The Lonesome Dove Chronicles (1-4)

by Larry McMurtry

  At the head of the main bunch of cattle, Call surveyed the situation without too much apprehension. Unless there was a lightning victim somewhere, they had come through the storm well. The cattle had walked themselves out and were docile for the time being. Deets had been to look, and Soupy, Jasper and Needle had the rest of the herd a mile or two east. The wagon was stuck in a gully, but when the hands gathered they soon had enough ropes on it to pull it out. Bol refused to budge from the wagon seat while the pullout took place. Lippy had got out to help push and consequently was covered in mud practically up to his lip.

  Newt had been extremely surprised, when dawn came, to discover that he was in his natural position in relation to the herd: behind it. He was too tired even to feel very relieved. All he wanted was to stretch out and sleep. Several times he dozed off, sitting straight up in the saddle. Mouse was just as tired, and kept to a slow walk.

  Deets reported that all the hands were well and accounted for with one exception: Mr. Gus. He had been with the main herd for a while but now he was nowhere to be seen.

  “He probably rode off to the café to get his breakfast,” Dish Boggett said. “Or else went in to San Antone to get himself a shave.”

  “He might have went to see Mr. Jake,” Deets said. “Want me to go look?”

  “Yes, have a look,” Call said. “I want to cross the river as soon as possible and it would be convenient to have Gus along.”

  “It ain’t much of a river,” Dish said. “I could near jump across it if I had a long-legged horse.”

  When asked how many cattle he thought might be lost, Dish estimated no more than twenty-five head, if that many.

  “Well, you nearly lost me,” Jasper Fant said, when they were all standing around the wagon. Bol had some dry wood that he had kept under a tarp, but the preparation of victuals was going too slowly to suit most of the hands.

  “I’m so tired I won’t be worth nothing for a week,” Jasper added.

  “When was you ever worth anything?” Dish inquired. He himself was in rather good fettle. It always improved his mood to have his skill recognized, as it clearly was by all hands. He had managed to turn the main part of the herd out of the worst of the brush and keep it together. Even Captain Call had seemed impressed.

  The only cowboy who had not performed up to caliber in the emergency was Sean O’Brien, who had been walking out to catch his night horse when the storm hit. He was such a poor roper that Newt usually roped his horses for him, if he happened to be around. This time, of course, he hadn’t been. The Spettles, responsible for the remuda, were afraid Sean’s awkward roping would cause the whole herd to bolt; Bill Spettle had roped a horse for him, but it wasn’t one he could ride. Sean had promptly been bucked off, and when the remuda did bolt, Sean’s horse ran with it. Sean had been forced to ride in the wagon all night, more worried for his life than his reputation. Bolivar had made it clear that he didn’t like passengers.

  While breakfast was cooking, most of the cowboys pulled off their shirts and spread them on bushes to dry. A few took off their pants, too, but only the few who possessed long underwear. Dish Boggett was one of the few who had carefully wrapped his extra clothes in an oilcloth, so he soon had on dry pants and a shirt, which somewhat increased his sense of superiority to the rest of the crew.

  “You boys look like a dern bunch of wet chickens,” he said.

  It was true that the crew presented an odd appearance, though Newt wouldn’t have compared them to chickens. Most of them were burned a deep brown on the face, neck and hands, but the rest of their bodies, which the sun never touched, were stark white. Bert Borum was the funniest-looking without a shirt, for he had a round fat belly with curly black on it that ran right down into his pants.

  Pea Eye walked around in a pair of all-enveloping long johns which he had worn continuously for the last several years. He had his knife and gun belt on over his underwear, in case of sudden attack.

  “There ain’t no point in gettin’ too dry,” he pointed out. “We got to cross the river after a while.”

  “I’d just as soon go around it,” Needle said. “I’ve crossed it many times but I’ve been lucky.”

  “I’ll be glad to cross it—maybe I’ll get a wash,” Lippy said. “I can’t do much under all this mud.”

  “Why, that ain’t a river, it’s just a creek,” Dish said. “The last time I crossed it I didn’t even notice it.”

  “I guess you’ll notice it if five or six of them heifers get on top of you,” Jasper said.

  “It’s just the first of many,” Bert said. “How many rivers is it between here and the Yellowstone?”

  The question set everyone to counting and arguing, for as soon as they decided they had an accurate count, someone would think of another stream, and there would be a discussion as to whether it should count as a river.

  The Rainey boys were sleeping under the wagon. Both had dropped like rocks once they dismounted, oblivious to wet clothes and too tired to be interested in food. The Raineys liked their sleep, whereas the Spettles could do without it. They seemed unaffected by the strenuous night—they sat apart, as silent as always.

  “I wish they’d talk, so we’d know what they were thinking,” Sean said. The silent Spettles made him nervous.

  Call was annoyed with Gus, who had still not returned. Pea had reported seeing him just after dawn, riding east in evident health. Call noticed the Texas bull, standing about fifty yards away. He was watching the two pigs, who were rooting around a chaparral bush. Probably they were trying to root out a ground squirrel, or perhaps a rattlesnake. The bull took a few steps toward them, but the pigs ignored him.

  Needle Nelson was scared of the bull. The minute he noticed him he went to get his rifle out of his saddle scabbard. “If he comes at me, I aim to shoot him,” Needle said. “He’ll never live to cross the Yellowstone unless he leaves me be.”

  Lippy, too, disliked the bull, and climbed up on the wagon when he saw how close the bull was.

  “He won’t charge the camp,” Call said—though in fact he was not so sure the bull wouldn’t.

  “Why, he charged Needle,” Jasper said. “Needle had to get going so fast he near forgot his dingus.”

  At that there was a general laugh, though Needle Nelson didn’t join in. He kept his rifle propped against a wagon wheel while he was eating.

  The bull continued to watch the pigs.

  34.

  AS SOON AS THE SUN got high enough to be warm, Lorena spread their gear on trees and bushes to dry. It seemed astonishing to her that she was alive and unhurt after such a night. Her spirits rose rapidly and she was even reconciled to having to ride the pack mule. But Jake wouldn’t hear of that. His own spirits were low.

  “I hate to squish every move I make,” he said. “It ain’t supposed to get this wet in these parts.”

  Now that the scare was over, Lorena found that she didn’t mind that things were damp. It beat being hot, in her book. The only awkward part was that the few foodstuffs they had brought had been soaked. The flour was ruined, the salt a lump. At least the bacon and coffee weren’t ruined, and they had a little of each before Jake rode off to look for her horse.

  Once he left, she went down to the river to wash the mud off her legs. Then, since the sun was already hot, she found a grassy place that wasn’t too wet and lay down to have a nap. Looking up at the sky, her spirits rose even more. The sky was perfectly clear and blue, only whitened with sun over to the east. Being outside felt good—she had spent too much time in hot little rooms, looking at ceilings.

  While she was resting, who should come riding up with her mare but Gus.

  “I hope there’s still some coffee in the pot,” he said, when he dismounted. “I’ve usually had ten biscuits by this time of day, not to mention some honey and a few eggs. Got any eggs, Lorie?”

  “No, but we got bacon,” she said. “I’ll fry you some.”

  Augustus looked around with amusement at the muddy camp.
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  “I don’t see young Jake,” he said. “Is he off preaching a sermon, or did he wash away?”

  “He went to look for the horse, only I guess he went in the wrong direction,” Lorie said.

  Augustus took out his big clasp knife and cut the bacon for her. For a woman who had spent the night being drenched she looked wonderfully fresh, young and beautiful. Her hair was not yet dry; the wet ends were dark. Occasionally a little line of water ran down her bare arm. Bending over the fire, her face was relaxed in a way he had never seen it. The strain that always showed in Lonesome Dove—the strain of always holding herself apart—had disappeared, making her look girlish.

  “Why, Lorie,” he said, “I guess traveling agrees with you. You look pretty as the morning.”

  Lorena smiled. It was funny. Out in the open she felt more at ease with Gus than she had in the saloon.

  “How long has Jake been gone?” he asked.

  “Not long,” she said. “He rode down the river, looking for tracks.”

  Augustus laughed. “Why, Jake couldn’t track an elephant if he was more than ten steps behind it,” he said. “I guess we ought to call him back before he gets lost.”

  He drew his pistol and fired a couple of shots into the air.

  A few minutes later, as he was finishing the bacon, Jake came galloping into camp, rifle in hand. Lorena was going around from bush to bush, collecting the clothes, which the hot sun had already dried.

  “Gus, I didn’t know we was gonna have to have you for breakfast every day of the whole trip,” Jake said.

  “You was never grateful for nothing, Jake,” Augustus said. “Here I returned a fifty-dollar horse that you couldn’t have found in a week, and all you can do is gripe about my company.”

  “Well, there’s such a thing as too much of your dern company,” Jake said, looking to see if Lorie was out of hearing.

  “Are you jealous, or what?” Augustus asked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be, when you’ve tried to poke every woman I ever looked at?” Jake said.

  “Whoa, now,” Augustus said. “I’m just eating my bite of bacon. But I will say you should have brought a tent if you mean to take a sprightly girl like Lorie out in the weather.”

  Jake didn’t intend to spend any time bantering about women with Gus. It was good they had the horse back, of course. “I reckon we’ll pack up and move on to San Antonio,” he said, just as Lorena came back with an armful of dry clothes.

  “I don’t want to go to San Antone,” she said. “I been there.”

  Jake was taken aback. “Why, it’s a good gambling town,” he said. “We ain’t rich yet. It wouldn’t hurt us to stop for a week, while the boys get the herd started good. Then we can catch up.”

  “I don’t like to go back to places,” Lorena said. “It’s bad luck.”

  “Yes, and it would be worse luck to get up the trail and run out of money.”

  “That’s all right, Jake,” Augustus said, flinging the dregs of his coffee into a chaparral bush. “I’ll be glad to keep tabs on Lorie while you run into town and lose your wad.”

  “What makes you think I’d lose it?” Jake said, his face darkening.

  “You’d lose it if I was around,” Augustus said, “and if I wasn’t handy, you’d probably get in a scrape and shoot another dentist. Besides, if anybody with a badge on is trying to hunt you up, I’d think the first place they’d look is San Antonio.”

  “If anybody with a badge on comes looking for me he’s apt to find more of me than he wants,” Jake said. “Let’s get packed, Lorie. We might make town tomorrow, if we push on.”

  “I don’t want to go to San Antonio,” Lorena said again. She knew Jake hated to be contradicted, but she didn’t much care.

  Before she could think, he whipped around and slapped her—not hard, but it was a slap.

  “Dern it all, I guess you’ll go where I say go,” he said, his face red with anger.

  Lorena felt embarrassed to have been hit in front of Gus, but he seemed uninterested in what she and Jake did. Of course he was just being polite—what else could he do?

  She remembered all the money Xavier had pressed on her. It was lucky she had it.

  She looked at Augustus again and saw that he was quietly watching, waiting to see how she would handle Jake, who was glaring at her, expecting her to cry, probably. But it had taken all the fury of the storm to make her cry; a little pop from him was just something to be ignored. She turned her back on him and walked off to start the packing.

  In a minute Jake cooled down sufficiently to come over and squat by the fire. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Lorie,” he said. “She’s getting touchy.”

  Augustus chuckled. “You’re the one that’s touchy,” he said. “She didn’t slap you.”

  “Well, by God, why would she buck me?” Jake asked. “I’m the one that decides where we go and when we stop.”

  “You may be and you may not be,” Augustus said. “Maybe it ain’t that simple.”

  “It’ll be that simple or she’ll have soon seen the last of me,” Jake said.

  “I doubt she’ll miss you, Jake,” Augustus said. “You got your charms but then I got my charms too. I’ll come and make camp with her if you decide you’ve had enough of her sass. I ain’t violent like you, neither.”

  “I didn’t hurt her,” Jake said. He felt a little guilty about the slap—it had upset him to ride in and see her sitting there with Gus, and then she bucked him. Gus always managed to aggravate whatever situation he was in with a woman.

  “I’ve got to go,” Augustus said. “Captain Call will be mad as a hornet if I don’t get back. Much obliged for the breakfast.”

  “That’s two you owe us,” Jake said. “I hope you’ll ride into town and buy us a feed when you’re up that way.”

  “Why, the two of you won’t be in town,” Augustus said. He trotted down to where Lorena was quietly packing the mule.

  “Don’t forget to hobble that mare,” he said. “I guess she ain’t as tired of Lonesome Dove as we are. She was on her way home when I came across her.”

  “I’ll hobble her,” Lorena said. She gave Gus a grin—Jake’s little flare-up had not affected her good spirits.

  “If you get any prettier you won’t be safe around me,” Augustus said. “I might be forced to cut the cards with you again.”

  “No, I told you we’re gonna play a hand next time,” Lorena said. “It’ll give me a better chance.”

  “You look out for yourself,” Augustus said. “If that scamp runs off and leaves you, why, come and get me. You can find us by the dust.”

  “He won’t leave,” Lorena said. “He’ll be fine.”

  She watched Gus swim the muddy river. He waved from the other bank and soon disappeared into the brush. She went on packing. Soon Jake couldn’t stand it and walked over.

  “You oughtn’t to provoke me like that,” he said, looking a little hangdog. He tried putting his hands on her, but Lorena shrugged them off and went to the other side of the pack mule.

  “I wasn’t provoking you,” she said. “I just said I wasn’t going back to San Antone.”

  “Dern it, I’d like to gamble a little somewhere between here and Denver,” Jake said.

  “Go gamble,” she said. “I never said you couldn’t. I’ll stay in camp.”

  “Oh, no doubt you’ve made arrangements with Gus,” Jake said. “I guess he’s planning to come over and teach you card tricks,” he said bitterly, and turned on his heel.

  Lorena didn’t mind. It was too pretty a day. The fact that Gus had found her horse was a good sign. She felt like riding, even though the country was brushy. She felt like a lope, in fact. Jake could sulk if he wanted to. She was looking forward to the trip.

  35.

  THE DAY SOON GREW HOT, and the cattle, tired from their all-night walk, were sluggish and difficult to move. Call had to put half the crew on the drags to keep them going. Still, he was determined to get across the Nueces, for D
eets had said he expected it to storm again that night.

  There was no avoiding the brush entirely, but Deets had found a route that took them slightly downriver, around the worst of the thickets. As they got close to the river they began to encounter swarms of mosquitoes, which attacked horses and men alike, settling on them so thickly that they could be wiped off like stains. All the men covered their faces as best they could, and the few who had gloves put them on. The horses were soon flinching, stamping and swishing their tails, their withers covered with mosquitoes. The cattle were restive too, mosquitoes around their eyes and in their nostrils.

  Newt was soon so covered with blood from mashed mosquitoes that he looked as if he had been wounded in battle. Sean, who rode near him, was no better. Any inconvenience made Sean think of home, and the mosquitoes were a big inconvenience.

  “I’d like to be going to Ireland,” he told Newt. “If I only knew where the boats were, I’d be going.” His face was lumpy from mosquito bites.

  “I guess we’ll drown the skeeters when we hit the river,” Newt said. It was the only thing that promised relief. He had been dreading the river, but that was before the mosquitoes hit.

  To make matters worse, one particular red cow had begun to irritate him almost beyond endurance. She had developed a genius for wiggling into thickets and just stopping. Shouting made no impression on her at all—she would stand in the thicket looking at him, well aware that she was safe. Once Newt dismounted, planning to scare her on foot, but she lowered her head menacingly and he abandoned that idea.

  Time and again she hid in a thicket, and time and again, after shouting himself hoarse, he would give up and force his horse into the thicket after her. The cow would bolt out, popping limbs with her horns, and run as if she meant to lead the herd. But when the next thicket appeared, she would wiggle right in. She was so much trouble that he was sorely tempted to leave her—it seemed to him the boys were driving the herd and he was just driving the one red cow.

  Once the mosquitoes hit, the cow’s dilatoriness became almost more than Newt could endure. The cow would stand in a thicket and look at him silently and stupidly, moving only when she had to and stopping again as soon as she could find a convenient thicket. Newt fought down a terrible urge just to pull his gun and shoot her—that would show the hussy! Nothing less was going to make any impression on her—he had never felt so provoked by a single animal before. But he couldn’t shoot her and he couldn’t leave her; the Captain wouldn’t approve of either action. He had already shouted himself hoarse. All he could do was pop her out of thicket after thicket.