The Lonesome Dove Chronicles (1-4)

by Larry McMurtry

  In fact, the advice only mattered to the better-equipped hands: Dish, Jasper, Soupy Jones and Needle Nelson. The Spettle brothers, for example, had no equipment at all, unless you called one pistol with a broken hammer equipment. Newt had scarcely more; his saddle was an old one and he had no slicker and only one blanket for a bedroll. The Irishmen had nothing except what they had been loaned.

  Pea seemed to think the only important equipment was his bowie knife, which he spent the whole day sharpening. Deets merely got a needle and some pieces of rawhide and sewed a few rawhide patches on his old quilted pants.

  When they saw Mr. Augustus ride up with Lippy, some of the hands thought it might be a joke, but the Captain at once put him in charge of the horses, an action that moved Dish Boggett to scorn.

  “Half the remuda will run off once they see him flop that lip,” he said.

  Augustus was inspecting the feet of his main horse, a large buckskin he called old Malaria, not a graceful mount but a reliable one.

  “It might surprise you, Dish,” he said, “but Lippy was once a considerable hand. I wouldn’t talk if I were you. You may end up with a hole in your own stomach and have to play whorehouse piano for a living.”

  “If I do I’ll starve,” Dish said. “I never had the opportunity of piano lessons.”

  Once it was clear he was not going to be constantly affronted by the sight of Jake and Lorena, Dish’s mood improved a little. Since they were traveling along the same route, an opportunity might yet arise to demonstrate that he was a better man than Jake Spoon. She might need to be saved from a flood or a grizzly bear—grizzly bears were often the subject of discussion around the campfire at night. No one had ever seen one, but all agreed they were almost impossible to kill. Jasper Fant had taken to worrying about them constantly, if only as a change from worrying about drowning.

  Jasper’s obsession with drowning had begun to oppress them all. He had talked so much about it that Newt had come to feel it would be almost a miracle if someone didn’t drown at every river.

  “Well, if we see one of them bears, Pea can stick him with that knife he keeps sharpening,” Bert Borum said. “It ought to be sharp enough to kill a dern elephant by now.”

  Pea took the criticism lightly. “It never hurts to be ready,” he said, quoting an old saying of the Captain’s.

  Call himself spent the day on the mare, weeding out the weaker stock, both cattle and horses. He worked with Deets. About noon, they were resting under a big mesquite tree. Deets was watching a little Texas bull mount a cow not far away. The little bull hadn’t come from Mexico. He had wandered in one morning, unbranded, and had immediately whipped three larger bulls that attempted to challenge him. He was not exactly rainbow-colored, but his hide was mottled to an unusual extent—part brown, part red, part white and with a touch here and there of yellow and black. He looked a sight, but he was all bull. Much of the night he could be heard baying; the Irishmen had come to hate him, since his baying drowned out their singing.

  In fact, none of the cowboys liked him—he would occasionally charge a horse, if his temper was up, and was even worse about men on foot. Once, Needle Nelson had dismounted meaning to idle away a minute or two relieving himself, and the little bull had charged him so abruptly that Needle had had to hop back on his horse while still pissing. All the hands had a fine laugh at his expense. Needle had been so angered that he wanted to rope and cut the bull, but Call intervened. Call thought the bull well made though certainly a peculiar mix of colors, and wanted to keep him.

  “Let him be,” he said. “We’ll need some bulls in Montana.”

  Augustus had been highly amused. “Good God, Call,” he said. “You mean you want to fill this paradise we’re going to with animals that look like that?”

  “He ain’t bad-looking if you don’t count his color,” Call said.

  “Be damned to his color and his disposition too,” Needle said. He knew he would be a long time living down having to mount his horse with his dingus flopping.

  “Well, I reckon it’s time to go,” Call said to Deets. “We’ll never get there if we don’t start.”

  Deets was not so sure they would get there anyway, but he kept his doubts to himself. The Captain usually managed to do what he meant to do.

  “I want you to be the scout,” the Captain said. “We got plenty of men to keep the stock moving. I want you to find us water and a good bed-ground every night.”

  Deets nodded modestly, but inside he felt proud. Being made scout was more of an honor than having your name on a sign. It was proof that the Captain thought highly of his abilities.

  When they got back to the wagon Augustus was oiling his guns. Lippy fanned himself with his bowler, and most of the other hands were just sitting around wishing it was cooler.

  “Have you counted the stock yet?” Call asked Augustus. The man possessed a rare skill when it came to counting animals. He could ride through a herd and count it, something Call had never been able to do.

  “No, I ain’t got around to that task,” Augustus said. “Maybe I will if you tell me what difference it makes.”

  “It would be useful to know how many we’re starting out with,” Call said. “If we get there with ninety percent we’ll be lucky.”

  “Yes, lucky if we get there with ninety percent of ourselves,” Augustus said. “It’s your show, Call. Myself, I’m just along to see the country.”

  Dish Boggett had been dozing under the wagon. He sat up so abruptly that he bumped his head on the bottom of the wagon. He had had a terrible dream in which he had fallen off a cliff. The dream had started nice, with him riding along on the point of a herd of cattle. The cattle had become buffalo and the buffalo had started running. Soon they began to pour over a cutbank of some kind. Dish saw it in plenty of time to stop his horse, but his horse wouldn’t stop, and before he knew it he went off the bank, too. The ground was so far below, he could barely see it. He fell and fell, and to make matters worse his horse turned over in the air, so that Dish was upside down and on the bottom. Just as he was about to be mashed, he woke up, lathered in sweat.

  “See what I mean?” Augustus said. “Dish has already cracked his noggin and we ain’t even left.”

  Call got a plate of food and went off by himself to eat. It was something he had always done—moved apart, so he could be alone and think things out a little. In the old days, when he first developed the habit, the men had not understood. Occasionally one would follow him, wanting to chat. But they soon learned better—nothing made Call sink deeper into silence than for someone to come around and start yapping when he wanted to be by himself.

  Virtually all his life he had been in the position of leading groups of men, yet the truth was he had never liked groups. Men he admired for their abilities in action almost always brought themselves down in his estimation if he had to sit around and listen to them talk—or watch them drink or play cards or run off after women. Listening to men talk usually made him feel more alone than if he were a mile away by himself under a tree. He had never really been able to take part in the talk. The endless talk of cards and women made him feel more set apart—and even a little vain. If that was the best they could think of, then they were lucky they had him to lead them. It seemed immodest, but it was a thought that often came to him.

  And the more he stayed apart, the more his presence made the men nervous.

  “It’s hard for normal men to relax around you, Call,” Augustus told him once. “You ain’t never been relaxed yourself, so you don’t know what you’re missing.”

  “Pshaw,” Call said. “Pea goes to sleep around me half the time. I guess that’s relaxed.”

  “No, that’s worn out,” Augustus said. “If you didn’t work him sixteen hours a day he’d be as nervous as the rest.”

  When Call had eaten, he took his plate back to Bolivar, who seemed to have decided to go along. He had made no move to leave, at least. Call wanted him along, and yet somehow didn’t feel quite right
about it. It didn’t seem proper that a man with a wife and daughters would go away without even informing them, on a journey from which he might never return. The old pistolero didn’t owe the Hat Creek outfit that kind of effort, and Call reluctantly raised the subject with him.

  “Bol, we’re leaving today,” he said. “You can have your wages, if you’d rather.”

  Bol just looked annoyed, shook his head and didn’t say a word.

  “I’m glad you’re with us, Bol,” Augustus said. “You’ll make a fine Canadian.”

  “What is Canada?” Ben Rainey asked. He had never been sure.

  “The land of the northern lights,” Augustus said. The heat had caused a dearth of conversation and made him welcome almost any question.

  “What’s them?” the boy wondered.

  “Why, they light up the sky,” Augustus said. “I don’t know if you can see ’em from Montany.”

  “I wonder when we’ll see Jake again.” Pea Eye said. “That Jake sure don’t keep still.”

  “He was just here yesterday, we don’t need to marry him,” Dish said, unable to conceal his irritation at the mere mention of the man.

  “Well, I’ve oiled my guns,” Augustus said. “We might as well go and put the Cheyenne nation to flight, if the Army hasn’t.”

  Call didn’t answer.

  “Ain’t you even sorry to leave this place, now that we’ve made it so peaceful?” Augustus asked.

  “No,” Call said. “We ought to left right after we come.”

  It was true. He had no affection for the border, and a yearning for the plains, dangerous as they were.

  “It’s a funny life,” Augustus said. “All these cattle and nine-tenths of the horses is stolen, and yet we was once respected lawmen. If we get to Montana we’ll have to go into politics. You’ll wind up governor if the dern place ever gets to be a state. And you’ll spend all your time passing laws against cattle thieves.”

  “I wish there was a law I could pass against you,” Call said.

  “I don’t know what Wanz is going to do without us,” Augustus said.

  25.

  IN THE LATE AFTERNOON they strung a rope corral around the remuda, so each hand could pick himself a set of mounts, each being allowed four picks. It was slow work, for Jasper Fant and Needle Nelson could not make up their minds. The Irishmen and the boys had to take what was left after the more experienced hands had chosen.

  Augustus did not deign to make a choice at all. “I intend to ride old Malaria all the way,” he said, “or if not I’ll ride Greasy.”

  Once the horses were assigned, the positions had to be assigned as well.

  “Dish, you take the right point,” Call said. “Soupy can take the left and Bert and Needle will back you up.”

  Dish had assumed that, as a top hand, he would have a point, and no one disputed his right, but both Bert and Needle were unhappy that Soupy had the other point. They had been with the outfit longer, and felt aggrieved.

  The Spettle boys were told to help Lippy with the horse herd, and Newt, the Raineys and the Irishmen were left with the drags. Call saw that each of them had bandanas, for the dust at the rear of the herd would be bad.

  They spent an hour patching on the wagon, a vehicle Augustus regarded with scorn. “That dern wagon won’t get us to the Brazos,” he said.

  “Well, it’s the only wagon we got,” Call said.

  “You didn’t assign me no duties, nor yourself either,” Augustus pointed out.

  “That’s simple,” Call said. “I’ll scare off bandits and you can talk to Indian chiefs.”

  “You boys let these cattle string out,” he said to the men. “We ain’t in no big hurry.”

  Augustus had ridden through the cattle and had come back with a count of slightly over twenty-six hundred.

  “Make it twenty-six hundred cattle and two pigs,” he said. “I guess we’ve seen the last of the dern Rio Grande. One of us ought to make a speech, Call. Think of how long we’ve rode this river.”

  Call was not willing to indulge him in any dramatics. He mounted the mare and went over to help the boys get the cattle started. It was not a hard task. Most of the cattle were still wild as antelope and instinctively moved away from the horsemen. In a few minutes they were on the trail, strung out for more than a mile. The point riders soon disappeared in the low brush.

  Lippy and the Spettle boys were with the wagon. With the dust so bad, they intended to keep the horses a fair distance behind.

  Bolivar sat on the wagon seat, his .10 gauge across his lap. In his experience trouble usually came quick, when it came, and he meant to keep the .10 gauge handy to discourage it.

  Newt had heard much talk of dust, but had paid little attention to it until they actually started the cattle. Then he couldn’t help noticing it, for there was nothing else to notice. The grass was sparse, and every hoof sent up its little spurt of dust. Before they had gone a mile he himself was white with it, and for moments actually felt lost, it was so thick. He had to tie the bandana around his nose to get a good breath. He understood why Dish and the other boys were so anxious to draw assignments near the front of the herd. If the dust was going to be that bad all the way, he might as well be riding to Montana with his eyes shut. He would see nothing but his own horse and the few cattle that happened to be within ten yards of him. A grizzly bear could walk in and eat him and his horse both, and they wouldn’t be missed until breakfast the next day.

  But he had no intention of complaining. They were on their way, and he was part of the outfit. After waiting for the moment so long, what was a little dust?

  Once in a while, though, he dropped back a little. His bandana got sweaty, and the dust caked on it so that he felt he was inhaling mud. He had to take it off and beat it against his leg once in a while. He was riding Mouse, who looked like he could use a bandana of his own. The dust seemed to make the heat worse, or else the heat made the dust worse.

  The second time he stopped to beat his bandana, he happened to notice Sean leaning off his horse as if he were trying to vomit. The horse and Sean were both white, as if they had been rolled in powder, though the horse Sean rode was a dark bay.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked anxiously.

  “No, I was trying to spit,” Sean said. “I’ve got some mud in my mouth. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

  “I didn’t either,” Newt said.

  “Well, we better keep up,” he added nervously—he didn’t want to neglect his responsibilities. Then, to his dismay, he looked back and saw twenty or thirty cattle standing behind them. He had ridden right past them in the dust. He immediately loped back to get them, hoping the Captain hadn’t noticed. When he turned back, two of the wild heifers spooked. Mouse, a good cow horse, twisted and jumped a medium-sized chaparral bush in an effort to gain a step on the cows. Newt had not expected the jump and lost both stirrups, but fortunately diverted the heifers so that they turned back into the main herd. He found his heart was beating fast, partly because he had almost been thrown and partly because he had nearly left thirty cattle behind. With such a start, it seemed to him he would be lucky to get to Montana without disgracing himself.

  Call and Augustus rode along together, some distance from the herd. They were moving through fairly open country, flats of chaparral with only here and there a strand of mesquite. That would soon change: the first challenge would be the brush country, an almost impenetrable band of thick mesquite between them and San Antonio. Only a few of the hands were experienced in the brush, and a bad run of some kind might cost them hundreds of cattle.

  “What do you think, Gus?” Call asked. “Think we can get through the brush, or had we better go around?”

  Augustus looked amused. “Why, these cattle are like deer, only faster,” he said. “They’ll get through the brush fine. The problem will be the hands. Half of them will probably get their eyes poked out.”

  “I still don’t know what you think,” Call said.

  �
�The problem is, I ain’t used to being consulted,” Augustus said. “I’m usually sitting on the porch drinking whiskey at this hour. As for the brush, my choice would be to go through. It’s that or go down to the coast and get et by the mosquitoes.”

  “Where do you reckon Jake will end up?” Call asked.

  “In a hole in the ground, like you and me,” Augustus said.

  “I don’t know why I ever ask you a question,” Call said.

  “Well, last time I seen Jake he had a thorn in his hand,” Augustus said. “He was wishing he’d stayed in Arkansas and taken his hanging.”

  They rode up on a little knobby hill and stopped for a moment to watch the cattle. The late sun shone through the dust cloud, making the white dust rosy. The riders to each side of the herd were spread wide, giving the cattle lots of room. Most of them were horned stock, thin and light, their hides a mixture of colors. The riders at the rear were all but hidden in the rosy dust.

  “Them boys on the drags won’t even be able to get down from their horses unless we take a spade and spade ’em off a little,” Augustus said.

  “It won’t hurt ’em,” Call said. “They’re young.”

  In the clear late afternoon light they could see all the way back to Lonesome Dove and the river and Mexico. Augustus regretted not tying a jug to his saddle—he would have liked to sit on the little hill and drink for an hour. Although Lonesome Dove had not been much of a town, he felt sure that a little whiskey would have made him feel sentimental about it.

  Call merely sat on the hill, studying the cattle. It was clear to Augustus that he was not troubled in any way by leaving the border or the town.

  “It’s odd I partnered with a man like you, Call,” Augustus said. “If we was to meet now instead of when we did, I doubt we’d have two words to say to one another.”

  “I wish it could happen, then, if it would hold you to two words,” Call said. Though everything seemed peaceful, he had an odd, confused feeling at the thought of what they had undertaken. He had quickly convinced himself it was necessary, this drive. Fighting the Indians had been necessary, if Texas was to be settled. Protecting the border was necessary, else the Mexicans would have taken south Texas back.