The Lonesome Dove Chronicles (1-4)

by Larry McMurtry

  Then he felt deeply frightened. If the Indians came now, they were lost, he felt sure. He cocked his pistol and Gus’s, and held them both at the ready until his hands grew tired. His head was throbbing. He laid the guns down and wet Gus’s forehead from the water bag, hoping Gus would revive. If the Indians came, he would have to shoot quick, and his best shooting had always been done slowly. He liked to take a fine aim. It seemed Gus would never revive. Pea Eye thought he might be dying, although he could hear him breathing.

  Finally Gus opened his eyes. His breathing was ragged but he reached over and took his pistol back as if he had just awakened from a refreshing nap. Then to Pea Eye’s amazement he crawled out of the cave, hobbled down to the water’s edge, and dug in the mud with his knife. He came back with a handful of mud the size of a cannonball.

  “Montana mud,” he said. “I ain’t happy about this wound. Maybe this mud will cool it off.”

  He covered his wound with mud and offered Pea some. “It’s free mud,” he said. “Take some.” Then he felt behind him, trying to judge the wound in his back that Pea had drawn attention to. “It wasn’t a bullet,” he concluded. “I could feel a bullet. It was probably another arrow, only it jiggled out during that run.”

  The twilight was deepening, the creekbed in shadow, though the upper sky was still light.

  “I’ll watch west and you watch east,” Augustus said. Almost as soon he finished speaking a shot hit the cave bank just above their heads, causing dirt to shower down. Augustus looked down the creek and saw two horsemen cross it, too far away to make accurate targets in the dusk.

  “I guess we’re fairly surrounded,” he said. “Some downstream and some upstream.”

  “I don’t see why we didn’t stay in Texas,” Pea Eye said. “The Indians was mostly whipped down there.”

  “Well, this is just bad luck we’re having,” Augustus said. “We just run into a little bunch of fighters. I imagine they’re about as scarce as the buffalo.”

  “Reckon we can hold ’em off until the Captain comes and looks for us?” Pea asked.

  “Yes, if I don’t get sick from this leg,” Augustus said. “This leg don’t feel right. If it don’t heal you may have to go for help.”

  The thought frightened Pea Eye badly. Go for help, when Gus had just said they were surrounded? Go and be scalped, was what that was an invitation to.

  “I ’spect they’d catch me if I tried that,” Pea said. “Maybe the Captain will figure out that we’re in trouble and hurry on up here.”

  “He won’t miss us for another week,” Augustus said. “I don’t fancy squatting here by this creek for a week.”

  A few minutes later they heard a loud, strange cry from the east. It was an Indian war cry. Another came from the west, and several from the far bank of the river. The evening would be still and peaceful for a few minutes and then the war cries would start again. Pea had never approved of the way Indians yelled when they fought—it upset his nerves. This yelling was no exception. Some of the cries were so piercing that he wanted to hold his ears.

  Augustus, however, listened with appreciation. The war cries continued for an hour. In a lull, Augustus cupped his hands and let out a long, loud cry himself. He kept it up until he ran out of breath. Pea Eye had never heard Augustus yell like that and hardly knew what to make of it. It sounded exactly like a Comanche war cry.

  The Indians surrounding them apparently didn’t know what to make of it either. When Gus stopped yelling, they did too.

  “I was just thanking them for the concert,” Augustus said. “Remember that old Comanche that went blind and used to hang around the Fort? He taught me that. I doubt they’ve ever heard Comanche up in these parts. It might spook them a little.”

  “Reckon they’ll sneak up in the dark?” Pea asked. That was his lifelong worry—being snuck up on in the dark by an Indian.

  “I doubt it,” Augustus said. “The eyesight of your average Indian is overrated. They spend too much time in them smoky tepees. The bulk of them can’t see in the dark no better than we can, if as well. So it’s a big chance for them, sneaking up on sharpshooters like us.”

  “Well, I ain’t a sharpshooter,” Pea Eye said. “I need to take a good aim or else I miss.”

  “You’re near as depressing as Jasper Fant,” Augustus said.

  No Indians came in the night, and Augustus was glad of that. He began to feel feverish and was afraid of taking a chill. He had to cover himself with saddle blankets, though he kept his gun hand free and managed to stay awake most of the night—unlike Pea, who snored beside him, as deeply asleep as if he were in a feather bed.

  By morning Augustus had a high fever. Though his leg worried him most, he also had pain in his side. He decided he had been wrong in his first analysis, and that he did have a bullet wound there, after all. The fever had him feeling weak.

  While he was waiting, pistol cocked, to see if the Indians would try to rush them, he heard thunder. Within half an hour lightning was striking all around them, and thunder crashing.

  “Oh, dern,” Pea Eye said. “Now I guess we’ll get lightning-struck.”

  “Go back to sleep, if all you can do is be pessimistic,” Augustus said. “I smell rain, which is a blessing. Indians mostly don’t like to fight in the wet. Only white men are dumb enough just to keep on fighting no matter what the weather is like.”

  “We’ve fought Indians in the wet,” Pea Eye said.

  “Yes, but it was us forced it on them,” Augustus said. “They’d rather do battle on sunny days, which is only sensible.”

  “Here they’re probably gonna kill us, and you take up for them,” Pea Eye said. He had never understood Gus and never would, even if the Indians didn’t kill them.

  “I’m an admirer of good sense wherever I find it,” Augustus said.

  “I hope you find some today, then, and get us out of this,” Pea said.

  Then it began to rain in earnest. It rained so hard that it became impossible to see, or even talk. A muddy stream began to pour off the bank, only inches in front of them The rain struck so hard it reminded Pea of driving nails. Usually such freshets were short-lived, but this one wasn’t. It seemed to rain for hours, and was still raining when dawn came, though not as hard. Alarmingly, to Pea, the creek had become a river, more than deep enough to swim a horse. It rose so that it was only two or three yards in from where they were scrunched into the cave, and it soon washed away their crude breastworks.

  And it was still raining. It was cold, too, though fortunately they had a good overhang and were fairly dry. Gus had drug the bedrolls in before the rain started.

  Pea was shocked to see that Gus didn’t look himself. His face was drawn and his hands unsteady. He was chewing on some jerky he had pulled out of a saddlebag, but it seemed he barely had the strength to eat.

  “Are you poorly?” Pea asked.

  “I should have got that arrow out sooner,” Augustus said. “This leg’s gonna give me problems.” He handed Pea some jerky and they sat in silence for a while, watching the brown flood sweep past them.

  “Hell, a frog could have waded that creek yesterday,” Pea said. “Now look at it. It’s still raining, too. We may get drowned instead of scalped. It’s a good thing Jasper ain’t here,” he added. “He’s mighty afraid of water.”

  “Actually, this flood is an opportunity for you,” Augustus said. “If we can last the day, you might swim past them tonight and get away.”

  “Well, but that wouldn’t be right,” Pea Eye said. “I wouldn’t want just to leave you sitting here.”

  “I won’t be sitting, I’ll be floating, if this keeps up,” Augustus said. “The good aspect of it is that it might cool off these Indians. They might go back to their families and let us be.”

  “I’d still hate to leave you, even so,” Pea said.

  “You can’t carry me to the herd, and I doubt I can walk it,” Augustus said. “I’m running such a fever I’m apt to go out of my head any time. You�
�ll probably have to trot back and bring some of the boys, or maybe the wagon. Then I can ride back in style.”

  The thought struck Pea Eye for the first time that Gus might die. He had no color, and he was shaking. It had never been suggested that Gus might die. Of course, he knew any man could die. Pea himself had seen many die. Yet it was a condition he had never associated with Gus McCrae, or with the Captain either. They were not normal men, as he understood normal, and he had never reckoned with the possibility that either of them might die. Now, when he looked at Gus and saw his pallor and his shakes, the thought came into his mind and wouldn’t leave. Gus might die. Pea knew at once that he had to do everything possible to prevent it. If he went back to the wagon and reported that Gus was dead, there was no telling what the Captain would say.

  Yet he didn’t know exactly what he could do. They had no medicine, it was raining fits, the Indians had them surrounded, and they were a hundred miles or more from the Hat Creek outfit.

  “It’s a soggy situation, I admit,” Augustus said, as if reading Pea Eye’s thoughts. “But it ain’t fatal yet. I could hold out here for a few days. Call could make it back to this creek in one ride on that feisty mare of his. Best thing for you to do would be just to travel at night. If you walk around in the daytime, some of these red boys might spot you and you’d have about the chance of a rabbit. I guess you could make it to the Yellowstone in three nights, though, and they ought to be there by then.”

  Pea Eye dreaded the prospect. He hated night travel, and it would be worse afoot. He began to hope that maybe the rain had discouraged the Indians, but that hope only lasted an hour. Three times during the day the Indians fired on them. They shot from downriver, and Gus opened up on them at once. They were so respectful of his gun that their bullets only splattered uselessly in the mud, or else hit the water and ricocheted off with a whine. Gus looked so weak and shaky that Pea Eye wondered if he could still shoot accurately, but the question was answered later in the day when an Indian tried to shoot them from the opposite bank, using a little rain squall as cover. He got off his shot, which hit one of the saddles; then Gus shot him as he turned to crawl away. The shot caused the Indian to straighten up, and Gus shot him again. The second bullet seemed to suck the Indian backward—he toppled off the bank and rolled into the water. He was not dead; he tried to swim, so Gus shot him again. A minute or two later he floated past them facedown.

  “I expect he would have drowned,” Pea Eye said, thinking it wasteful of Gus to shoot the man three times.

  “He might have, or he might have lived to cut off your nuts,” Augustus said.

  There were no more attacks that day, but there was no doubt that the Indians were still there. Before sundown they raised their war cries again. This time Augustus didn’t answer.

  The day had never been bright, but it seemed to linger. There was a long, rainy dusk, so long that it made Pea Eye feel gloomy. It was cramped in the cave. He longed to stretch his legs, and then made the foolish mistake of saying so to Gus.

  “Wait till it’s full dark,” Augustus said. “Then you can stretch ’em.”

  “What if I get lost?” Pea Eye said. “I ain’t never been in this country.”

  “Go south,” Augustus said. “That’s all you have to remember. If you mess up and go north, a polar bear will eat you.”

  “Yes, and a grizzly bear might if I go south,” Pea Eye said with some bitterness. “Either way I’d be dead.”

  He regretted that Gus had mentioned bears. Bears had been preying on his mind since the Texas bull had had his great fight. It struck him that things were tough up here in the north. It had taken Gus three shots to kill a small Indian. How many shots would it take to kill a grizzly bear?

  “Well, you ought to start, Pea,” Augustus said finally. It had been dark for over an hour, and the Indians were silent.

  “That dern water looks cold,” Pea Eye said. “I was never one for cold baths.”

  “Well, I’m sorry we didn’t bring a bathtub and a cookstove,” Augustus said. “If we had we could heat some water for you, but as it is you’ll just have to rough it. The rain’s stopped. The creek could start going down any time, and the more water in it the better for you. Get out in the middle and pretend you’re a muskrat.”

  Pea Eye was half a mind not to go. He had never disobeyed an order in his life, but this time he was sorely tempted, and it was not just the cold swim or the chancy trek that made him hesitate. It was leaving Gus. Gus was close to being out of his head. If he went on out of his head the Indians would have a good chance to get him. He sat for a while, trying to think of some argument that would make Gus let him stay with him.

  “Maybe we could both swim out,” he said. “I know you’re crippled, but you could lean on me once we started walking.”

  “Pea, go,” Augustus said. “I ain’t getting well, I’m getting sicker. If you want to help, go get Captain Call. Have him lope up here with an extra horse and tote me over to Miles City.”

  Pea Eye got ready with a heavy heart. It all seemed wrong, and none of it would have happened if they’d just stayed in Texas.

  “Just take your rifle,” Augustus said. “A pistol won’t do you no good if you have to stop one of them bears. Besides, I’ll need both pistols—any fighting that happens here will be close-range work.”

  “I can’t swim and hold a dern rifle, Gus,” Pea Eye said.

  “Stick it through your belt and down your pants leg,” Augustus said. “You can float downstream, you won’t actually have to swim much.”

  Pea Eye took off his boots and his shirt and made a bundle of them. Then he did as Gus ordered and stuck his rifle through his belt. He stuffed some jerky in one boot for provisions. All he needed to do was leave, but it was hard.

  “Now go on, Pea,” Augustus said. “Go get the Captain, and don’t worry about me. Don’t let the Indians catch you, whatever you do.”

  Gus reached out a hand and Pea Eye realized he was offering a handshake. Pea Eye shook his hand, feeling terribly sad.

  “Gus, I never thought I’d be leaving you,” he said.

  “Well, you are, though,” Augustus said. “Trod carefully.”

  It was then that the conviction struck Pea Eye that he would never see Gus alive again. Mainly what they were into was just another Indian fight, and all of those had inconveniences. But Gus had never sustained a wound before that Pea could remember. The arrows and bullets that had missed him so many times had finally found him.

  After the handshake, Gus treated him as if he were already gone. He didn’t offer any messages or say another word. Pea Eye wanted to say something else, but couldn’t think what. Feeling very disconsolate, he waded into the cold water. It was far colder than he had supposed. His legs at once felt numb. He looked back once and could dimly see the cave, but not Gus.

  As soon as he reached swimming depth, he forgot Gus and everything else, due to a fear of drownding. The icy water pushed him under at once. Floating wasn’t as easy as Gus had made it seem. The rifle was a big problem. Stuck in his pants leg, it seemed to weigh like lead. Also, he had no experience in such fast water. Several times he got swept over to the side of the creek and almost got tangled in the underbrush that the rushing water covered.

  Worse than that, he almost immediately lost the little bundle of boots and pants, shirt, all his provisions and part of his ammunition. He had reached down with one hand to try and move the rifle a little higher up on his leg, and the water sucked the bundle away and swept it far ahead of him. Pea Eye began to realize he was going to drown unless he did better than he was doing. The water pushed him under several times. He wanted badly to climb up the bank but was by no means sure he was past the Indians. Gus said to go down at least a mile, and he wasn’t sure he had gone that far. The water had a suck to it that he had constantly to fight against; to his horror he felt it sucking his pants off. He had been so disconsolate when he walked into the river that he had not buckled his belt tightly. He had n
othing much in the way of hips, and the water sucked his pants down past them. The rifle sight was gouging him in the leg. He grabbed the rifle, but then went under. The dragging pants, with the rifle in one leg, were drownding him. He began to try frantically to get them off, so as to have the free use of his legs. He wanted to cuss Gus for having suggested sticking the rifle in his pants leg. He could never get it out in time to shoot an Indian, if one appeared, and it was causing him terrible aggravation. He fought to the surface again, went under, and when he came up wanted to yell for help, and then remembered there would be no one around to hear him but Indians. Then his leg was almost jerked off—he had been swept close to the bank and the dragging gun had caught in some underbrush. The bank was only a few feet away and he tried to claw over to it, but that didn’t work. While he was struggling, the pants came off and he was swept down the river backwards. One minute he could see the south bank of the river, and the next minute all he could see was water. Twice he opened his mouth to suck in air and sucked in water instead, some of which came back out his nose. His legs and feet were so numb from the cold water that he couldn’t feel them.

  He never remembered getting out of the water, but somehow he did, for when he next took note of things he was laying in the mud, his feet still in the water. He was stark naked and the mud was cold, so he pulled himself up and laboriously climbed the bank. It was only eight or ten feet high, but it was slippery.

  When he got up, he wanted to lay in the grass and go to sleep, but he was awake enough to think about his situation, and thinking soon made him wakeful. He hadn’t drownded, but he was naked, unarmed, without food and something like a hundred miles from the Hat Creek wagon. He didn’t know the country and was up against some tough Indians who did. Gus was sick and maybe dying somewhere upriver. It would be daylight in a few hours and the danger from Indians would increase.