Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“That’s why I hope I go to heaven,” Po Campo said. “I don’t want nothing more to do with that woman.” “This here ain’t Montana,” Call said. “Let’s start the cattle.” That night, true to his word, Po Campo fried some grasshoppers. Before he got around to it he fed the crew a normal meal of beefsteak and beans and even conjured up a stew whose ingredients were mysterious but which all agreed was excellent. Allen O’Brien thought it was better than excellent—it changed his whole outlook on life, and he pressed Po Campo to tell him what was in it.

“You saw me gathering it,” Po Campo said. “You should have watched better.” True to his principles, he had refused to ride the donkey or climb up on the wagon seat beside Lippy. “I better walk,” he said. “I might miss something.” “Might miss getting snakebit,” Lippy said. Since the incident on the Nueces he had developed such a terror of snakes that he slept in the wagon and even stood on the wagon seat to urinate.

Po Campo had walked all day, a hundred yards or so west of the herd, trailing two sacks he had tucked in his belt. Now and then he would put something in one of them, but nobody saw what unless it was the pigs, who trailed the old man closely. All that could be said was that his stew was wonderfully flavorsome. Deets ate so many helpings that he grew embarrassed about his appetite.

It was Deets who first got up his nerve to sample the fried grasshoppers. Since the new cook had the crew in such a good mood, Call allowed him to use a little of the molasses they were saving for special occasions. Just having someone who could cook decently was a special occasion, though, like the men, he put no stock in eating grasshoppers.

But Po Campo had caught a big sackful, and when his grease was hot he sprinkled them into it five or six at a time. When he judged they were done he used the tip of a big knife to flick them out onto a piece of cheesecloth. Soon he had forty or fifty fried, and no one rushing to eat them.

“Eat them,” he said. “They’re better than potatoes.” “May be, but they don’t look like potatoes,” Allen O’Brien said. “They look like bugs.”“Dish, you’re a top hand, you ought to take the first helping,” Augustus said. “None of us would want to cut you out of your turn.” “You’re welcome to my dang turn,” Dish said. “I pass on eatin’ bugs.” “What’s holding you back, Gus?” Needle Nelson asked.

“Wisdom,” Augustus said.

Finally Deets walked over and picked up one of the grasshoppers. He was inclined to trust a man who could cook such flavorsome stew. He grinned, but didn’t eat it right away.

“Put a little molasses on it,” Po Campo urged.

Deets dipped the grasshopper in the little dish of molasses.

“I don’t guess it will kill him but I bet it makes him vomit,” Lippy said, watching the proceedings from the safety of the wagon seat.

“I wish you’d fry up some of these mosquitoes,” Augustus said. “I doubt they’d make good eating, but at least we’d be rid of them.” Then Deets ate the grasshopper. He crunched it, chewed, and then reached for another, grinning his big grin. “Tastes just like candy,” he said.

After he had eaten three or four he offered one to Newt, who covered it liberally with molasses. To his surprise, it tasted fine, though mostly what tasted was the molasses. The grasshopper itself just tasted crunchy, like the tailbones of a catfish.

Newt ate another of his own accord and Deets ate four or five more. Then Deets persuaded Pea Eye to try one and Pea ate two or three. To everyone’s surprise, Call strolled over and ate a couple; in fact, he had a sweet tooth and couldn’t resist the molasses. Dish decided he had to eat one to keep up his reputation, and then the Rainey boys each ate a couple to imitate Newt. Pete Spettle walked over and ate two and then Soupy, Needle and Bert each tried one. The remaining grasshoppers went quick, and before Jasper could make up his mind to try one they were all gone.

“Dern you all for a bunch of greedy pigs,” he said, wishing someone had thought to save him at least one.

“Now I’ve seen everything,” Augustus said. “Cowboys eating bugs.” His pride had not allowed him to sample them—it would only mean another triumph for Po Campo.

“Did I tell you worms make good butter?” Po Campo said.

“Anybody who tries to butter my biscuit with a worm had better have a long stride,” Soupy Jones remarked. “This outfit is getting crazier all the time.” While the crew was standing around discussing the merits of grasshoppers they heard a galloping horse approaching camp.

“I hope it’s the mail,” Augustus said.

“It’s Mr. Jake,” Deets said, long before the horse came in sight.

Jake Spoon rode right up to the campfire and jumped off his horse, which was lathered with sweat. He looked around wildly, as if expecting to see someone.

“Ain’t Lorie here?” he asked.

“No,” Augustus said, feeling sick suddenly. The night’s stampede had caused him to forget Lorena completely. He had even forgotten that Jake had been out of pocket. He had drowsed all day, relieved that Newt was safe and supposing that Lorie had been fine or Newt wouldn’t have left her.

“Gus, you better not be hiding her,” Jake said in a shaky voice. He had whiskey on his breath.

“We’re not hiding her,” Call said quietly. “She ain’t been here.” Newt was about to go on night guard. He was just repairing a cinch that had begun to fray. At the sight of Jake he felt a deep apprehension. All day he had believed that he had gotten away with his stupidity in leaving his horse. Now a new and worse fear struck him. Something had happened to the woman he had been sent to guard.