The Lonesome Dove Chronicles (1-4)

by Larry McMurtry

  They’d had a hard trip across the Pecos country. The cold was bitter, and the antelope stayed just out of range, tempting Pea Eye to shoot time after time at animals he couldn’t hit. They’d had no food at all for the last thirty miles.

  “You’re working for the Captain now,” Pea said. “You’re like a deputy. Doniphan won’t arrest no deputy of Captain Call’s.”

  But Doniphan, the hard sheriff, came with the one-eared deputy, Tom Johnson, and pointed rifles at them in the hardware store. Doniphan wore a long mustache and carried two handguns, besides the rifle. The one-eared deputy had a red face, from drink. His life had not been easy since Billy Williams shot off his ear. People mocked him, and Doniphan, his boss, had no sympathy. As everyone on the border knew, Doniphan had been born without sympathy.

  “We’re here waiting for Captain Call,” Pea Eye said, when he saw the rifles pointed at them. “We’re both deputies. We’ve been hired to help the Captain bring in Joey Garza.”

  “This Indian is a horsethief,” Doniphan said. “He’s escaped me once, because of a fire. He won’t escape me again.”

  “He’s called Famous Shoes because he walks everywhere,” Pea Eye told him. “He wouldn’t steal a horse because he don’t use horses. The only use he’d have for one would be to eat it.”

  “Stealing horses to eat is still stealing horses,” Doniphan said. “Start walking toward the jail.”

  “I have never stolen a horse in my life,” Pea Eye said. “Why are you arresting me?”

  “Because you’re with this horsethief,” the sheriff answered. “You might be a horsethief, too.”

  Pea Eye went along to the jail. He felt bad about Famous Shoes. He should have come into the town alone and bought the cartridges. He had ignored the old man’s advice, which was foolish of him. Almost every time he ignored someone’s advice, whether it was Lorena’s or Mr. Goodnight’s or the Captain’s or Famous Shoes’, he had cause to regret it.

  Doniphan put the two prisoners in separate cells.

  “Once I hang this old red nigger, and I’ll get to it quick, you can go,” Doniphan said. “I suspect you’re a criminal, but I can’t prove it.”

  The next day, several people came to the jail and stared at Famous Shoes. Doniphan had let everyone know the man had been recaptured. He decided to keep the old man on display for a week, as a form of publicity. His boast was that no criminal escaped him. Now he had recaptured the one man who had escaped him. He decided to hang him publicly, as an example. Normally, he would just have taken him out and yanked him up and let him choke; normally, an old Indian with a taste for horseflesh would not have merited a public hanging. But Famous Shoes’ escape was the only escape there had been from Sheriff Doniphan’s jail, and he wanted it to be known up and down the border that he had avenged it.

  Pea Eye’s repeated claim that Famous Shoes worked for Captain Call merely annoyed Doniphan. He left the old man without food for two days, to show his annoyance. When Pea Eye tried to share his frijoles with him, Doniphan moved Famous Shoes a cell away, so that Pea Eye couldn’t pass him the food.

  “Why are you starving him?” Pea Eye asked. “All he done was eat a dead horse, and that was years ago.”

  “He evaded the law—my law,” Doniphan replied. “He deserves worse than starving, and he’ll get worse than starving, too.”

  Famous Shoes said nothing. Talking to the hard sheriff was a waste of breath. He began to regret having left the Madre. He knew that his time was near, but was sorry that it might be the hard sheriff who put him to death. He had hoped to die near the Rio Rojo; even though he had not made contact with the spirit of his grandfather, the spirits of many of the Kickapoo people were there, along the river. It would have been a better place to give up his spirit than the jail of the hard sheriff.

  Famous Shoes was old, though. He had lived past the time of his people. He knew that few men got to choose the place of their going, or of their coming, either. Only the wisest old men and women of the tribe were able to determine when or where to accept their deaths. Only the wise could do that, but even with those few wise ones, there had to be more than wisdom. For wisdom, in his view, had ever been a downward path: luck was better than wisdom, while one was alive. It was mainly the lucky who got to die in the right time, or the right place, or so Famous Shoes felt.

  He himself had been lucky, for he had lived in the lands of the Mexicans and also the lands of the whites. Both peoples hated Indians, yet he had lived a long life. His main regret was that he had not kept his last wife. She had grown dissatisfied and left him, just as he was beginning to appreciate her attentions. He missed her sorely for many years, and still missed her, when he thought about her.

  Also, he would have liked to know how to read. It seemed that his dream of having Pea Eye’s wife teach him would be frustrated. The one-eared deputy, who didn’t hate him as much as the hard sheriff, let him have an old piece of newspaper that had the book tracks on it. Famous Shoes tried his best, for what he thought might be the last time, to make sense of the tracks on the paper, but it was no use. He lacked instruction, and he had to give up.

  Every time Pea Eye mentioned the Captain, Sheriff Doniphan got a cold look in his eye, and the look in his eye was not very warm to begin with.

  “I doubt he’ll show up, and if he does, I’m apt to lock him up, too,” he told Pea Eye. “He’s just an old bounty hunter—he ain’t the law. He’s too old to catch that Mexican boy, anyway.”

  “Well, Charlie Goodnight don’t think so,” Pea Eye said. He thought that name, at least, might impress Doniphan, but the truth seemed to be that nothing impressed Doniphan.

  “He’s another one that’s too old,” Doniphan said. “These old buffalo need to be put out to pasture. They won’t be catching no more swift bandits, and if they come round me, I’ll send ’em home.”

  In fact, now that Joey Garza had become such a sought-after outlaw, Sheriff Doniphan had developed a plan to catch the young robber himself. The boy’s mother had been in his jail once already, although Doniphan had been gone at the time, delivering a man to the penitentiary. Now she had gone to Crow Town, to warn her son, but she would have to come back sometime, and when she came back, Doniphan meant to arrest her. What his deputies had done to her then would seem like child’s play, compared to what he meant to do to her now. Next, he would find her son and kill him. There would be no capture and no trial. There would just be a bullet, or two, or three.

  Doniphan didn’t suppose it would hurt his reputation to dispatch Joey Garza; in fact, it would make it. After that, every border killer from Matamoros to Juarez would know that Joe Doniphan was a sheriff to be reckoned with. The people would stop talking about old-timers like Woodrow Call and Charlie Goodnight; when it came to modern lawmen, Joe Doniphan would be the first name that came to mind when trouble on the border was being discussed. The next time they needed a federal marshal to clean out Crow Town or any other nest of ruffians, his name would likely be at the top of the list.

  Sheriff Doniphan was in the midst of just such a dream of glory when Captain Call walked in, with a Yankee at his heels. The one-eared deputy, Tom Johnson, saw him coming and quickly stepped in to alert the sheriff.

  “I think it’s old Call,” he said. “I’ve never seen the man, but I think it’s him.”

  Doniphan was startled. He had not expected the old man to appear. He got up and put on his hat. After all, the man had been a great Ranger once. Showing him a little respect wouldn’t hurt.

  Call had seen too many country sheriffs to be much interested in what he heard about Sheriff Doniphan. Presidio was a small town, in a remote spot on the border. Few criminals of the first class would have any incentive to pass through it. The man had probably harvested his reputation by arresting local thieves, or men who got drunk and shot their best friends. Local law work was mostly of that order. When told at the hardware store that Doniphan had arrested Pea Eye and Famous Shoes, Call had been irritated, but not overly so.
At least Pea Eye was there, and the old tracker was still with him.

  When he stepped into the jail, Doniphan held out his hand, but Call ignored it.

  “Let those men out—you had no business arresting them,” Call said bluntly. “They were sent to help me bring in Joey Garza, and you need not have interfered with them.”

  Sheriff Doniphan was surprised that such an old man would take such a sharp tone with him. He didn’t appreciate it, either. It was not the kind of talk he was used to hearing, in his own jail. The Yankee looked mild, but old Call didn’t.

  “I know who to arrest, I reckon,” Doniphan said. “This Indian’s going to be hung, in a few days. He’s a known horsethief. I’m sure you’ve hung a good many like him, yourself.”

  “Famous Shoes has never been known to ride a horse, much less steal one,” Call informed him. “Anybody who knows anything about this part of the country knows that. Pea Eye has been my deputy for thirty years, and he’s never been a lawbreaker.”

  “He came into town with a criminal, and that’s breaking the law, for me,” Doniphan said, irritated by the old man’s tone. He felt his temper rising. Who was this old fellow, to walk into his jail and start giving orders?

  “Here,” Call said, handing Doniphan a telegram. “This is from the governor of Texas. I heard you were a stubborn man, so I asked Mr. Brookshire to have Colonel Terry wire the governor. I done it as soon as I heard these men were in your jail. I done it to save time. We’re provisioned, and we need to go. There’s been another train robbery, near San Angelo.”

  Doniphan took the telegram, but he felt himself growing angrier. He was too angry to read. Old Call had gone around him, without even speaking to him.

  Doniphan wadded up the telegram unread and tossed it on the floor. Tom Johnson, though well aware that his boss was temperamental, was appalled. They had never received a telegram from the governor before. They had never even dreamed of receiving one—at least, he hadn’t. Now Joe Doniphan had received one and wadded it up without even reading it.

  He hastily picked it up and attempted to smooth it out. It was from the governor, and it ordered Sheriff Doniphan to release Call’s men and give him every assistance.

  Call watched the sheriff, who had grown quite red in the face. He had secured the telegram as a matter of correct procedure. He knew that local sheriffs were apt to be touchy about their authority. Call supposed, from what he had heard, that Doniphan was likely to be touchier than most. So he had asked Brookshire to wire his boss and had used the time it took exchanging telegrams to provision well. Again he had offered to release Deputy Plunkert from his duties, and again the deputy, though half frozen and permanently melancholy, had refused to be released. Now that they were back in Texas, Ted Plunkert felt that conditions were sure to improve. He resolved to stay with Captain Call, whatever it meant.

  Call had not supposed that Doniphan would be obdurate enough to defy an order from the governor of Texas, but it seemed the man was just that stubborn.

  “Sheriff, it is from the governor,” Tom Johnson said. “Don’t you want to read it?”

  “No, I don’t, and when I wad something up, I want it left wadded up!” the sheriff said, highly irritated with his deputy.

  “Goddamn the governor, and goddamn you,” the sheriff said, addressing himself to Call. “You don’t come in here and order me to let criminals out of my own jail.”

  “They aren’t criminals, and you’ve overstepped,” Call said. “Let them out.”

  “I’ll let your man go the day I hang the Indian, and I’ll hang the Indian in my own good time,” Sheriff Doniphan said.

  Call saw a ring of jail keys hanging on a hook near the sheriff’s desk. He walked over and took the ring and went to the cell where Pea Eye sat. He saw the sheriff draw his gun, but paid it no mind; he didn’t expect the man to shoot. After all, he had his back to him, and there were five witnesses in the room.

  The third key he tried opened the cell. Then Call found the key that freed Famous Shoes.

  “They’re dead men if they step out of them cells,” Doniphan said. “I don’t tolerate escapes.”

  Brookshire, watching from just inside the door, felt that the Captain might have made a mistake. The sheriff didn’t seem to be a relenting man. In that respect, he reminded him of Colonel Terry. The fact that the Captain was just ignoring the sheriff made Brookshire nervous. If the sheriff pulled the trigger, everything would change. Doniphan might shoot them all; he might even shoot his own deputy. He looked to be a man who acted only for himself, as Colonel Terry did. Brookshire wondered if the Captain had miscalculated. If so, Call exhibited little concern.

  Then, to Brookshire’s astonishment, Call flattened the sheriff with a rifle. He whacked him right in the neck with a hard swing. He hadn’t been carrying a rifle, though there were several in a gun rack along the wall. Somehow the Captain, who usually moved slowly and stiffly, had walked right in front of the sheriff, ignored his cocked pistol, pulled loose a rifle, and hit the sheriff with it.

  The minute he struck the blow, the Captain seemed to change. He didn’t stop with one blow, although Doniphan was knocked flat, and his pistol went skittering across the floor of the jail. Call continued to hit the sheriff with the rifle. Once, when the sheriff turned to try and escape, the Captain knocked him in the ear with his boot, so hard that Brookshire would not have been surprised if Doniphan’s head had flown off.

  “Stop, Captain, he’s subdued,” Pea Eye said, though he knew the Captain wouldn’t stop. He rarely went off into such a storm of violence, but when he did, it was almost impossible to stop him. Once, in Ogallala years before, the Captain had launched himself at a sergeant who was quirting Newt. Before that storm ended, the Captain had almost killed the man by pounding his head against an anvil. Gus McCrae had stopped it by roping the Captain and pulling him off the bloody sergeant with his horse.

  There was no Gus, no rope, and no horse, but Pea Eye knew the Captain had to be stopped somehow, or else Sheriff Doniphan would be dead. Once the storm of rage took him, the Captain could no more stop hitting and kicking than a blizzard could stop blowing. Pea Eye saw the Captain lift the bloody rifle for what might be a fatal blow, and flung himself at Call—there was no waiting, and no choice.

  “Help me, you’ve all got to help me!” Pea Eye yelled. He partially deflected the rifle with his arm as the blow fell that might have killed Sheriff Doniphan.

  The one-eared deputy, Tom Johnson, tried to grab one of the Captain’s arms, but was immediately knocked back. Pea Eye concentrated on the rifle, trying to keep the Captain from splitting Doniphan’s skull with it. He managed to hang on to one arm, but he knew it wouldn’t be for long.

  “Somebody’s got to rope him, it’s the only way,” Pea said, looking desperately at the Yankee.

  “Here, ride your horse up, give me your rope!” Brookshire yelled out the door to Deputy Plunkert, who, though taken by surprise, immediately spurred his horse up the few steps to the porch of the jail. He handed Brookshire his rope.

  “I’ll get it on him, then you pull,” Brookshire said. He was trembling from the shock, but he managed to make a loop in the end of the rope. He got close enough to the Captain to get the loop over one of his feet as Call was trying to step free of the fallen sheriff so he could kick him again.

  “Pull!” Brookshire yelled. He had never seen such a killing frenzy take any man. Merely witnessing the destruction of the sheriff made Brookshire’s breath come short, and his heart pound uncomfortably. But he knew he had to get the rope on some part of Call, or the sheriff of Presidio would be dead.

  Deputy Plunkert dallied the rope around his saddle horn and backed his horse along the narrow porch until it grew tight. He soon discovered, to his amazement, that Captain Call was on the other end. He held a bloody rifle in one hand, and for a moment, looked as if he wanted to club Brookshire with it. But he didn’t. He shook Pea Eye off and then shook the rope off his foot. He broke the bloody rifle over the
hitch rail and threw the two parts of it into the street.

  Call went back inside, dragged the bloody, unconscious sheriff into the cell where Famous Shoes had been, and locked it. He took the big ring of keys outside and threw them into the cistern at the end of the porch. When he passed Pea Eye, Brookshire, and the one-eared deputy, each drew back a little, as they might if a bear had just approached them.

  “When he comes round, tell him the next time he points a damn pistol at me, he’d better shoot,” Call told the one-eared deputy. “I won’t tolerate rude threats of that sort.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tom Johnson said.

  Privately, he was not sure Sheriff Doniphan would come around. Men had died from much less punishment than the Captain had just dished out. The sheriff’s mouth was leaking blood, and not slowly, either. One whole side of his face seemed to be caved in, and his long mustache was just a line of blood.

  Call knew that his violent fighting temper had gotten the best of him again, but he did not pretend to regret his attack on the sheriff, who had pulled a gun and threatened to shoot two valuable men, and in defiance of the governor’s orders, too. He would have liked to do worse than he had done, but he’d gotten enough of a grip on himself to refrain from dragging the man out of his cell and finishing him.

  What he did do was pick up the telegram the frightened deputy had dropped. He put the telegram on the sheriff’s desk.

  “Remind him that I was following the governor’s instructions,” Call said. “Read him the telegram.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tom Johnson said again. “I’ll remind him. I expect he’ll listen, this time.”

  “Yes, if his ears ain’t burst,” Pea Eye said. “The Captain caught one of his ears a pretty good lick.”

  “We’re provisioned, let’s go,” Call said. He felt that he had returned to normal, but the men were looking at him oddly—all the men but Famous Shoes, who had found a half-eaten plate of beans and was eating them.