The Lonesome Dove Chronicles (1-4)

by Larry McMurtry

  Augustus dropped back to explain matters to Lorena. She looked at him with worry in her eyes.

  “Now, Lorie, you relax,” he said. “It wasn’t Indians, after all.”

  “What was it then?” she asked.

  “The man who loaned us this tent got shot,” he said. “He’s in a bad way, it appears. We’re going to see if we can help him.”

  “How long will it take?” Lorena asked. It was already late afternoon—it meant a night without Gus, and she had not had to face one since he rescued her.

  “I don’t know, honey,” he said. “A few days, maybe, if we go after the horsethieves that shot him. If there’s a chance to get them we’ll try. Call won’t let a horsethief off, and he’s right.”

  “I’ll go,” Lorena said. “I can keep up. We don’t need the tent.”

  “No,” Augustus said. “You stay with the wagon—you’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll ask Dish to look after you.”

  Lorena began to shake. Maybe Gus was doing it because he was tired of her. Maybe he would never come back. He might slip off and find the woman in Nebraska.

  To her surprise, Gus read her mind. He smiled his devilish smile at her. “I ain’t running for the bushes, if that’s what you think,” he said.

  “There ain’t no bushes,” she pointed out. “I just don’t want you to go, Gus.”

  “I got to,” Augustus said. “A man’s dying and he asked for me. We’re kind of friends, and think what would have happened when the grasshoppers hit if we hadn’t had this tent to hide in. I’ll be back, and I’ll see that Dish looks after you in the meantime.”

  “Why him?” she asked. “I don’t need him. Just tell him to leave me be.”

  “Dish is the best hand,” Augustus said. “Just because he’s in love with you don’t mean he couldn’t be helpful if a storm blew up or something. It ain’t his fault he’s in love with you. He’s smitten, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “I don’t care about him,” Lorena said. “I want you to come back.”

  “I will, honey,” he said, checking the loads in his rifle.

  Dish could hardly believe his luck when Augustus told him to take Lorena her meals and look after her. The thought that he would be allowed to go over to the tent made him a little dizzy.

  “Do you think she’ll speak to me?” he asked, looking at the tent. Lorena had gone inside and pulled the flaps, though it was hot.

  “Not today,” Augustus said. “Today she’s feeling sulky. If I was you I’d sing to her.”

  “Sing to Lorie?” Dish said, incredulous. “Why, I’d be so scared I’d choke.”

  “Well, if you require timid women there’s not much I can do for you,” Augustus said. “Just keep a good guard at night and see she don’t get kidnapped.”

  Call hated to leave the herd, and most of the cowboys hated it that he was leaving. Though it was midsummer, the skies clear, and the plains seemingly peaceful, most of the hands looked worried as the little group prepared to leave. They sat around worrying, all but Po Campo, who was singing quietly in his raspy voice as he made supper. Even Lippy was unnerved. He was modest in some matters and had just returned from walking a mile, in order to relieve his bowels in private.

  “If you see any bushes, bring one back with you,” he said to the mounted men. “If we had a bush or two I wouldn’t have to walk so far just to do my business.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so modest,” Augustus said. “Go over and squat behind a cow. You got a hole in your stomach anyway.”

  “I wish we’d brought the pia-ner,” Lippy said. “A little pia-ner music would go good right now.”

  Call put Dish in charge of the outfit, meaning that he suddenly had two heavy responsibilities—Lorena and the herd. It left him subdued, just thinking about it. If anything should happen to the girl or the herd he’d never be able to hold up his head again.

  “Ease ’em along,” Call told Dish. “Bert can scout ahead and make sure there’s water.”

  If Dish felt subdued, Newt felt nothing but pride to have been selected for the trip. He could tell some of the other hands were envious, particularly the Rainey boys, but it was the Captain’s order, and no one dared say a word. When he saw the Captain put two boxes of rifle shells into his saddlebag he felt even prouder, for it meant he might be expected to fight. The Captain must have decided he was grown, to bring him on such a trip. After all, only the original Hat Creek outfit—the Captain and Mr. Gus, Pea and Deets—were going along, and now he was included. Every few minutes, as they rode east, he put his hand on his pistol to reassure himself that it was still there.

  They got back to Wilbarger a little after sundown, before the plains had begun to lose the long twilight. He had reached the Arkansas before collapsing, and lay under the shade of the bank on a blanket Deets had left him. He was too weak to do more than raise his head when they rode up; even that exhausted him.

  “Well, you just keep turning up,” he said to Augustus, with a wan smile. “I’ve been lying here trying not to bleed on this good blanket your man left me.”

  Augustus stooped to examine him and saw at once there was no hope.

  “I’ve bled so much already I expect I’m white as snow,” Wilbarger said. “I’m a dern mess. I took one in the lung and another seems to have ruint my hip. The third was just a flesh wound.”

  “I don’t think we can do anything about the lung,” Call said.

  Wilbarger smiled. “No, and neither could a Boston surgeon,” he said.

  He raised his head again. “Still riding that mare, I see,” he said. “If I could have talked you out of her I probably wouldn’t be lying here shot. She’d have smelled the damn horsethieves. I do think she’s a beauty.”

  “How many were there?” Call asked. “Or could you get a count?”

  “I expect it was Dan Suggs and his two brothers, and a bad nigger they ride with,” Wilbarger said. “I think I hit the nigger.”

  “I don’t know the Suggses,” Call said.

  “They’re well known around Fort Worth for being murdering rascals,” Wilbarger said. “I never expected to be fool enough to let them murder me. It’s humbling. I lived through the worst war ever fought and then got killed by a damn sneaking horsethief. That galls me, I tell you.”

  “Any of us can oversleep,” Augustus said quietly. “If you was to lie quiet that lung might heal.”

  “No sir, not likely,” Wilbarger said. “I saw too many lung-shot boys when we were fighting the Rebs to expect that to happen. I’d rather just enjoy a little more conversation.”

  He turned his eyes toward the Hell Bitch and smiled—the sight of her seemed to cheer him more than anything.

  “I do admire that mare,” he said. “I want you to keep that mean plug of mine for your troubles. He’s not brilliant, but he’s sturdy.”

  He lay back and was quiet for a while, as the dusk deepened.

  “I was born on the Hudson, you know,” he said, a little later. “I fully expected to die on it, but I guess the dern Arkansas will have to do.”

  “I wish you’d stop talking about your own death,” Augustus said in a joking tone. “It ain’t genteel.”

  Wilbarger looked at him and chuckled, a chuckle that brought up blood. “Why, it’s because I ain’t genteel that I’m bleeding to death beside the Arkansas,” he said. “I could have been a lawyer, like my brother, and be in New York right now, eating oysters.”

  He didn’t speak again until after it was full dark. Newt stood over with the horses, trying not to cry. He had scarcely known Mr. Wilbarger, and had found him blunt at first, but the fact that he was lying there on a bloody blanket dying so calmly affected him more than he had thought it would. The emptiness of the plains as they darkened was so immense that that affected him too, and a sadness grew in him until tears began to spill from his eyes. Captain Call and Mr. Gus sat by the dying man. Deets was on the riverbank, a hundred yards away, keeping watch. And Pea Eye stood with Newt, by the horses,
thinking his own thoughts.

  “How long will it take him to die?” Newt asked, feeling he couldn’t bear such a strain for a whole night.

  “I’ve seen boys linger for days,” Pea Eye said quietly—he had always thought it impolite to talk about a man’s death within his hearing. Gus’s joke had shocked him a little.

  “But then sometimes they just go,” he added. “Go when they’re ready, or even if they ain’t. This man’s lost so much blood he might go over pretty soon.”

  Call and Augustus knew there was nothing to do but wait, so they sat beside Wilbarger’s pallet, saying little. Two hours passed with no sound but Wilbarger’s faint breathing.

  Then, to Call’s surprise, Wilbarger’s hand reached out and clutched him for a moment.

  “Let’s shake, for the favors you’ve done me,” Wilbarger said weakly. When Call had given him a handshake, Wilbarger reached for Augustus, who shook his hand in turn.

  “McCrae, I’ll give you credit for having written a damn amusing sign,” he said. “I’ve laughed about that sign many a time, and laughing’s a pleasure. I’ve got two good books in my saddlebags. One’s Mister Milton and the other’s a Virgil. I want you to have them. The Virgil might improve your Latin.”

  “I admit it’s rusty,” Augustus said. “I’ll apply myself, and many thanks.”

  “To tell the truth, I can’t read it either,” Wilbarger said. “I could once, but I lost it. I just like to look at it on the page. It reminds me of the Hudson, and my schooling and all. Now and then I catch a word.”

  He coughed up a lot of blood and both Call and Augustus thought it was over, but it wasn’t. Wilbarger was still breathing, though faintly. Call went over and told Pea Eye and Newt to start digging the grave—he wanted to get started after the horsethieves as soon as it was light enough to track. Restless, he walked over and helped Deets keep watch.

  To Augustus’s surprise, Wilbarger raised his head. He had heard the digging. “Your friend’s efficient, ain’t he?” he said.

  “Efficient,” Augustus agreed. “He likes to chase horsethieves too. Seems like we’re always having to get your horses back, Wilbarger. Where do you want ’em delivered this time?”

  “Oh, hell, sell ’em,” Wilbarger said, in shaky tones. “I’m done with the cow business, finally. Send the money to my brother, John Wilbarger, Fifty Broadway, New York City.”

  He coughed again. “Keep the tent,” he said. “How’s the shy young lady?”

  “She’s improved,” Augustus said.

  “I wish we’d met sooner, McCrae,” Wilbarger said. “I enjoy your conversation. I hope you’ll bury my man Chick and that boy that was with us. I wish now I’d never hired that boy.”

  “We’ll tend to it,” Augustus said.

  An hour later, Wilbarger was still breathing. Augustus stepped away for a minute, to relieve himself, and when he came back Wilbarger had rolled off the blanket and was dead. Augustus rolled him on his back and tied him in the blanket. Call was down by the river, smoking and waiting. He looked up when Augustus approached.

  “He’s gone,” Augustus said.

  “All right,” Call said.

  “He said he was traveling with a man and a boy,” Augustus said.

  “Let’s go, then,” Call said, standing up. “We won’t have to backtrack him, we can just look for the buzzards.”

  Augustus was troubled by the fact that he could find nothing with which to mark Wilbarger’s grave—the plains and the riverbank were bare. He gave up and came to the grave just as Pea Eye and Deets were covering the man with dirt.

  “If he had a family and they cared to look, they’d never find him,” Augustus said.

  “Well, I can’t help it,” Call said.

  “I know something,” Deets said, and to everyone’s surprise mounted and loped off. A few minutes later he came loping back, with the skull of a cow buffalo. “I seen the bones,” he said.

  “It’s better than nothing,” Augustus said as he sat the skull on the grave. Of course, it wasn’t much better than nothing—a coyote would probably just come along and drag the skull off, and Wilbarger too.

  Deets had found Wilbarger’s rifle, and offered it to Augustus.

  “Give it to Newt,” Augustus said. “I got a rifle.”

  Newt took the gun. He had always wanted a rifle, but at the moment he couldn’t feel excited. It was such a strain, people always dying. He had a headache, and wanted to cry or be sick or go to sleep—he didn’t know which. It was such a strain that he almost wished he had been left with the wagon, although being selected to go had been his greatest pride only a few hours before.

  Augustus, riding beside him, noticed the boy’s downcast look. “Feeling poorly?” he asked.

  Newt didn’t know what to say. He was surprised that Mr. Gus had even noticed him.

  “You’ve been on too many burying parties,” Augustus said. “Old Wilbarger had a sense of humor. He’d laugh right out loud if he knew he had the skull of a buffalo cow for a grave marker. Probably the only man who ever went to Yale College who was buried under a buffalo skull.”

  How he died hadn’t been funny, Newt thought.

  “It’s all right, though,” Augustus said. “It’s mostly bones we’re riding over, anyway. Why, think of all the buffalo that have died on these plains. Buffalo and other critters too. And the Indians have been here forever; their bones are down there in the earth. I’m told that over in the Old Country you can’t dig six feet without uncovering skulls and leg bones and such. People have been living there since the beginning, and their bones have kinda filled up the ground. It’s interesting to think about, all the bones in the ground. But it’s just fellow creatures, it’s nothing to shy from.”

  It was such a startling thought—that under him, beneath the long grass, were millions of bones—that Newt stopped feeling so strained. He rode beside Mr. Gus, thinking about it, the rest of the night.

  73.

  AS SOON AS HE HAD the herd well settled, Dish decided to see if there was anything he could do for Lorena. It had been months since the afternoon in Lonesome Dove when he had got so drunk, and in all that time he had not even spoken to her. He was out of practice—in fact, had never been in practice, though that was not his fault. He would cheerfully have talked to Lorena all day and all night, but she didn’t want it and they had never exchanged more than a few words. His heart was beating hard, and he felt more fearful than if he were about to swim a swift river, as he approached her tent.

  Gus had set up the tent before he left, but it was supper time, so Dish got a plate of beef for Lorena’s supper. He took his responsibilities so seriously that he had tried to pick out the best piece, in the process holding up the line and irritating the crew, none of whom were the least impressed with his responsibilities.

  “That gal don’t need beefsteak, she can just eat you if she’s hungry, Dish,” Jasper said. “I expect you’d make about three good bites for a woman like her.”

  Dish flared up at Jasper’s insulting tone, but he had the plate in his hand and was in no position to fight.

  “I’ll settle you when I come back, Jasper,” he said. “You’ve provoked me once too often.”

  “Hell, you better run for the border, then, Jas,” Soupy Jones said. “With a top hand like Dish after you, you won’t stand a chance.”

  Dish had to mount holding the plate, which was awkward, but no one offered to help.

  “Why don’t you walk?” Po Campo suggested. “The tent is not very far.”

  That was true, but Dish preferred to ride, which he did, managing not to spill any of Lorena’s food. She was sitting just inside the tent, with the flaps open.

  “I’m come with some food,” Dish said, still on his horse.

  “I’m not hungry,” Lorena said. “I’ll wait till Gus gets back.”

  It seemed to Dish that she was as grudging in her tone as ever. He felt foolish sitting on a horse holding a plate of beefsteak, so he dismounted.


  “Gus is after them horsethieves,” he said. “He might not be back for a day or two. I’m supposed to look after you.”

  “Send Newt,” Lorena said.

  “Well, he went, too,” Dish said.

  Lorena came out of the tent for a moment and took the plate. Dish was paralyzed to be so close to her after so many months. She went right back into the tent. “You don’t need to stay,” she said. “I’ll be all right.”

  “I’ll help you with the tent in the morning,” he said. “Captain said we’re to ease on north.”

  Lorena didn’t answer. She closed the flaps of the tent.

  Dish walked back toward the campfire, but he stopped about halfway and staked his horse. He didn’t want to go back to camp, even to eat, for he would just have to box Jasper Fant if he did. It was full dusk, but to his irritation Lippy spotted him and came walking over.

  “Did you get a good look at her, Dish?” Lippy asked.

  “Why, yes,” Dish said. “I delivered her supper, if you don’t mind.”

  “Is she still as beautiful?” Lippy asked, remembering their days together at the Dry Bean, when she had come down toward noon every day. He and Xavier would both wait for her and would feel better just watching her walk down the stairs.

  “Why, yes,” Dish said, not wanting to discuss it, though at least Lippy had spoken respectfully.

  “Well, that Gus, he would end up with her,” Lippy said. “Gus is too sly for the girls.”

  “I’d like to know what you mean by that,” Dish said.

  “I seen him trick her once,” Lippy said, remembering the extraordinary wager he had witnessed. “He offered to cut the cards for a poke and he won. Then he paid her fifty dollars anyway. And he paid me ten not to tell Jake. He didn’t pay me nothing not to tell you, though, Dish,” Lippy added. It occurred to him suddenly that Gus might consider that they had breached their bargain.

  “Fifty dollars?” Dish said, genuinely astonished. He had never heard of such extravagance in his life. “Did he actually pay it?”