The Lonesome Dove Chronicles (1-4)

by Larry McMurtry

  “No, Brookshire, don’t give up,” Pea Eye said. “Come back to the riverbed with me. We’re armed still. While we’re alive there’s a chance. There’s two of us, and just one of him. We might beat him yet, or the Captain might show up in the morning and scare him off.”

  “What if he’s already killed the Captain?” Brookshire asked. “I expect he has, myself. The Captain’s five days late, and you said he was never late.”

  “He ain’t, usually,” Pea Eye admitted. The thought that the Captain might be dead had occurred to him too, but he did his best to push that thought away. People had thought the Captain was most likely dead many times during the Indian wars. He himself had feared it on a number of occasions. And yet the Captain had always appeared. If they didn’t give up, the Captain might yet appear again.

  “Let’s go to the creek,” Pea Eye said. “Try it one more night, Brookshire. If we go to him, he’ll shoot us, but if we go back, he might let us go.”

  “Go back where?” Brookshire asked. “There’s nothing back that way except Chihuahua City, and we’d starve long before we got to Chihuahua City. I’d rather be shot than starve, and I’d even rather be shot than shiver all night. I’m tired of this shivering, and I’ll tell Joey Garza so, if I see him. I’ll tell Colonel Terry something, too, if I make it back to the office. Joey Garza can rob all the trains he wants to. Ned Brookshire is resigning. I may never hold another job with the railroad, but I’ll be damned if I’ll wander around Mexico any longer, freezing to death.”

  Brookshire meant it, too. He had blown away, but he wasn’t a hat. He could try to walk back. If he didn’t make it, so be it. The whole adventure had been a terrible mistake. Katie had died while he was on it. Captain Call, the manhunter everyone said was infallible, had been plenty fallible in this instance. Brookshire saw no reason to suffer passively anymore. He felt sure he could walk three days, even without food. He could make it to the village by the river. Then he was going to rent a buggy and drive somewhere and catch a train, one that would take him to New Orleans or Chicago and then home. He had seen the great West, and he didn’t like it. There were plenty of accountants in New York—Colonel Terry would have no trouble finding a man to replace him. Perhaps next time, the Colonel would know to keep accountants where they belonged, in the office with the ledgers.

  Pea Eye knew he ought to knock Brookshire out with a gun barrel and make an effort to save him. The Captain might show up at any time. Joey Garza might lose interest in the game and ride off.

  “Brookshire, just wait one more night,” Pea Eye said. “There’s two of us, we might beat him. The Captain might come. One of us might get off a lucky shot. We’d do better sticking together. Just wait one more night.”

  “I appreciate the thought,” Brookshire said. “But I’ve waited and waited, and now I’m going, killer or no killer. I can follow this river as well as the next man, I guess. Maybe I’ll get through. If I don’t get through, all I ask is that you send my love to my sister.”

  On impulse, he grasped Pea Eye’s hand and shook it hard.

  “Well, I don’t know your sister,” Pea Eye said. “I wouldn’t know how to get word to her.”

  “Her name’s Matilda Morris, and she lives in Avon, Connecticut,” Brookshire said. “I regret that I had no time to write her before I left. Colonel Terry wanted me on the next train, and that was that.”

  He cocked both barrels of the big shotgun and walked past Pea Eye out of the camp. Pea Eye didn’t hit him—knocking men out was a tricky business. He might misjudge the lick and hit too hard, in which case he would just cause unnecessary suffering. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Brookshire went boldly out of camp. He walked along at a good pace, trying to maintain a staunch attitude. Sometimes in Brooklyn, if he was on the streets late and had to walk past bullies or louts, he found that the best method was just to walk along boldly and not give the bullies or louts the time of day. Perhaps the same method would work with this Garza boy, if it was the Garza boy who had killed their animals. He did wish he were walking along the orderly streets of Brooklyn, with solid brick houses on either side of him. Just thinking of the solid brick houses of Brooklyn caused him to be seized by a moment of almost overwhelming longing to be back in his own place once more. If he could be in his own place, he felt that life would swing into firm shape in no time, even without his dear Katie.

  Brookshire had to choke down his longing, though; he was in Mexico, not Brooklyn. He kept walking at a fast clip. If attacked, he planned to give a good account of himself and try to at least injure his assailant.

  But when Brookshire, walking smartly along, heard the click of a hammer, it was just behind his head, close enough that whoever held the pistol could have stuck it in his hip pocket.

  One more mistake on my part, Brookshire thought. He whirled and saw the boy standing an arm’s length away, his pistol pointed at Brookshire’s face. Brookshire knew he had no chance to swing up the big shotgun, and he was so numbed by his own folly that he didn’t even try.

  “At least I’ve seen your face,” he said.

  Joey Garza didn’t answer. He pulled the trigger instead. One shot did it; he liked to be economical.

  When Pea Eye heard the pistol shot, he knew the battle was over for Mr. Brookshire. He turned and hurried back to the little creek with the steep walls. The little creek was the only place that offered him any protection. There had been no blast from the big shotgun. The Garza boy was unscratched. Pea Eye knew he would have to fight him alone.

  He stayed in the creek for an hour, then snuck back to camp, and with his pocketknife began to cut strips of horsemeat off the haunch of Brookshire’s horse. He knew he might be in for a long siege. In Montana he had walked nearly one hundred miles with only a few berries to eat. He didn’t intend to get that hungry again. There was no need to, either, with four dead animals right there. He sliced and sliced with his little knife. Before he went back to the creek, he had almost a week’s supply of horsemeat stuffed into his shirt. If he had to walk out and make a long detour, at least he would have food.

  Pea Eye wanted to last, and he meant to last. He had Lorena and his five young children to think of. He could not just hand himself up for slaughter as Brookshire had. His chances might be slim, but for the sake of his family he had to fight the deadly boy as hard as he could.

  As the cold hours passed, Pea Eye had a terrible longing to be with Lorena and his children one more time. He wished they could all be together in their kitchen, talking. He imagined Lorena with her coffee cup and himself with his. Clarie would have brought in the milk; the boys would be in their chairs, a little sleepy probably; and Laurie would be in her cradle, which he could rock with his foot.

  Pea Eye wanted badly to tell them all how sorry he was that he had left them. He wanted them to know how much he regretted putting Captain Call first, and not them. It had been a terrible wrong. He wanted them to know that never again would he put any duty before his duty to them, to Lorena and his children. He felt a great sadness at not being able to let his family know what he was feeling. If he was killed, they would never know how much he loved them and missed them. They would never know what he was feeling at this moment.

  In his sadness at not being able to say to his family what he so badly needed to say to them, Pea Eye began to cry. He didn’t know how he could have persuaded himself to leave them; and yet he had. If only it was himself having to pay for his mistake, he could have lived with it and died with it. But the bitterest knowledge was that his wife and children would be the ones having to pay for his error. No doubt they were paying already, and had been paying since the day he left the farm.

  He had left them, though, and he could not undo that fact. All he could do was clutch his rifle and hope that somehow he could prevail when the killer came. He had never risen higher than a corporal in his years with the Rangers. He knew he wasn’t smart or an exceptional fighter, like the Captain or like Gus McCrae. But in this
last fight, he had to be better than he had been. He had to fight well. He had to for his family’s sake.

  The long night passed slowly. Pea Eye was shivering in a cold dawn when he saw Famous Shoes coming along the creek.

  “Is Brookshire dead?” he asked, when Famous Shoes arrived.

  “Yes, Joey shot him,” Famous Shoes said.

  “When’s he coming to kill me, then?” Pea Eye asked.

  “He says if you will give him your boots, he will let you go,” Famous Shoes said. “He doesn’t think you will follow him without your boots.”

  Pea Eye considered that a poor dodge. He didn’t entirely trust Famous Shoes anyway. The old man’s services had always been for sale to the highest bidder. Pea Eye did not intend to give up his footgear.

  “Why didn’t he kill you?” Pea Eye asked Famous Shoes.

  “He doesn’t want to kill me. I am too old,” Famous Shoes said. “Captain Call is in Ojinaga, but Joey shot his leg off. He thinks the Captain might die. It was your woman who brought him to Ojinaga.”

  “Lorena?” Pea Eye said, severely startled. “Are you sure?”

  “It is your woman, she has blond hair,” Famous Shoes said. “She cut the Captain’s leg off. Joey saw it. Then she brought the Captain to Ojinaga.”

  “Well, I swear,” Pea Eye said. “I wonder who’s got the children?”

  He was so surprised by the news that he almost forgot the danger of the moment.

  “Joey wants me to bring him your boots,” Famous Shoes reminded him.

  “If the rascal wants my boots, let him come and get them,” Pea Eye said. The knowledge that his wife was less than a day’s ride away filled him with hope. If he could outfight the killer, he could look on Lorena’s face again. It was a chance. He meant to use every ounce of fight he had in him to beat the killer and get back to his wife.

  Long ago, Gus McCrae had teased the Rangers by calculating how much fight each man had in him, as if fight could be measured like oats or some substance that could be placed on a scale.

  “Call, now, he’s about ninety-eight percent fight,” Gus had said. “Take away the fight and he’d be so weak, he couldn’t mount his horse. But that’s unusual. I’m only about forty percent fight myself. Pea, I expect you’re about twelve percent or so, and old Deets about fifteen.”

  Twelve percent didn’t sound like much to Pea, but he resolved to use every oat of it to struggle past the killer and get to the river where Lorena was. If she was there, it was because she had come to get him and take him home. She must have traveled all that way just to bring him home. It was amazing to Pea Eye that Lorena would go to all that trouble just for him. But since she had, he meant to see that she hadn’t wasted her traveling.

  “Where is Joey Garza?” he asked Famous Shoes.

  “He is by the Concho,” Famous Shoes said. “If you go toward the village, I think he will kill you. If you go the other way, he might let you go.”

  “I reckon I’ll go where my wife is,” Pea Eye said. “If she was home safe, I might run, but if she’s here in Mexico, I guess I’ll fight the rascal.”

  “Can I borrow your knife?” Famous Shoes asked. “I want to cut myself some of that horsemeat. I’m going to walk to the Madre, and I want to take some food.”

  Pea Eye lent him the knife. In a few minutes, Famous Shoes returned and gave him back the knife. He had a few strips of horsemeat tucked under his belt.

  Pea Eye felt the blade of his knife and saw that it was a little dull. He took a thin whetstone out of his pocket and began to sharpen the pocketknife. As he was sharpening it, a thought struck him. Brookshire had walked off with the big eight-gauge shotgun. It was an ugly weapon, and no one but an inexperienced Yankee would have considered bringing it on a long expedition. Joey Garza was known to prefer pretty guns, and the eight-gauge was anything but pretty. Maybe he had neglected to take the shotgun from Brookshire. Maybe he had just let it lay.

  “Did you see that big shotgun?” Pea Eye asked Famous Shoes. “Did Joey gather it up, or is it still there?”

  “Joey didn’t take it, it’s there,” Famous Shoes said. “He only took the man’s watch.”

  Pea Eye wanted the shotgun. He didn’t trust his rifle that much, and he knew he was inept with a pistol. But with an eight-gauge shotgun, if Joey Garza was fool enough to come in range, he ought to be able to pepper him, at least.

  “Whose side are you on?” he asked Famous Shoes. “Mine or his?”

  “I am going to the Madre,” Famous Shoes said. “Joey might change his mind and kill me if I stay here. I don’t know what he will do.”

  All Pea Eye could think of was the big shotgun. In his mind it had become the thing that might save him. He needed to figure out a way to get it without getting shot. He couldn’t forget his wife. She was not far away, and he had to get to her. Joey Garza was the one thing in his way.

  Pea Eye sat down and took his boots off.

  “Take my boots,” he said, handing them over to Famous Shoes. “Tell him I’m going away.”

  Famous Shoes didn’t believe Pea Eye. He took the boots, but he felt nervous. “You don’t want to go away,” he said. “You like your woman too much to go away.”

  “That’s right,” Pea Eye said. “I oughtn’t to have left her, and now I’ve got to try and get back to her.”

  “If Joey kills you, can I have your knife?” Famous Shoes asked.

  Pea Eye gave it to him. “It’s yours, one way or the other,” he said.

  Then he dug in his pocket and came out with a gold piece. He knew Famous Shoes was greedy. It was a five-dollar gold piece; it might tempt him.

  “This is yours,” he said. “When you’re walking back to Joey, stop a moment where Brookshire’s body is. I need to know where to run to, to pick up that big shotgun. Just stop a moment, look down, like you’re looking at a track.”

  Famous Shoes felt a little disquieted. Pea Eye didn’t know Joey and didn’t realize how coolly and easily he killed. Famous Shoes thought that Pea Eye liked his woman too much, so much that he might get killed trying to return to her. No one killed as easily as Joey Garza. Probably Pea Eye was being foolish. But Famous Shoes could not wait around all morning discussing the matter. He had to get to the Madre.

  “I will take him these boots,” he said. “If I come to the Rio Rojo in the spring, I will come and see you. If your woman is alive, maybe she will teach me about the tracks in books.”

  “I expect she’ll be glad to,” Pea Eye said. “That’s what she does, she teaches school.”

  He let the old man get a fifty-yard lead, and then began to follow him up the riverbed. The rocks were sharp, but Pea Eye kept following. Famous Shoes passed where the camp had been. Buzzards had begun to circle, and a few were watching from the dry trees.

  Famous Shoes went on. He thought Pea Eye was foolish to challenge Joey Garza. The man’s liking for his wife was so strong that it had destroyed his reason. Famous Shoes expected that Joey Garza would kill Pea Eye long before Pea Eye got to the big shotgun. But he had taken the gold piece. When he came to Brookshire’s body he stopped and bent over it for a moment, as if looking at a track, though there were no fresh tracks near the body. He paused and then went on, carrying the boots. Joey was not far, and Joey was watching.

  Before he had gone two more steps, he heard Pea Eye running behind him. Even though he was running in his stocking feet, Pea Eye made a lot of noise. He was running toward the dead man. A moment later, Famous Shoes saw Joey stand up. When Joey stood up, Pea Eye began to shoot at him with his rifle. Joey Garza looked startled. He had not expected to be charged by the old deputy. He didn’t have his rifle; it was on the horse. But he had his pistol, and he leveled it at Pea Eye and began to shoot. Famous Shoes saw that at least two of Joey’s bullets hit Pea Eye—but Pea Eye was still running, and he was almost to Brookshire’s corpse. Joey shot at Pea Eye again, but this time, he missed. He became nervous—why hadn’t the old man fallen? He knew he had hit him solidly twice, bu
t still he ran. Joey shot twice more, but both times he missed.

  Pea Eye ran as he had never run before. He fired as he ran. He wished he could fly so as to get to the big gun faster. He felt that he was running to Lorena and his children. He saw Joey shooting, but he didn’t feel the bullets when they struck him. He ran as fast as he could. He fired the rifle, but only in hopes of distracting the young killer. Mainly he ran, his eyes fixed on the spot where Famous Shoes had paused.

  Only at the last moment, with Pea Eye still coming, did Joey remember the big shotgun. He had left it with the body, and the old Ranger was almost there. The fact that he had made such a simple, stupid error unnerved Joey. He shot once more, but only hit the running man in the foot. The running man was very close, and he should not have missed him. Yet he had missed him. Joey could not understand his own error: he had left a loaded gun by a corpse. It was a big, ugly gun, not worth keeping, but he should not have left it. His pistol was empty; all he could do was flee. As he turned to run for his horse, he saw the old deputy drop his rifle and scoop up the big gun. Then the heavy shot cut his back and he stumbled and fell. He sprang up and kept running, but he saw over his shoulder that the old man was still running toward him, holding the big shotgun. Joey was leaping for his horse when Pea Eye shot again. This time, the heavy bullets ripped his legs. In his pain he almost went over his horse, but just managed to hang in the saddle. He looked back and saw that the deputy had turned and picked up his rifle. There was no time to free the Mauser; the deputy might kill his horse if he didn’t flee. He ducked onto the far side of his horse and put the horse into a run. Pea Eye’s shot hit the cantle of the saddle. Before Pea Eye could aim again, Joey was racing away through the sage; soon he was out of range. He clung to the safe side of his horse, expecting that the deputy would shoot again and that his horse would fall. But the deputy didn’t shoot again. Joey was bleeding from his shoulders to his heels, but he clawed himself back into the saddle and hung on.