass, hoping to catch a glimpse of the cowman. But the plains were empty.

"I never thought anybody would get Frog," little Eddie said, unnerved by what he saw.

Dan Suggs was snarling with frustration. He glared at his brothers as if they were solely responsible for Wilbarger's escape.

"You boys ought to go home and teach school," he said. "It's all you're good for."

"What did you expect me to do?" Roy asked. "I can't see in the dark."

Dan walked over and looked down at Frog Lip. He ignored his brothers. He knelt down and pulled the Negro's bloodstained shirt loose from his pants, exposing the wound. After a second he stood up.

"Frog, I guess this was your unlucky day," he said. "I guess we better just shoot you."

Frog Lip didn't answer. He didn't move or even blink his eyes.

"Shoot him and let's go," Dan said, looking at little Eddie.

"Shoot Frog?" little Eddie said, as if he had not heard quite right.

"Yes, Frog's the one with the slug in his gut," Dan said. "He's the one that needs to finish up dying. Shoot him and let's ride."

"I hate to shoot Frog," little Eddie said in a dazed tone.

"I guess we'll just leave him for the buzzards then, if you're so squeamish," Dan said. He removed the rifle from the Negro's hand and took the big pistol out of his belt.

"Ain't you gonna let him keep his guns?" Roy asked.

"Nope," Dan said. "He won't need 'em, but we might."

With that he mounted and rode over to look at the horse herd they had captured.

"You shoot him, Roy," little Eddie said. "I hate to."

"No, Dan's mad at me anyway," Roy said. "If I do something he ordered you to do, I'll be the one shot."

With that he mounted and rode off too. Jake walked over to his horse, feeling that it had been a black day when he met the Suggses.

"Would you like to shoot him, Jake?" little Eddie asked. "I've known him all my life."

"I wouldn't care to," Jake said. He remembered how insolent Frog Lip had been only the day before, and how he had wanted to shoot him then. It had been a rapid turnabout. The man lay on the ground, dying of a cruel wound, and none of the men he rode with even wanted to put him out of his misery.

"Well, damn," little Eddie said. "Nobody's much help."

He shrugged, drew his gun, and without another word walked over and shot Frog Lip in the head. The body jerked, and that was that.

"Get his money," Dan Suggs yelled. "I forgot to."

Little Eddie went through the dead man's bloody pockets before he mounted.

Jake had supposed they might try to go after Wilbarger, since he was wounded, but Dan Suggs turned the horse herd north.

"Ain't we going after that man?" Roy asked.

"I couldn't track an elephant and neither could you," Dan said. "Frog was our tracker. I shot Wilbarger three times, I expect he'll die."

"I thought we was going to Abilene," little Eddie said. "Abilene ain't this way."

Dan sneered at his brother. "I wish Wilbarger had shot you instead of Frog," he said. "Frog was a damn sight better hand."

Jake thought maybe he had seen the last of the killing. He felt it could be worse. The shooting had all been in pitch-darkness. Wilbarger hadn't seen him. He couldn't be connected with the raid. It was luck, of a sort. If he could just get free of the Suggses, he wouldn't be in such hopeless trouble.

As he rode along, trailing the twenty-five horses, he decided the best thing for him would be to leave the west. He could travel over to St. Louis and catch a boat down to New Orleans, or even go east to New York. Both of them were fine towns for gamblers, or so he had heard. In either one he could be safe and could pursue the kind of life he enjoyed. Looking back on it, it seemed to him that he had been remarkably lucky to survive as long as he had in such a rough place, where killing was an everyday affair. No man's luck lasted forever, and the very fact that he had fallen in with the Suggses suggested that his was about exhausted.

He resolved to bend his wits to getting out while the getting was possible. The death of Frog Lip made the task easier, for, as Dan said, Frog Lip was the only tracker in the crowd. If he could just manage to get a good jump, somehow, he might get away. And if he did he wouldn't stop until he hit the Mississippi.

With his mind made up, he felt cheerful-it always gave a man a lift to escape death. It was a beautiful sunny day and he was alive to see it. With any luck at all, he had seen the end of the trouble.

His good mood lasted two hours, and then something occurred which turned it sour. It seemed as if the world was deserted except for them and the horses, and then to his surprise he saw a tent. It was staked under a single tree, directly ahead of them. Near the tent, two men were plowing with four mules. Dan Suggs was riding ahead of the horse herd, and Jake saw him lope off toward the settlers. He didn't think much about it-he was watching the tent to see if any women were around. Then he heard the faint pop of a shot and looked up to see one of the settlers fall. The other man was standing there, no gun in his hand, nothing. He stood as if paralyzed, and in a second Dan Suggs shot him too. Then he trotted over to the tent, got off his horse and went inside.