Lonesome Dove (Lonesome Dove, #1)

by Larry McMurtry

“Dish, you sound like you’ve got a sour stomach,” Augustus said. “What you need is a good satisfying game of cards.” “Nothing of the kind,” Dish said, casting a bold and solicitous glance at Lorena. Looking at her, though, was like looking at the hills. The hills stayed as they were. You could go to them, if you had the means, but they extended no greeting.

Deets was a black man; he had been with Cal and Augustus nearly as long as Pea Eye. Three days before, he had been sent to San Antonio with a deposit of money, a tactic Call always used, since few bandits would suspect a black man of having any money on him.

Jake looked thoughtful, as he almost always did. His coffee-colored eyes always seemed to be traveling leisurely over scenes from his own past, and they gave the impression that he was a man of sorrows—an impression very appealing to the ladies. It disgusted Augustus a little that ladies were so taken in by Jake’s big eyes. In fact, Jake Spoon had had a perfectly easy life, doing mostly just what he pleased and keeping his boots clean; what his big eyes concealed was a slow-working brain. Basically Jake just dreamed his way through life and somehow got by with it.

This town was a two-bit town when we came here and it looks to me like it’s lost about fifteen cents since then.

“I tell you what, Call,” Augustus said. “You and Deets and Pea go on up there to Montany and build a nice snug cabin with a good fireplace and at least one bed, so it’ll be waiting when I get there. Then clear out the last of the Cheyenne and the Blackfeet and any Sioux that look rambunctious. When you’ve done that, me and Jake and Newt will gather up a herd and meet you on Powder River.” Call looked almost amused. “I’d like to see the herd you and Jake could get there with,” he said. “A herd of whores, maybe.”

They were going at it hard when the Captain came riding back, having lathered the mare good by loping her along the river for about twenty miles. He rode her right up to the well. “Hello, boys,” he said. “Ain’t the water flowing yet?” “It’s flowin’,” Dish said. “A gallon or two of it flowed outa me.” “Be thankful you’re healthy,” Call said. “A man that couldn’t sweat would die in this heat.”

“Don’t bother me about cattle,” Wilbarger said. “I got three thousand ready to start up the trail. What I need is a remuda.” “It’s a pity cattle can’t be trained to carry riders,” Augustus said. The thought had just occurred to him, so, following his habit, he put it at once into speech. Both Call and Wilbarger looked at him as if he were daft.

“I guess we better catch ’em,” he said. “We’ll just walk in from three sides. If you see one of them make a break for it try to shoot his horse.” “No horses,” Deets reminded him. “Just a mule and a donkey.” “Shoot it anyway,” Call said. “What if I hit the man?” Newt said. “That’s his worry,” Call said. “Not letting him ride away is your worry.”

Call ignored him, trying to think of some way to salvage the trip. Though he had always been a careful planner, life on the frontier had long ago convinced him of the fragility of plans. The truth was, most plans did fail, to one degree or another, for one reason or another. He had survived as a Ranger because he was quick to respond to what he had actually found, not because his planning was infallible.

And if he wasn’t careful the girl would get restless and actually expect him to take her to San Francisco. The main problem with women was that they were always wanting something like San Francisco, and once they began to expect it they would get testy if it didn’t happen. They didn’t understand that he talked of pleasant things and faraway places just to create a happy prospect that they could look forward to for a while. It wasn’t meant to really happen, and yet women never seemed to grasp that; he had been in ticklish spots several times as their disappointment turned to anger. It was something, how mad women could get.

“Now, Maggie, don’t be giving away my recipes,” Maude said. “Anyway, the Captain’s likely et possum before.” “At least it ain’t a goat,” Call said, trying to make conversation. It was an unfamiliar labor, since at his own table he mostly worked at avoiding it. But he knew women liked to talk to their guests, and he tried to fit into the custom.

Jake dismounted and walked over to the grub, pretending he hadn’t heard. He didn’t want an argument with Call if he could avoid one. In truth, he had not been thinking very far ahead since drifting back to Lonesome Dove. He had often thought of the fortune that could be made in cattle in Montana, but then a man could think of a fortune without actually having to go and make one.

He had known several men who blew their heads off, and he had pondered it much. It seemed to him it was probably because they could not take enough happiness just from the sky and the moon to carry them over the low feelings that came to all men.

It seemed to him there was never much time with women. Before you could look at one twice, you were into an argument, and they were telling you what was going to happen.

“What’d he do, jump over a bush and throw you?” Pea asked. “I was always skittish about them small horses—they can get out from under you too quick.” “He’ll play hell doing it again,” Newt said, feeling very angry at Mouse. He ordinarily wouldn’t have spoken so strongly in the presence of Pea, or any adult, but his feelings were ragged. Somehow Pea’s explanation of what had happened made more sense than the truth—so much so that Newt began to half believe it himself. Being thrown was not particularly admirable, but it happened to all cowboys sooner or later, and it was a lot easier to admit to than what had actually occurred.

He felt sorry about leaving Janey. What if old Sam got well and tracked them to Fort Worth and found her? He offered her two dollars in case she had expenses, but Janey just shook her head. When they rode off, she was still sitting on the big washtub. Joe was glad she wasn’t coming. She made him feel that he didn’t do things very well.

“I met that sheriff that’s after him,” Augustus said. “He’s ahead of us somewhere. His wife run off and Blue Duck killed his deputy and two youngsters who were traveling with him. He’s got other things on his mind besides Jake.” “He’s welcome to Jake, if he wants him,” Call said. “I won’t defend a man who lets a woman get stolen and just goes back to his cards.” “It was wisdom,” Augustus said. “Blue Duck would have scattered Jake over two counties if he had run into him.”

“Spoon, how’d you like to be a regulator?” he asked a little later. “I recall from stories I’ve heard that you can shoot a gun.” “What is a regulator?” Jake asked. “I’ve not heard the term.” “Folks up in Kansas are getting tired of these Texas cattle tramping in constantly,” Dan said. “They want this trail-driving business regulated.” “Regulated how?” “Well, taxed,” Dan said. “People can’t go on driving cattle just anywhere. If they want to cross certain rivers at certain crossings, they’ve got to pay for the privilege. If they won’t pay in cash, then they’ve got to pay in cattle.”

“Did you get to see Lorie?” Dish asked point-blank. He still felt such love for Lorie that even speaking her name caused him to feel weak sometimes. “I seen her, she was drinking coffee,” Newt said. “Yes, she always took coffee in the morning,” Lippy said, demonstrating a familiarity with Lorena’s habits that offended Dish at once. “Yes, and I’m sure you spied on her every opportunity you got,” he said hotly. “It didn’t take no spying, she took it right in the saloon,” Lippy said. “It was watch or go blind.” He was aware, as all the hands were, that Dish was mighty in love, but Dish was not the first cowboy to fall in love with a whore, and Lippy didn’t feel he had to make too many concessions to the situation.

“Oh, you’ve got a nigger for a scout,” Dixon said. “No wonder you’re lost.” “We ain’t lost,” Call said, annoyed suddenly, “and that black man could track you across the coals of hell.” “And bring you back on a pitchfork, if we asked him to,” Augustus added. “What makes you think you can say things like that to us?” Captain Weaver said, flushing with anger. “Ain’t it still a free country?” Augustus asked. “Who asked you to ride up and insult our scout?”

Many men had looked at her that way, and she was not flattered by it. They wanted to pretend, such men, that they were different, that she was different, and that what might happen between them would be different than it would ever be. They wanted to pretend that they wanted pretty dresses and smiles, when what they really wanted was for her to lay down under them. That was the real wish beneath all the pretty wishes men had. And when she was under them, they could look down and pretend something pretty was happening, but she would look up and only see a dumb face above her, strained, dishonest and anything but pretty.

“Woodrow don’t like to admit that he’s like the rest of us,” Augustus said, seeing the boy’s perplexity. “He ain’t,” Newt said. That was obvious. The Captain never behaved like other people. “He ain’t, that’s true,” Augustus said. “But he had a chance to be once. He turned his back on it, and now he ain’t about to admit that he made the wrong choice. He’d as soon kill himself. He’s got to keep trying to be the way he thinks he is, and he’s got to make out that he was always that way—it’s why he ain’t owned up to being your pa.”

Augustus chuckled. “You work too hard,” he said. “It puts most men to shame. They figure out they can’t keep up, and it’s just a step or two from that to feeling that they can’t do nothing much unless you’re around to get them started. “It don’t take on me, which is lucky,” he added. “I don’t care how hard you work, or where you go.” “I’d like to see something that could put you to shame,” Call said. “My pecker’s done it a few times,” Augustus said. Call wondered what he meant by that, but didn’t ask.

“I owe him a debt for cleaning out that mangy bunch on the Canadian,” Goodnight said. “I’d have soon had to do it myself, if he hadn’t.” “Well, he’s past collecting debts,” Call said. “Anyway he let that dern killer get away. “No shame to McCrae,” Goodnight said. “I let the son of a bitch get away myself, and more than once, but a luckier man caught him. He butchered two families in the Bosque Redondo, and as he was leaving a deputy sheriff made a lucky shot and crippled his horse. They ran him down and mean to hang him in Santa Rosa next week. If you spur up you can see it.” “Well, I swear,” Call said. “You going?” “No,” Goodnight said. “I don’t attend hangings, although I’ve presided over some, of the homegrown sort. This is the longest conversation I’ve had in ten years. Goodbye.”