Lonely Dove

Chapter 14

“Where’s Call?” Jake asked when he got to the porch.

“You didn’t expect to find Woodrow Call sitting in the shade, did you?” Augustus asked. “That man was born to work.”

“Yes, and you was born to talk too much,” Jake said. “I need to borrow ten dollars.”

“Oh?” Augustus said. “Has Lorie upped her rates?”

Jake ignored the question, which was only meant to rile him, and reached for the jug.

“No, the girl’s as generous as a preacher’s widow,” Jake said. “She wouldn’t take money from a gentleman like me. I hope

she charged you plenty, though, for I know you’ve been there before me.”

“I’ve always tried to keep a step ahead of you, Jake,” Augustus said. “But to answer your question, Call’s gone to round up

a dern bunch of cowboys so we can head out for Montana with a dern bunch of cows and suffer for the rest of our lives.”

“Well, dern,” Jake said. “I admit I was a fool to mention it.”

He settled himself on the lower step and set the jug halfway between them so they could both reach it. He was mildly

chagrined that Call had left before he could borrow the money—extracting money from Augustus had always been a long

and wearisome business. Call was easier when it came to money—he didn’t like to lend it, but he would rather lend it

than talk about it, whereas Augustus would rather talk than do anything.

Also, it was bothersome that Call had seized on the idea of Montana so abruptly, though it had always been his view that

if you could just hit Call with the right idea, he would apply his energies and make a fortune, which he might then share

with the man who brought along the idea.

Now that he was back, though, he wouldn’t mind spending a few warm idle months in Lonesome Dove. Lorie was more of

a beauty than he had expected to find. Her room over the saloon wasn’t much, but it was better accommodation than

they could expect on the way to Montana.

As usual, though, life moved faster than he had intended it to. Call would come back with a lot of cowboys and he would

practically have to marry Lorie in order to get out of going up the trail. Then, if he did set his foot down and stay in

Lonesome Dove, who knew but what some lawman from Fort Smith would show up and drag him off to hang? Just as he

had been in the mood to slow down, his own loose mouth had gotten him in trouble.

“Maybe he won’t find no cattle to drive, or no hands, neither,” he suggested, knowing it was wishful thinking.

“He’ll find the cattle, and if he can’t find the hands he drive ’em himself,” Augustus said. “And make us help him.”

Jake tipped his hat back and said nothing. The blue shoat wandered around the corner of the house and stood there

looking at him, which for some reason Jake found peculiarly irritating. Gus and his pig were aggravating company.

“I ought to shoot that pig right betwixt the eyes,” he said, feeling more irritable the longer he sat. There was not much

good in anything that he could see. Either it was back to Montana and probably get scalped, or stay in Texas and probably

get hung. 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.

“Was you ever threatened by a woman, Gus?” he asked, thinking about it.

“No, not what you’d call threatened,” Augustus said. “I was hit with a stove lid once or twice.”

“Why?” Jake asked.

“Why, no reason,” Augustus said. “If you live with Mexicans you can expect to eat beans, sooner or later.”

“Who said anything about Mexicans?” Jake said, a little exasperated. Gus was the derndest talker.

Augustus chuckled. “You was always slow to see the point, Jake,” he said. “If you fool with women you’ll get hit by a stove

lid, sooner or later, whereas if you live with Mexicans you have to expect beans in your diet.”

“I’d like to see a woman that can hit me with a stove lid,” Jake said. “I will take an insult once in a while, but I’d bedamned if I’d take that.”

“Lorie’s apt to hit you with worse if you try to wiggle out of taking her to San Francisco,” Augustus said, delighted that a

opportunity had arisen to catch Jake out so early in his visit

Jake let that one float. Of course Gus would know all about the girl. Not that it took brains to know about women: the

spread their secrets around like honey in a flytrap. Of course Lorie would want to go to San Francisco, by commo

agreement the prettiest town in the west

Augustus stood up and lifted his big pistol off the back of his chair. “I guess we ought to wake up them Irishmen befor

they bake,” he said. He walked over and kicked at their feet for a while until they began to stir. Finally Allen O’Brien sa

up, looking groggy

“Lord, it’s warm, ain’t it?” he said

“Why, this is spring, son,” Augustus remarked. “If you’re looking for warm come back on the Fourth of July. We usuall

thaw out by then.

When he was sure both Irishmen were awake he went back to the house and came out with his rifle. “Well, let’s go,” h

said to Jake

“Go where?” Jake asked. “I just got set down.

“To hide them horses,” Augustus said. “Pedro Flores is no quitter. He’ll be coming.

Jake felt sour. He wished again that circumstances hadn’t prompted him to come back. He had already spent one ful

night on horseback, and now the boys were expecting him to spend another, all on account of a bunch of livestock he ha

no interest in in the first place

“I don’t know as I’m coming,” he said. “I just got here. If I’d known you boys did nothing but chouse horses around al

night, I don’t know that I would have come.

“Why, Jake, you lazy bean,” Augustus said, and walked off. Jake had a stubborn streak in him, and once it was activate

even Call could seldom do much with him. The Irish boy was standing up, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes

“Come on, boys,” Augustus said. “Time to ride the river.

“You want us to ride some more?” Sean asked. He had rolled over during his nap and had grass burrs in his shirt

“You’ll soon catch on to riding,” Augustus said. “It’s easier than you might think.

“Do you have any mules?” Sean asked. “I’m better at riding mules.

“Son, we’re fresh out,” Augustus said. “Can either of you boys shoot?

“No, but we can dig potatoes,” Allen said—he didn’t want the man to think they were totally incompetent

“You boys took the wrong ship,” Augustus said. “I doubt there’s ten spuds in this whole country.

He caught them the gentlest horses out of the small bunch that were still penned, and taught them how to adjust thei

stirrups so their feet wouldn’t dangle—he hadn’t had time for that refinement in Sabinas. Just then Jake came walkin

along, a Winchester in the crook of his arm. No doubt he had concluded it would be easier to stay up all night than t

explain to Call why he hadn’t

Soon the Irishmen were mounted and were cautiously walking their mounts around the pen

“It’s new to them but they’re a quick-witted race,” Augustus said. “Give ’em a week and they’ll be ridin’ like Comanches.

“I don’t know that I’ll pause a week,” Jake said. “You boys have got hard to tolerate. I might take that yellow-haired ga

and mosey off to California.

“Jake, you’re a dern grasshopper,” Augustus said. “You ride in yesterday talking Montana, and today you’re talkin

California.

Once the Irishmen had got fairly competent at mounting and dismounting, Augustus gave them each a Winchester an

made them shoot at a cactus a time or two

“You’ve got to learn sometime,” he said. “If you can learn to ride and shoot before Captain Call gets back, he might hir

you.

The O’Brien boys were so awed to find themselves with deadly weapons in their hands that they immediately forgot to b

nervous about their horses. Sean had never held a gun before, and the flat crack of the bullet when he shot at the cactu

was frightening. It occurred to him that if they were expected to shoot, they could also expect to be shot at—a

unappealing thought

“Do we ask their names before we shoot them?” he inquired “It ain’t necessary,” Augustus assured him. “Most of them are named Jesus anyway.”

“Well, I ain’t named Jesus,” Jake said. “You boys try not to do your learning in my direction. I’ve been known to get riled

when I’m shot at.”

When the two Irishmen came trotting up to the horse herd behind Augustus and Jake, Dish Boggett could hardly believe

his eyes. He had always heard that the Hat Creek outfit was peculiar, but arming men who didn’t even know how to

dismount from their horses was not so much peculiar as insane.

Augustus took the lead on a big white horse named Puddin’ Foot, and Jake Spoon followed him. Jake looked sour as

clabber, which suited Dish fine. Maybe Lorena hadn’t fallen quite in love with him, after all.

Dish rode over and poked Newt, who was asleep on his horse. Dish himself had napped from time to time, the day being

hot and the horse herd placid.

“You ought to see what’s coming,” he said. “Gus has put them dern midgets a-horseback.”

Newt had a hard time getting his eyes open. As soon as the chase was over, sleep had begun trying to pull him down. If

Pedro Flores had ridden up and offered to shoot him he didn’t think he would much care, since it would at least mean

more sleep. He knew cowboys were supposed to be able to stay in the saddle two or three days at a stretch without

sleep, but he was guiltily aware that he had not yet learned the trick. When Dish poked him, his hat fell off, and when he

got down to get it his legs felt as heavy as if somebody had put lead in his boots. He would have liked to say something to

Sean O’Brien, who looked as tired as he was, but he couldn’t think of a word to say.

Augustus, who had had no chance to examine Call’s big catch, rode into the herd and eased through to the other side,

where Deets and Pea were waiting. He took his time about it, giving the animals a critical inspection as he went past. Not

more than forty of them struck him as prime mounts. A lot were undersized, some had saddle sores, and the whole bunch

of them were skinny from overwork or underfeeding, or probably no feeding. Except for a prize stud or two, Pedro Flores

had probably never wasted an oat on a horse in his life.

“These nags is barely worth a night’s sleep,” he said to Deets and Pea. “If we was aiming to start a soap factory they might

do, but so far as I know, we ain’t. I’ve a notion to keep the best fifty and run the rest off.”

“My lord,” Pea said, aghast at what Gus had suggested. “The Captain would shoot all of us if we run off any of these

horses.”

“I don’t doubt he’d foam at the mouth,” Augustus said. “What do you think, Deets?”

“They skinny,” Deets said. “Might get fat, if we give ’em enough time.”

“You might grow wings, if I give you enough time,” Augustus said. They looked across the river. The sun was slipping

fast—in an hour or two they could expect a loud visit.

“Here’s the plan,” he said. “Pedro won’t bother coming to town, knowing our habits like he does. We’ll pen the prime

stock and hide the skinny little rabbits up in some thicket. Then if we don’t like the looks of his army, we can skedaddle

and let him drive his own soap factory back home.”

Pea Eye felt deeply uneasy about the plan. When the Captain was around, things were done in a more straightforward

fashion. Gus was always coming up with something sly. However, Pea’s opinion hadn’t been asked—he watched as Gus

and Deets began to cut the herd. Soon Dish Boggett figured out what was happening and rode over to help them. Dish

was always a willing hand except when it came to digging wells.

Jake sat with the boy and the Irishmen and watched the proceedings without much interest. He had himself a smoke but

didn’t offer anybody else one.

Newt watched too, trying to decide if he ought to go help. Mr. Gus and Deets and Dish were doing the work so efficiently

he decided he’d just be in the way, so he stayed put, hoping Jake would say something to him. There had been no chance

to renew their friendship since Jake had come home.

As sunset approached, Newt felt more and more anxious. The Captain being gone always affected him that way. He knew

Mr. Gus was supposed to be one of the coolest hands on the border, and he was confident Jake could handle practically

anything that came up, but despite those two he couldn’t stop himself from feeling anxious when the Captain was gone.

Young Sean O’Brien felt anxious too, only his anxiety was of a different nature. The prospect of shooting and being shot at

had loomed larger and larger in his thinking until he could think of little else. Since Newt looked friendly, he decided to

seek his counsel in the matter.

“What part of a man is it best to shoot at?” he asked, addressing himself to Newt.

Jake Spoon chuckled. “His horse,” he said. “Just aim for his horse. There ain’t many of them chili-bellies that will bother

you once they’re afoot.” With that he touched spurs to his horse and trotted around to the other side of the herd.

“Is that right?” Sean asked. “You’re supposed to shoot the horse?”

“If Jake says so, it’s right,” Newt said loyally, though the advice had surprised him too.

“Have you shot many?” Sean asked.

Newt shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “Last night was the first time I even got to go. I never even shot at a man, or a

horse either.”

“You shoot the horse,” Sean said, when his brother Allen rode up. Allen said nothing. He was thinking of his little wife,

Sary, whom he had left in Ireland. She had wept for weeks before he left, thinking it wrong that he should leave her. He

had got his dander up and left anyway, and yet now he missed her so that tears as wet as hers sprang from his eyes

almost every time he thought of her. Though normally a cheerful and even a merry man, the absence of Sary had affected

him more than he had supposed anything could. In his mind’s eye he saw her small redheaded figure moving through the

chores of the day, now cooking spuds, now wringing milk from the tired teat of their old milk cow. He ignored all talk

when he was thinking of Sary, refusing to let it distract him. How would she feel if she could know what he had got

himself into, sitting on a horse with a heavy gun beneath his leg?

On the other side of the herd Augustus had finished separating out the prime stock and was about to divide up the crew.

Deets and Dish were holding the cut at a little distance from the main herd.

“Well, girls,” Augustus said, “you might as well take these nags in and put ’em to bed. Me and this fine bunch of hands will

ease the others upriver.”

Dish Boggett could hardly believe his good fortune. He had been braced for a scratch night of brush-busting, but it

seemed old Gus had a mind to spare him.

“All right,” he said. “Tell me what you want for supper, Gus, and I’ll go eat it for you once we get these penned.”

Augustus ignored the sally. “Deets, you watch close,” he said. “This young spark will probably have to go and get drunk, or

maybe married before the night is over.”

Dish waved and started the horses; just as he did, Jake came loping over.

“Where are they going?” he asked.

“Back to town,” Augustus said. “Be the safest place for the good stock, I figure.”

“Why, damn,” Jake said, plainly chagrined. “You could have sent me back. I’m the one that’s worn to a frazzle.”

“Somebody’s got to help me protect these boys,” Augustus said. “As I recall, you made a name for yourself by shooting

Mexican bandits—I thought you’d welcome the chance to polish your reputation a little.”

“I’d rather shoot you,” Jake said, pretty grumpily. “You’ve caused me more hell than all the bandits in Mexico.”

“Now Jake, be fair,” Augustus said. “You was just hoping to go back and get your bean in that girl again. I feel young Dish

should have his shot before you ruin her completely.”

Jake snorted. The young cowboy was the least of his worries.

“If you like these Irishmen so much, you watch them,” he said. “Send me little Newt, and we’ll take one side. Are we

supposed to be going anywhere in particular?”

“No,” Augustus said. “Just try to keep them out of Mexico.” He waved at Newt, who soon came loping over.

“Son, Jake Spoon has requested your help,” he said. “If you and him watch the east me and Pea and them shortcakes will

take the west.”

The boy’s face lit up as if he had just been given a new saddle. He had practically worshipped Jake Spoon once, and would

clearly be willing to again, given the encouragement. Augustus felt a momentary pang—he liked Jake, but felt him to be

too leaky a vessel to hold so much hope. But then, all vessels leaked to some degree.

“Will we just keep riding or will we stop and wait for the Mexicans?” Newt asked, anxious to know the right thing to do.

“Keep riding,” Augustus said. “Let ’em catch us, if they’re men enough. And if they do, try not to shoot up all your

ammunition. We might need some tomorrow.”

With that he turned and, in a few minutes, with the inexpert help of the Irishmen, got the hundred horses moving north

in the fading light. 15

THE MINUTE they got the herd penned, Dish felt himself getting restless. He had a smoke, leaning on the gate of the big

corral. He knew he had a clear duty to stay with the horses. Though the darky was obviously a superior hand, he could

hardly be expected to hold the place against a swarm of bandits.

The problem was that Dish could not believe in the swarm of bandits. Under the red afterglow the town was still as a

church. Now and then there was the bleat of a goat or the call of a bullbat, but that was all. It was so peaceful that Dish

soon convinced himself there was no need for two men to waste the whole evening in a dusty corral. The bandits were

theoretical, but Lorena was real, and only two hundred yards away.

Leaning on the gate, Dish had no trouble imagining favorable possibilities. Jake Spoon was only human—and he was

oversure of himself, at that. He might have rushed his suit. Dish could understand it; he would have rushed one himself,

had he known how. Perhaps Lorie had not welcomed such boldness—perhaps she had recognized that Jake was not a

man to depend on.

By the time he had mulled the prospect for thirty minutes, Dish was in a fever. He had to have another shot or else carry

some sharp regrets with him up the trail. Some might think it irresponsible—Captain Call, for one, certainly would—but

he could not stand all night in chunking distance of Lorena and not go see her.

“Well, it all looks safe,” he said to Deets, who had seated himself against a big water trough, his rifle across his lap.

“Quiet so far,” Deets agreed. “I reckon it’ll be some while before anything happens, if anything does,” he said. “I believe I’ll just stroll over to that

saloon and bathe my throat.”

“Yes, sir, you go along,” Deets said. “I can look after the stock.”

“You just shoot, if you need help,” Dish said. “I’ll get back here in a minute if there’s trouble.”

He took his horse, so he wouldn’t be caught afoot in the event of trouble, and went trotting off.

Deets was just as glad to see him leave, for the young man’s restlessness made him an uncomfortable companion. It was

not a restlessness other men could talk to—only a woman could cure it.

Deets had had such restlessness once, and had had no woman to cure it, but years and hard work had worn the edge off

it, and he could relax and enjoy the quiet of the night, if he was let alone. He liked sitting with his back against the water

trough, listening to the horses settling themselves. From time to time one would come to the trough and drink, sucking

the water into its mouth in long draughts. Across the pen two horses were stamping and snorting nervously, but Deets

didn’t get up to go look. Probably it was just a snake that had snaked too close to the pen. A snake wasn’t going to fool

with horses if it could help it.

The possibility of attack didn’t worry him. Even if a few vaqueros did make a pass at the town, they would be nervous,

sure of being outgunned. He could sleep—he had the knack of going in and out of sleep easily and quickly—but despite

the long night and day he wasn’t sleepy. Relaxing, at times, was as good as sleeping. A sleeping man would miss the best

of the evening, and the moonrise as well. Deets had always been partial to the moon, watched it often, thought about it

much. To him it was a more interesting and a more affecting thing than the sun, which shone on every day in much the

same fashion. But the moon changed. It moved around the sky; it waxed and waned. On the nights when it rose full and yellow over the

plains around Lonesome Dove, it seemed so close that a man could almost ride over with a ladder and step right onto it.

Deets had even imagined doing it, a few times—propping a ladder against the old full moon, and stepping on. If he did it,

one thing was sure: Mr. Gus would have something to talk about for a long time. Deets had to grin at the mere thought of

how excited Mr. Gus would get if he took off and rode the moon. For he thought of it like a ride, something he might just

do for a night or two when things were slow. Then, when the moon came back close to Lonesome Dove, he would step

off and walk back home. It would surprise them all.

Other times, though, the moon rode so high that Deets had to come to his senses and admit that no man could really ride

on it. When he imagined himself up there, on the thin little hook that hung above him white as a tooth, he almost got

dizzy from his own imagining and had to try harder to pay attention to what was happening on the ground.

Still, when there was nothing to see around him but a few horses sucking water, he could always rest himself by watching

the moon and the sky. He loved clear nights and hated clouds—when it was cloudy he felt deprived of half the world. His

fear of Indians, which was deep, was tied to his sense that the moon had powers that neither white men nor black men

understood. He had heard Mr. Gus talk about the moon moving the waters, and though he had glimpsed the ocean many

times, by the Matagorda, he had not been able to get a sense of how the moon moved it.

But he was convinced that Indians understood the moon. He had never talked with an Indian about it, but he knew they

had more names for it than white people had, and that suggested a deeper understanding. The Indians were less busy.