The Lonesome Dove Chronicles (1-4)

by Larry McMurtry

  “We’ve been chasing him off and on for ten years and we ain’t caught him,” Gus pointed out. “The man’s too fleet for us. I’d like to see you go into Buffalo Hump’s camp and steal one of his horses sometime.”

  “I don’t claim to be a horsethief,” Call said. “The reason we don’t catch him is because we stop to sleep and he don’t.”

  Call felt a deep irritation at what had happened. The irritation was familiar; he had felt it almost every time they had gone after the Comanches. In a direct conflict they might win, if the conflict went on long enough for their superior weaponry to prevail. But few engagements with the Comanche involved direct conflict. It was chase and wait, thrust and parry—and, always, the Comanches concentrated on what they were doing while the rangers usually piddled. Their own preparations were seldom thorough, or their tactics precise—the Comanches were supposed to be primitive, yet they fought with more intelligence than the rangers were usually able to muster. It irked Call, and had always irked him. He resolved that if he ever got to be a captain he would plan better and press the enemy harder, once a battle was joined.

  Of course the force they had to deploy was not large. Captain Scull, like Buffalo Hump, preferred to mount a small, quick, mobile troop. Yet in Call’s view there was always something ragtag about the ranger forces he went out with. Some of the men would always be drunk, or in love with a whore, or deep into a gambling frenzy when the time came to leave; they would be left behind while men who were barely skilled enough to manage town life would join up, wanting a grand adventure. Also, the state of Texas allotted little money for the ranger force—now that the Comanches had stopped snatching children from the outskirts of Austin and San Antonio, the legislature saw no need to be generous with the rangers.

  “They don’t need us anymore, the damn politicians,” Augustus said. He had become increasingly resentful of all forms of law and restraint. The result of the legislature’s parsimonious attitude toward frontier defense meant that the rangers often had to set out on a pursuit indifferently mounted and poorly provisioned. Often, like the Indians they were pursuing, they had to depend on hunting—or even fishing—in order to survive until they could get back.

  Now, though, Kicking Wolf had stolen the big horse, and all Captain Scull could think of to do was call him a genius.

  “What is a genius, anyway?” Augustus asked, addressing the question to the company at large.

  “I guess the Captain’s a genius, you ought to ask him,” Call said.

  The Captain, at the moment, was walking around with Famous Shoes, attempting to discover how the theft had been accomplished.

  “A genius is somebody with six toes or more on one foot,” Long Bill declared. “That’s what I was told at home.”

  Neely Dickens, a small, reedy man prone to quick darting motions that reminded Gus of minnows, took a different view.

  “Geniuses don’t have no warts,” he claimed.

  “In that case I’m a genius because I am rarely troubled with warts,” Augustus said.

  “I’ve heard that geniuses are desperate smart,” Teddy Beatty said. “I met one once up in St. Louis and he could spell words backwards and even say numbers backwards too.”

  “Now, what would be the point of spelling backwards?” Augustus asked. “If you spell backwards you wouldn’t have much of a word. I expect you was drunk when you met that fellow.”

  Finch Seeger, the largest and slowest man in the company when it came to movement, was also the slowest when it came to thinking. Often Finch would devote a whole day to one thought—the thought that he wanted to go to a whorehouse, for example. He did not take much interest in the question of geniuses, but he had no trouble keeping an interest in food. Deets had informed the company that there was only a little bacon left, and yet they were a long way from home. The prospect of baconless travel bored into Finch’s mind like a screwworm, so painfully that he was moved to make a comment.

  “Pig,” he said, to everyone’s surprise. “I wish we had us a good fat pig.”

  “Now Finch, keep quiet,” Augustus said, though the comment was the only word Finch Seeger had uttered in several days.

  “No one was discussing swine,” Gus added.

  “No one was discussing anything,” Call remarked. “Finch has as much right to talk as you have.”

  Finch ignored the controversy his remark had ignited. He looked across the empty prairie and his mind made a picture of a fat pig. The pig was nosing around behind a chaparral bush, trying to root out a mouse, or perhaps a snake. He meant to be watchful during the day, so that if they came upon the pig he saw in his mind they could kill it promptly and replenish their bacon supply.

  “Well, that’s one less horse,” Long Bill commented. “I guess one of us will have to ride a pack mule, unless the Captain intends to walk.”

  “I doubt he intends to walk, we’re a far piece out,” Call said, only to be confounded a few minutes later by the Captain’s announcement that he intended to do just that.

  “Kicking Wolf stole Hector while Hector was pissing—it was the only time he could have approached him,” Scull announced to the men. “Famous Shoes figured it out. Took him while he was pissing. Famous Shoes thinks he might have whispered a spell into his ear, but I doubt that.”

  While the rangers watched he began to rake around in his saddlebags, from which he extracted his big plug of tobacco, a small book, and a box of matches wrapped in oilskin. He had a great gray coat rolled up behind his saddle, but, after a moment’s thought, he left it rolled up.

  “Too heavy,” he said. “I’ll be needing to travel light. I’ll just dig a hole at night, bury a few coals in it, and sleep on them if it gets nippy.”

  Scull stuffed a coat pocket full of bullets, pulled his rifle out of its scabbard, and scanned the plain with a cheerful, excited look on his face, actions which puzzled Call and Gus in the extreme. Captain Scull seemed to be making preparations to strike out on foot, although they were far out on the llano and in the winter too. The Comanches knew where they were, Buffalo Hump and Slow Tree as well. What would induce the Captain to be making preparations for foot travel?

  And what was the troop to do, while he walked?

  But Scull had a cheerful grin on his bearded face.

  “Opportunity, men—it knocks but once,” he said. “I think it was Papa Franklin who said that—it’s in Poor Richard, I believe. Now, adversity and opportunity are kissing cousins, I say. My horse is missing but he’s no dainty animal. He leaves a big track. I’ve always meant to study tracking—it’s a skill I lack. Famous Shoes here is a great authority. He claims he can even track bugs. So we’ll be leaving you now, gentlemen. Famous Shoes is going to teach me tracking, while he follows my horse.”

  “But Captain, what about us?” Long Bill asked, unable to suppress the question.

  “Why, go home, boys, just go home,” Captain Scull said. “Just go home—no need for you to trail along while I’m having my instruction. Mr. Call and Mr. McCrae, I’ll make you co-commanders. Take these fine men back to Austin and see that they are paid when you get there.”

  The rangers looked at one another, mightily taken aback by this development. Famous Shoes had not returned to camp. He was waiting on the plain, near where the big horse had been taken. Captain Scull rummaged a little more in his saddlebags but found nothing more that he needed.

  “I’ve got to pare down to essentials, men,” he said, still with his excited grin. “A knife, some tobacco, my firearms, matches—a man ought to be able to walk from Cape Cod to California with no more than that. And if he can’t he deserves to die where he drops, I say.”

  Call thought the man was mad. He was so impatient to be striking out alone, into the middle of nowhere, that he didn’t even want to stop and give proper orders—he just wanted to leave.

  So—suddenly and unexpectedly—he and Augustus had been thrown into a situation they had often discussed. They were in charge of a troop of rangers, if only f
or the course of a homeward journey. It was what they had long desired, and yet it had arrived too suddenly. It didn’t seem right.

  “So, we are just to go home?” Call said, to be sure he had it right.

  “Yes, home,” Captain Scull said. “If you encounter any rank bandits along the way, hang them. Otherwise, get on home and wait until you hear from me.”

  We won’t hear from you, you fool, Augustus thought. But he didn’t say it.

  “What will we tell Mrs. Scull?” he inquired.

  “Why, nothing,” Scull said. “Inez ain’t your concern, she’s mine. If I were you I’d just try to avoid her.”

  “Sir, she may be worried,” Call said.

  The Captain stopped rummaging in his saddlebags for a moment and turned his head, as if the notion that his wife might be worried about him was a novelty he had never before considered.

  “Why, no, Mr. Call,” he said. “Inez won’t be worried. She’ll just be angry.”

  He grinned once more at the troop, waved his hand, picked up his rifle, and strode off toward Famous Shoes, who fell in with him without a word. The two men, both short, walked away into the empty distance.

  “Well, there they go, Woodrow,” Gus said. “We’re captains now, I reckon.”

  “I reckon,” Call said.

  19.

  THE DEPARTURE of their captain was so sudden, so unexpected, and so incomprehensible to the rangers, one and all, that for a time they all stood where they were, staring at the two departing figures, who were very soon swallowed up by a dip in the prairies.

  “If I wasn’t awake I’d think I was asleep,” Long Bill said. “I’d think I was having a dream.”

  “Don’t you be bossing me yet, Gus,” he added, a moment later. “This might just be a dream.”

  “No, it’s no dream,” Call said. “The Captain left, and he left on foot.”

  “Well, the fool ought to have taken a horse, or a mule, at least,” Augustus said. His thoughts were confused, from the suddenness of it. Captain Scull was gone and now he was a captain himself, or half of one, at least.

  “That’s my view,” Neely Dickens said. “If he didn’t like none of the spare horses he could have taken the mule, at least. Then he’d have something to eat if there wasn’t no game to be found.”

  “He’s with Famous Shoes,” Call reminded them. “Famous Shoes travels all over this country and he don’t starve.”

  “He might find that pig before we do,” Finch Seeger remarked apprehensively. The pig he had seen in his mind, rooting behind a chaparral bush, had quickly become a reality to him. He was annoyed by the thought that Captain Scull might beat him to the pig—in his mind the pig belonged to the troop—Deets could cook it up in a tasty way.

  The country did not look like pig country, to Deets. “I be happy with a few prairie dogs,” he whispered to Pea Eye.

  Pea Eye was wishing ever more powerfully that he had not chosen to become a Texas Ranger so early in his life. His understanding of the business was that captains always stayed with their troops, yet their captain had just walked off. It was confusing behavior; and it was still windy, too. He thought he might like rangering a little better if the wind would just die.

  It did not take Augustus McCrae more than three minutes to adjust to his promotion to captain. He had been feeling rather gloomy, thanks to low grub and uncertain prospects, and now all of a sudden he was a captain, a thing that made him feel better almost immediately. He decided that his first act as captain would be to press for a quick return to Austin, so he could tell the news to Clara. Now that he was a captain she would have no excuse to refuse him. He meant to point that out to her plainly, as soon as they arrived.

  “Now, don’t you be bossing me too hard today, Gus,” Long Bill said. “I’ve got to have a day or two to adjust to this notion that you’re a captain.”

  “That’s twice you’ve said that. I order you to shut up about it,” Gus said. “You oughtn’t to be picking on me anyway. Woodrow’s a captain too and he’ll be a harder boss than me once he gets the hang of the job.”

  “Hang of it? Surviving’s the hang of it,” Call said. “I scarcely even know where we are, and I doubt you do either.”

  “Well, we’re west, I know that,” Augustus said. “Dern the Captain, why’d he take our scout?”

  “Scout up my fat pig, if you don’t mind,” Finch Seeger said. “He’s behind a bush, rooting up a snake, I expect.”

  All the rangers felt a little embarrassed by Finch’s fixation on an imaginary pig. Finch Seeger was a ranger mainly because of his strength. If a log was in the way of a wagon, Finch could dismount and remove it without assistance; but of course that skill was useless on the llano, where there were few obstructions to free travel. With no logs to clear away, Finch’s usefulness as a ranger was much diminished. The fact was, Finch was not entirely right in the head. Once he formed a notion that pleased him, he wrapped his mind around it like a chain.

  “Now hush about that hog, Finch,” Neely Dickens said. He was a little embarrassed for his friend. Anybody could see they weren’t likely to encounter a pig.

  “We’re in dry country,” Call said. “We better decide which river to make for.”

  “I vote for the good old Brazos,” Long Bill said. “The Brazos ain’t far from my home and my Pearl.”

  Call walked off a little distance, hoping Augustus would follow. He considered Captain Scull derelict, for simply walking off from his command. The fact that he had split the command between himself and Augustus didn’t seem very sensible, either. Though he and Augustus were good friends, they had a way of disagreeing about almost everything. As soon as he said they ought to make for the Brazos, Gus would argue that they were closer to the Pecos. Fear of disagreement had prompted him to walk off. He didn’t want to start off his captaincy by quarreling in front of the boys.

  Augustus, though, once he came and joined Call, proved hesitant. Though he was pleased for a few minutes to be a captain, the responsibility of it quickly came to seem overwhelming. What if he gave an order and it proved to be the wrong order? All the men might die. Woodrow’s first remark had been correct: surviving was what they had to think of. They had only one day’s food, and little water. The very emptiness of the plain was daunting. One direction might be no better than another.

  “Which way do you think we ought to go?” Woodrow asked—Augustus opened his mouth to answer and then realized he didn’t know what to say. The weight of command had suddenly become very heavy. He had no idea which way they ought to go.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” Woodrow asked. “You’ve been talking ever since I’ve known you, why’d you suddenly dry up?”

  “Because I don’t know how to be a captain—at least I’m man enough to admit it,” Augustus said. “What do you think we ought to do, if you know so much?”

  “I don’t know so much,” Call said. “I’ve taken orders the whole time I’ve been a ranger. Why would I know any more than you do?”

  “Because you’re a studier, Woodrow,” Augustus said. “You’ve been reading in that book about Napoleon for years. Me, I’m mainly just a whorer.”

  He took one more look at the landscape, and then turned to his friend.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll try to captain if you’ll help. I favor trying to strike the Red River. I expect the Pecos is closer but there’s little game on the Pecos. If we go that way we’d probably have to eat the horses. We’ve got those extra mules. I say we eat the mules, if we have to, and make for the Red. There’s plentiful deer along the Red.”

  To Gus’s relief, Woodrow Call smiled, a rare thing in general, Woodrow being mainly solemn, but especially rare considering the hard circumstances they faced.

  “The Red was my thinking too,” Call said.

  “Is it?” Augustus said, relieved. Usually Woodrow took the opposite view, just because it was opposite, as far as he could tell.

  Both of them turned for a moment and looke
d at the camp, fifty yards away. All the rangers were looking at them, waiting to see if they would quarrel.

  “The boys depend on us now,” Call said. “It’s up to us to get them home.”

  “I just hope we don’t run into a big bunch of Comanches,” Augustus said. “A big bunch of Comanches could probably finish us.”

  “One of us will have to scout, and the other stay with the troop,” Call said.

  “I agree,” Gus said.

  “It’s a big thing we’re taking on,” Call said. “We need to keep our heads and do it right.”

  “We’ll get these boys home,” Augustus said, proud but a little nervous. He looked once more at Woodrow, to be sure they were still agreed on the directions.

  “So the Red River it is?” he said.

  “Yes, and let’s get started,” Call said. “The Red River it is.”

  20.

  FAMOUS SHOES was surprised to see that Big Horse Scull could walk so well. Usually he could easily walk off and leave any white man, but he did not walk off and leave Scull. When they camped the first night the man did not seem tired, nor did he insist on the large wasteful fires that the whites usually made when the nights were cold. Their fire was only a few sticks, with just enough flame to singe the prairie chicken Scull had hit with a rock. The clouds blew away and the stars above them were very clear, as they divided the skinny bird, which was old and tough.

  Famous Shoes had begun to realize that Scull was a very unusual man. They had walked all day at a fast clip, yet Scull did not seem tired and did not appear to want sleep. Famous Shoes yawned and grew sleepy but Scull merely kept chewing his tobacco and spitting out the juice. Famous Shoes thought Scull might be some form of witch or possessed person. He was not a comfortable man to be with. There was something in him like the lightning, a small lightning but still apt to flash at any moment. Famous Shoes did not enjoy being with a man who flashed like lightning, causing unquiet feelings, but there was not much he could do about it.