Comanche Moon (Lonesome Dove, #4)

by Larry McMurtry

“A genius is somebody with six toes or more on one foot,” Long Bill declared. “That’s what I was told at home.”

Adjusting to the racket of domestic life was hard for him, after a long trip; it might have been a little quieter had Pearl not insisted on keeping her chickens in the kitchen, but Pearl couldn’t stand to be parted from her chickens; so there was the racket to contend with, on top of which Pearl was a fervent woman who liked to make up his absences by lots of fervor—an overwhelming amount of fervor at times, in fact.

“Pearl must be a mighty good cook, for him to take on about her so before he even knows if she’s dead.” “No, she ain’t,” Augustus said. “I’ve et Pearl’s cooking and it was only fair. I expect it’s the poking.” “The what?” Call asked, surprised. “The poking, Woodrow,” Gus said. “Pearl was large and large women are usually a pleasure to poke.” “Well, you would think that,” Call said.

“It’s probably a town,” Call said. “There’s a saloon there owned by a man named Wanz—I think he’s a Frenchman.” “Oh, if it’s got a saloon, let’s go,” Augustus said. “In fact, let’s hurry. We’ll give the saloon a thorough inspection—then we’ll worry about Captain King. What’s the name of this place?” “Lonesome Dove—that’s its name,” Call said.

“Lonesome Dove will need a whore or two, otherwise it won’t grow,” Augustus allowed. “Prosperous businessmen won’t long tolerate the absence of whores.” “You can’t tolerate it, you mean,” Call said. “That’s one reason you’ll never be a prosperous businessman.”