The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [133]
Louisa, having sensed on the spiritual waves no disruption in her connection to Charles, was not especially worried. Nevertheless, Thomas and Mr. Bush went over to the site of the burned-out hotel to see if there was news of the arrested men. Frank and I set out to find our animals. The first thing we saw was Senator Atchison, much changed from the day before. He rode at the head of his men, sober now, or possibly not, his coat buttoned up to the chin and his hat pulled down over his eyes. Did he look ashamed? I wanted to think so. His band looked dirty and rather sick, and they dragged one of their cannon with them.
"I could shoot him," said Frank.
"You left your gun at the Bushes’."
"Don’t need my own gun. Any gun would do. I could borrow one and follow along behind them and shoot him when he crosses the river."
"You are not going to shoot a man."
"I know, but I’m just saying I could. Saying I could feels better than just letting him go by."
Well, that was true. All around us, the people of Lawrence stared frankly at the Missourian. Everyone knew who he was, since he was tall and striking, and his picture had been in the papers when he was Vice President. I’m sure we weren’t the only ones talking in such strains. But the senator and his weary group trudged past unmolested, got to the river, crossed it, and vanished into the trees.
I dreaded what we would find when we came to the corral where we’d left the animals, thinking it was out of the way and safer. Clearly, from the destruction, there had been enough of the Ruffians so that they had sought out most corners of Lawrence and done damage everywhere. We knew a lot of horses and mules had been stolen, not to mention the cattle they had "pressed" into the service of their stomachs, because people we met complained of missing animals. When we got there, in fact, there was no corral, only broken rails and knocked-down posts, evidence of many trampling hooves in the dirt, and no animals to be seen. This, after everything else, caused me to burst into tears. Some men were standing nearby, and when they saw us looking at it all, they came over.
"Well, they drove ’em off, don’t you know?" said one of them. "I guess there was twenty hosses and mules here for a bit, but they rode in and drove ’em off in the middle of the night. There was screamin’ and yellin’, let me tell you."
Another man said, "Laban, here, and myself, we come out and shot a few times into the air, but it was just for show. We couldn’t do a thing. There was ten men, anyway, and they was far gone into their cups."
Laban sighed. "I had me the best team of mules I ever had here. Just bought ’em a couple of weeks ago. They shone! Cost me a hundred dollars apiece. Gone now."
I walked away. It just seemed like Jeremiah had to be somewhere, that if I looked I could find him. It had to turn out with Jeremiah as it had with our other things—a bit of damage, but nothing serious. For a few minutes, I wandered around, looking among the houses and buildings in this part of town. There was the same destruction here as elsewhere—interiors of homes broken up and turned over on the street, men, women, and children picking through things, looking for things, talking and crying. I was like one of them. I saw a woman pick up a cup and grin, then call to her husband, "Here’s one that’s not broken!" and I expected to turn a corner and find Jeremiah looking at me, his dark, large eyes in his pale face intelligently recognizing me, his ears swiveled forward. Never once had Jeremiah failed to approach me when I came for him, never once had he ducked my grasp or tried to get away or run off. But of course they would have been yelling and hooting, shooting in the air to panic the horses and mules. The animals in the pen would have been rolling their eyes and snorting, tossing their heads in that terrified equine way, and Jeremiah, who was an intelligent and