Lonesome Dove

  Then there was Lorena. In the last weeks she had proved sweeter than any woman he had known — more responsive than his wives, kinder than Clara. Her beauty had flowered again — the cowboys were always thinking of excuses to ride within twenty or thirty yards of them, so they could get a glimpse of it. He ought to consider himself lucky, he knew — everyone in the outfit, with the possible exception of Call, considered him lucky. He ought to let the past keep its glow and not try to mix it with what he had in the present.

  But then he knew he could not simply ride by Clara, whatever the threat of turmoil or disappointment. Of all the women he knew, she had meant the most; and was the one person in his life he felt he had missed, in some ways.

  He remembered what she had said when she told him she was going to marry Bob — that she would want his friendship for her daughters. He would at least go and offer it; besides, it would be interesting to see if the girls were like their mother.

  To his surprise, he didn't enjoy the visit to Ogallala very much. He hit the dry-goods store just as the owner was closing and persuaded him to reopen long enough for him to buy Lorie a mass of clothes. He bought everything from petticoats to dresses, a hat, and also a warm coat, for they were sure to strike cool weather in Montana. He even bought himself a black frock coat worthy of a preacher, and a silk string tie. The merchant soon was in no mood to close; he offered Augustus muffs and gloves and felt-lined boots and other oddities. In the end he had such a purchase that he couldn't even consider carrying it — they would have to come in tomorrow and pick it up in the wagon, though he did wrap up a few things in case Lorie wanted to wear them to Clara's. He bought her combs and brushes and a mirror — women liked to see themselves, he knew, and Lorena hadn't had the opportunity since Fort Worth.

  The one hotel was easy to find, but the restaurant in it was a smoky little room with no charm and only one diner, a somber man with mutton-chop whiskers. Augustus decided he would prefer a cheerful bar, but that proved not easy to find.

  He went into one that had a huge rack of elk horns over the door and a clientele consisting mostly of mule skinners who hauled freight for the Army. None of the Hat Creek outfit was there, though he had seen a couple of their horses tied outside. They had probably gone straight to the whorehouse next door, he concluded. He ordered a bottle and a glass, but the boisterous mule skinners made so much racket he couldn't enjoy his drinking. A middle-aged gambler with a thin mustache and a greasy cravat soon spotted him and came over.

  "You look like a man who could tolerate a game of cards," the gambler said. "My name is Shaw."

  "Two-handed gambling don't interest me," Augustus said. "Anyway, it's too rackety in here. It's hard work just getting drunk when things are this loud."

  "This ain't the only whiskey joint in town," Mr. Shaw said. "Maybe we could find one that's quiet enough for you."

  Just then a girl walked in, painted and powdered. Several of the mule skinners whooped at her, but she came over to where Augustus sat. She was skinny and could hardly have been more than seventeen.

  "Now, Nellie, leave us be," the gambler said. "We were about to go have a game."

  Before the girl could answer, one of the mule skinners at the next table toppled backwards in his chair. He had gone to sleep with the chair tilted back, and he fell to the floor, to the amusement of his peers. The fall did not wake him — he sprawled on the saloon floor, dead drunk.

  "Oh, go along, Shaw," the girl said. "There ain't but two of you. What kind of game would that be?"

  "I made that point myself," Augustus said.

  A bartender came over, got the drunk man by the collar and drug him out the door.

  "Wanta go next door, Mister?" Nellie asked.

  The gambler, to Augustus's surprise, suddenly cuffed the girl — it was not a hard blow, but it surprised and embarrassed her.

  "Now, here," Augustus said. "There's no excuse for that. The young lady was talking perfectly polite."

  "She ain't a lady, she's a tart, and I won't have her interfering with our pleasure," the gambler said.

  Augustus stood up and pulled out a chair for Nellie.

  "Sit down, miss," he said. Then he turned to the gambler. "You scoot," he said. "I don't gamble with men who mistreat women."

  The gambler had a ferretlike expression. He ignored Augustus and glared at the girl. "What have I told you?" he said. "You'll get a beating you won't forget if you interfere with me again."

  The girl trembled and seemed on the verge of tears.

  "I won't have a slut interrupting my play," the gambler said.

  Augustus hit the man in the chest so hard that he was knocked back onto the next table, amid three or four mule skinners. The mule skinners looked up in surprise — the gambler had the wind knocked out of him so thoroughly that he waved his arms in the air, his mouth open, afraid he would die before he could draw another breath.

  Augustus paid him no more attention. The girl, after a moment, sat down, though she kept glancing nervously toward the gambler. A big mule skinner shoved him unceremoniously off the table, and he was now on his hands and knees, still trying to get his breath.

  "He ain't hurt," Augustus assured the girl. "Would you like a sip of whiskey?"

  "Yeah," the girl said, and when the bartender brought a glass, quaffed the whiskey Augustus poured her. She couldn't keep her eyes off the gambler, though. He had managed to breathe again, and was standing by the bar, holding his chest.

  "Have you had trouble with that fellow before?" Augustus asked.

  "He's Rosie's husband," Nellie said. "Rosie is the woman I work for. They don't get along. Rosie sends me out, and he runs me off."

  She tried to recover from her fright and to look alluring, but the attempt was so pathetic that it saddened Augustus. She looked like a frightened young girl.

  "Rosie ain't nice to work for," she said. "Do you want to go next door? I got to do something quick. If Shaw complains she'll whup me. Rosie's meaner than Shaw."

  "I'd say you need to change bosses," Augustus said. As soon as he put more whiskey in her glass, the girl quaffed it.

  "There ain't but one other madam, and she's just as bad," Nellie said. "You sure you won't come next door? I got to find a customer."

  "I guess you better bribe that gambler, if that's the situation," Augustus said. "Give him five and Rosie five and keep the rest for yourself." He handed her twenty dollars.

  The girl looked surprised, but took the money and quaffed another whiskey. Then she went up to the bar and had the bartender change the money for her. Soon she was talking to Shaw as if nothing had happened. Depressed, Gus bought a bottle to take with him and left town.

  The moon was full and the prairie shadowy. Pea Eye was attempting to sing to the cattle, but his voice was nothing to compare to the Irishman's.

  To his surprise, Augustus saw that Lorena was sitting outside the tent. Usually she stayed inside. When he dismounted, he bent to touch her and found that her cheek was wet — she had been sitting there crying.

  "Why, Lorie, what's the matter?" he asked.

  "I'm afraid of her," she said simply. Her voice sounded thick with discouragement. "I'm afraid she'll take you."

  Augustus didn't try to reason with her. What she felt was past reason. He had caused it by talking too freely about the woman he had once loved. He unsaddled and sat down beside her on the grass.

  "I thought you, went to her," she said. "I didn't believe you went to town."

  "Ain't the moon beautiful?" he said. "These plains seem like fine country under a full moon."

  Lorena didn't look up. She wasn't interested in the moon. She only wanted it to be settled about the woman. If Gus was going to leave, she wanted to know it, although she couldn't imagine a life if that happened.

  "Did you ever like to sing?" he asked, trying to get her to talk about something else.

  She didn't answer.

  "I think it must be a fine gift, singing," he said. "If I could sing like the
Irishman, I would just ride around singing all day. I might get a job in a barroom, like Lippy used to have."

  Lorena didn't want to talk to him. She hated the way she felt. Better if something happens and kills us both, she thought. At least I wouldn't have to be alone.

  85

  NEWT, THE RAINEY BOYS and Pea Eye got to go into town the next afternoon. The fact that the first group drug back in ones and twos, looking horrible, in no way discouraged them. Jasper Fant had vomited all over his horse on the ride out, too beaten to dismount or even to lean over.

  "You are a sorry sight," Po Campo said sternly, when Jasper rode in. "I told you it would be that way. Now all your money is gone and all you feel is pain."

  Jasper didn't comment.

  Needle Nelson and Soupy Jones rode in next — they looked no different from Jasper, but at least their horses were clean.

  "It's a good thing there's no more towns," Needle said when he dismounted. "I don't think I'd survive another town."

  "If that's the best Nebraska can do, I pass," Soupy said.

  After hearing all the reports, which merely confirmed his suspicions, Po Campo was reluctant to let Augustus borrow the wagon.

  "Towns are full of thieves," he argued. "Somebody might steal it."

  "If they do, they'll have to steal it with me sitting in it," Augustus said. "I'd like to see the thief who could manage that."

  He had promised Lippy a ride to town. Lippy had grown homesick for his old profession and hoped at least to hear some piano music on his visit.

  Call decided to ride in and help with the provisioning. He was trying to make an inventory of things they needed, and the fact that Po Campo was in a cranky, uncooperative mood didn't make things any easier.

  "It's summertime," Po said. "We don't need much. Buy a water barrel and we'll fill it in the river. It is going to get very dry."

  "What makes you think it's going to get dry?" Augustus asked.

  "It will get dry," Po Campo insisted. "We will be drinking horses' blood if we're not lucky."

  "I think I must have drunk some last night," Jasper said. "I never got sick enough to puke on my horse before."

  Newt and the other boys raced to town, leaving Pea Eye far behind, but once they got there they felt somewhat at a loss as to what to do first. For an hour or two they merely walked up and down the one long street, looking at the people. None of them had actually been in a building in such a while that they felt shy about going in one. They stared in the window of a big hardware store, but didn't go in. The street itself seemed lively enough — there were plenty of soldiers in sight, and men driving wagons, and even a few Indians. Of whores they saw none: the few women on the street were just matrons, doing their shopping.

  The town abounded in saloons, of course, but at first the boys were too spooked to go in one. Probably they would be looked at, because of their age, and anyway they didn't have funds for drinking. What little they had must be saved for whores — at least that was their intention. But the fourth or fifth time they passed the big general store their intentions wavered, and they all slipped in for a look at the merchandise. They stared at the guns: buffalo rifles and pistols with long blue barrels, and far beyond their means. All they came out with was a sack of horehound candy. Since it was the first candy any of them had had in months, it tasted wonderful. They sat down in the shade and promptly ate the whole sack.

  "I wish the Captain would fill the wagon with it," Ben Rainey said. The opportunity existed, for Augustus was just driving up to the dry-goods store in the wagon, and the Captain rode beside him on the Hell Bitch.

  "Why, he won't let us fill it with candy," Jimmy Rainey said. Nonetheless, feeling bolder and more experienced, they went back in the store and bought two more sacks.

  "Let's save one for Montana," Newt said. "There might not be no more towns." But his cautions fell on deaf ears. Pete Spettle and the others consumed their share of the candy with dispatch.

  While they were finishing it they saw Dish Boggett come walking around the side of a saloon across the street.

  "Let's ask him where the whores are," Ben suggested. "I doubt we can find any by ourselves."

  They caught up with Dish by the livery stable. He didn't look to be in high spirits, but at least he was walking straight, which was more than could be said for the men who had returned to camp.

  "What are you sprouts doing in town?" he asked.

  "We want a whore," Ben said.

  "Go around to the back of that saloon, then," Dish said. "You'll find plenty."

  Dish now rode a fine little mare he called Sugar. In disposition, she was the opposite of the Hell Bitch. She was almost like a pet. Dish would take tidbits from his plate and feed them to her by hand. He claimed she had the best night vision of any horse he had ever seen — in all their stampedes she had never stepped in a hole.

  He delighted in her so much that he always gave her a brushing before he saddled her, keeping a little horse brush in his saddlebag just for that purpose.

  "How much do they cost?" Jimmy Rainey asked, referring to the whores. The thought that some were only a few steps away made them all a little nervous.

  "It depends on how long you intend to stay upstairs," Dish said. "I met a nice one named Mary, but they ain't all like her. There's one they call the Buffalo Heifer — somebody would have to offer me a month's wages before I'd get near her, but I expect she'd do for you sprouts. You can't expect top quality your first time off."

  As they were talking, a party of some half-dozen soldiers came riding up the street, led by the big scout, Dixon.

  "There come them soldiers again," Newt said.

  Dish hardly glanced at the soldiers. "I guess the rest of them got lost." He had brushed Sugar and was just preparing to saddle her when the scout and the soldiers suddenly trotted over their way.

  Newt felt nervous — he knew there had almost been serious trouble with the soldiers. He glanced at the Captain and Mr. Gus, who were loading a water barrel into the wagon. Evidently they had decided to take Po Campo's advice.

  Dixon, who looked ungodly big to Newt, rode his black gelding practically on top of Dish Boggett before he stopped. Dish, cool as ice, put the saddle blanket on the mare and paid him no mind.

  "How much for the filly?" Dixon asked. "She's got a stylish look."

  "Not for sale," Dish said, reaching down for his saddle.

  As he stooped, Dixon leaned over him and spat a stream of tobacco juice on the back of Dish's neck. The brown juice hit Dish at the hairline and dripped down under the collar of his loose shirt.

  Dish straightened up and put his hand to his neck. When he saw the tobacco juice his face flushed.

  "You dern cowboys are too fond of your horses," Dixon said. "I'm fair tired of being told your ponies ain't for sale."

  "This one ain't, for damn sure, and anyway you won't be in no shape to ride when I get through with you," Dish said, barely controlling his voice. "I'd hate to think I'd let a man spit on me and then ride off."

  Dixon spat again. This time, since Dish was facing him, the juice hit him square in the breast. Dixon and the soldiers all laughed.

  "Are you going to dismount or will you require me to come and drag you off that pile of soap bones you're riding?" Dish asked, meeting the big man's eye.

  "Well, ain't you a tomcat," Dixon said, grinning. He spat at Dish again, but Dish ducked the stream of tobacco juice and leaped for the man. He meant to knock the scout off the other side of the horse, but Dixon was too strong and too quick. Though no one had seen it, he held a long-barreled pistol in his off hand, and when Dish grappled with him he used it like a club, hitting Dish twice in the head with the butt.

  To Newt's horror, Dish crumpled without a sound — he slid down the side of Dixon's horse and flopped on his back on the ground. Blood poured from a gash over his ear, staining his dark hair. His hat fell off and Newt picked it up, not knowing what else to do.

  Dixon stuffed his pistol back in it
s holster. He spat once more at Dish and reached to take the filly's reins. He reached down, undid the girth, and dumped Dish's saddle on the ground.

  "That'll teach you to sass me, cowboy," he said. Then he glanced at the boys. "He can send the bill for this mare to the U.S. Army," Dixon said. "That is if he ever remembers there was a mare, when he wakes up."

  Newt was all but paralyzed with worry. He had seen the pistol butt strike Dish twice, and for all he knew Dish was dead. It had happened so quickly that Ben Rainey still had his hands in the sack of candy.

  All Newt knew was that the man mustn't be allowed to take Dish's horse. When Dixon turned to trot away, he grabbed the bridle bit and hung on. Sugar, pulled two different ways, tried to rear, almost lifting Newt off the ground. But he hung on.

  Dixon tried to jerk the horse loose, but Newt had both hands on the bit now and wouldn't let go.

  "Damn, these cowboys are pests," Dixon said. "Even the pups."

  The soldier next to him had a rawhide quirt hanging from his saddle horn. Dixon reached over and got it, and without another word rode close to the mare and began to lash Newt with it.

  Pete Spettle, anger in his face, leaped in and tried to get the quirt, but Dixon backhanded him and Pete went down — it turned out his nose was broken.

  Newt tried to hunker close to the mare. At first Dixon was mainly quirting his hands, to make him turn loose, but when that was unsuccessful he began to hit Newt wherever he could catch him. One whistling blow cut his ear. He tried to duck his head, but Sugar was scared and kept turning, exposing him to the quirt. Dixon began to whip him on the neck and shoulders. Newt shut his eyes and clung to the bit. Once he glanced at Dixon and saw the man smiling — he had cruel eyes, like a boar pig's. Then he ducked, for Dixon attempted to cut him across the face. The blow hit Sugar instead, causing the horse to rear and squeal.