Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

The bartender kept bringing whiskeys and it seemed to July he must be running up quite a bill, but it didn’t worry him.

Occasionally a cowboy would pass by, his spurs jingling. Some of them gave July a look, but none of them spoke to him. It was comfortable to sit in the saloon—as sheriff, he had usually avoided them unless he had business in one. It had always puzzled him how some men could spend their days just sitting in a saloon, drinking, but now it was beginning to seem less puzzling. It was restful, and the heavy feeling that came with the drinking was a relief to him, in a way. For the last few weeks he had been struggling to do things which were beyond his powers—he knew he was supposed to keep trying, even if he wasn’t succeeding, but it was pleasant not to try for a little while.

Then he looked up and saw a woman standing by the table—she was skinny, like Elmira, and had stringy black hair.

“Let’s get going, cowboy,” she said. “You can’t do nothing sitting there.” “Get going where?” he asked, taken by surprise. No one had ever called him “cowboy” before, but it was a natural mistake. He had taken off his sheriff’s star for a few days—a precaution he often took in a strange town.

“I’m Jennie,” she said. “Sam said you were looking for me, or have I got the wrong cowboy?” “Oh,” July said, embarrassed. He had even forgotten he was waiting for someone named Jennie.

“We could get going, even if you ain’t the right cowboy,” Jennie said. “If you can afford that much whiskey you can afford me. You could even buy me a drink if you felt polite.” July had never in his life bought a woman a drink, or even sat with a woman who liked to drink. Any other time such an invitation would have shocked him, but in this case it just made him feel that his manners weren’t all they should be.

Jennie had huge brown eyes, too large for her thin face. She was looking at him impatiently.

“Yes, have a drink,” he said. “I’m running up a bill.” Jennie sat down and waved at the bartender, who immediately appeared with a bottle. “This one’s drinking like a fish,” he said cheerfully. “I guess it’s been a long, dry trail.” July suddenly remembered why he was waiting to see the girl named Jennie.

“Did you know Ellie?” he asked. “I heard you knowed her.”It was Jennie’s turn to be surprised. Elmira had been her best friend for three years, and she hardly expected a drunken young cowboy to mention her name.

“You mean Ellie Tims?” she asked.

“Yes,” July said. “That’s the Ellie. I was hoping you had news of her. I don’t know where she is.” “Well, she moved to Missouri,” Jennie said. “Then we heard she married a sheriff from Arkansas, but I didn’t put no stock in that kind of rumor. I can’t imagine Ellie staying married to no sheriff.” “She didn’t,” July said. “She run off while I was chasing Jake Spoon, and I got three people killed since I started looking for her.” Jennie looked at the young man more closely. She had noticed right off that he was drunk, but drunks were an everyday sight and she had not looked close. The man seemed very young, which is why she had taken him for a cowboy. They were mostly just boys. But this man didn’t have the look of a cowboy once she looked close. He had a solemn face and sad eyes, the saddest she had looked into for a while. On the basis of the eyes he was an unlikely man for Ellie to have married—Ellie liked her laughs. But then people often did unlikely things.

“Are you a sheriff?” she asked, sipping the whiskey Sam had poured.

“I was,” July said. “I’m most likely going to have to give it up.” “Why do that?” Jennie asked.

“I ain’t a good fighter,” July said. “I can crack a drunk on the head and get him to jail, but I ain’t really a good fighter.

When we rode into that camp, the man with me killed six or seven men and I never killed a one. I went off and left Roscoe and the others and they got killed before I could get back. It was only Jake Spoon I went to catch, but I made a mess of it. I don’t want to be a sheriff now.” He had not expected such words to rush out—he had suddenly lost control of his speech somehow.

Jennie had not expected it either. She sipped her whiskey and watched him.

“They say Ellie left on a whiskey boat,” July said. “I don’t know why she would have done it, but that’s what they say.

Roscoe thought a bear might have got her, but they didn’t see no tracks.” “What’s your name?” Jennie asked.

“July Johnson,” he said, glad that she was no longer looking at him quite so impatiently.

“It sounds like Ellie to me,” Jennie said. “When Ellie gets enough of a place, she jumps in the first wagon and goes. I remember when she went to Abilene I didn’t have no idea she was even thinking of leaving, and then, before it was even time to go to work, she had paid some mule skinners to take her, and she was gone.” “I got to find her,” July said simply.

“You come to the wrong town, mister,” Jennie said. “She ain’t in Dodge.” “Well, then I’ll have to keep looking,” July said.

He thought of the empty plains, which it seemed to him he had been lucky to get across. There seemed only the smallest chance that Ellie would have been so lucky.

“I fear she’s dead,” he said.

“She’s hunting Dee, I’d say,” Jennie said. “Did you know Dee?” “Why, no,” July said. “I was told he died of smallpox.” Jennie chuckled. “Dee ain’t dead,” she said. “He’s in Ogallala. There’s a gambler sitting right over there who seen him not two months ago.” “Where?” July asked, and Jennie pointed to a pudgy man in a white shirt and black coat who sat alone at a table, shuffling cards.

“That’s Webster Witter,” Jennie said. “He keeps up with Dee Boot. I used to but I quit.” “Why?” July asked. He sensed that it was a rather loose-tongued question, but the fact was, his tongue was out of control and behaving ever more loosely.