All the hands had a fine laugh at his expense. He shouldn't have run, July said. He caught up with the herd, with his wagonload of coats and supplies, near the Missouri, which they crossed near Fort Benton. Early one morning he shot a large crane with his pistol, and the meat put a little strength in him.
_No sabe_, he said, thinking maybe some of the Indians knew Mexican. He and Roscoe were sitting in front of what passed for a jail in Fort Smith. I'm not sick, July said. I will take an insult once in a while, but I'd be damned if I'd take that.
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