Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

It was a fine, bright day, but Newt didn’t feel fine. He wanted to go catch up with the badger and shoot him, but he didn’t.

There seemed to be hundreds of buzzards on the knoll. Suddenly a big coyote ran right out of the midst of them, carrying something—Newt couldn’t see what.

“I guess the buzzards outnumber the coyotes in these parts,” Augustus said. “Usually the buzzards have to wait until they get through.” When they rode up on the knoll, the smell hit them. A few of the buzzards flew off, but many stood their ground defiantly, even continuing to feed. Captain Call drew rein, but Augustus rode up to them and shot two with his pistol. The rest reluctantly flew off.

“You like to eat, see how you like being eaten,” he said to the dead buzzards. “There’s that bad black man. Wilbarger did get him.” The smell suddenly got to Newt—he dismounted and was sick. Pea Eye dug a shallow grave with a little shovel they had brought. They rolled the remains in the grave and covered them, while the buzzards watched. Many stood on the prairie, like a black army, while others circled in the sky. Deets went off to study the thieves’ tracks. Newt had vomited so hard that he felt lightheaded, but even so, he noticed that Deets didn’t look happy when he returned.

“How many are we up against?” Call asked.

“Four,” Deets said. “Just four.” “Hell, there’s five of us,” Augustus said. “There’s less than one apiece of the horsethieves, so what are you so down about?” Deets pointed to a horse track. “Mr. Jake is with them,” he said. “That’s his track.” They all looked at the track for a moment.

“Well, they’re horsethieves and murderers,” Augustus reminded them. “They could have stolen Jake’s horse—they could have even murdered him for it.” Deets was silent. They could speculate all they wanted—he knew. A different man would have resulted in a different track. Mr. Jake tended to ride slightly sideways in the saddle, which the track showed. It was not just his horse—it was him.

The news hit Call hard. He had stopped expecting anything of Jake Spoon, and had supposed they would travel different routes for the rest of their lives. Jake would gamble and whore—he always had. No one expected any better of him, but no one had expected any worse, either. Jake hadn’t the nerve to lead a criminal life, in Call’s estimation. But there was his track, beside the tracks of three killers.

“Well, I hope you’re wrong,” he said to Deets.

Deets was silent. So, for once, was Augustus. If Jake was with the killers, then there was no hope for him.

“I wish he’d had the sense to stay with Lorie,” Augustus said. “She might have aggravated him some, but she wouldn’t have led him to this.” “It’s his dern laziness,” Call said. “Jake just kind of drifts. Any wind can blow him.” He touched the mare and rode on—he didn’t need Deets in order to follow the tracks of nearly thirty horses. He put the mare into a slow lope, a gait she could hold all day if necessary.

Newt rode beside Pea Eye, who appeared to be solemn too. “Do you think it’s Jake?” Newt asked.

“I can’t read a dern track,” Pea Eye said. “Never could. But Deets can read ’em easier than I could read a newspaper. Iguess it’s Jake. It’d be a pity if it’s us that has to hang him,” he added, a little later.

“We couldn’t,” Newt said, startled. It had not dawned on him that Jake could have put himself in that bad a position.

Pea Eye looked at him, an unhappy expression on his face. It was unusual for Pea to change expressions. Usually he just looked puzzled.

“The Captain would hang you, if he caught you with a stolen horse,” Pea Eye said. “So would Gus.” A few hours later they came upon the dead settlers, still hanging, shreds of charred clothes clinging to their bodies. A coyote was tugging at the foot of one of them, trying to pull the body down. It ran when the party approached. Newt wanted to be sick again, but had nothing in his stomach. He had never expected to see anything more awful than the buzzard-torn bodies they had buried that morning, and yet it was still the same day and already there was a worse sight.

It seemed the farther they went through the plains, the worse things got.

“Those boys are bad ones, whoever they are,” Augustus said. “Hung those poor bastards and burned them too.” Call had ridden in for a closer look. “No,” he said. “Shot ’em, then hung ’em, then burned them.” They cut the men down and buried them in one grave.

“Hell, gravediggers could make a fortune in these parts,” Augustus said. “Pea, you ought to buy you a bigger spade and go in business.” “No, I’ll pass, Gus,” Pea Eye said mildly. “I’d rather dig wells.” Call was thinking of Jake—that a man who had ridden with them so long could let such a thing happen. Of course he was outnumbered, but it was no excuse. He could have fought or run, once he saw the caliber of his companions.

Deets had ridden on, to evaluate the trail. They overtook him a few hours later. His face was sad.

Deets继续前行，以评估这条小径。几个小时后他们追上了他。他的脸很悲伤。

“They’re close,” he said. “Stopped at a creek.” “Probably stopped to baptize one another,” Augustus said. “Did you see ’em, or just smell ’em?” “I seen ’em,” Deets said. “Four men.” “What about Jake?” Call asked.

“He’s one,” Deets said.

“Are they just watering the stock, or have they camped?” Call wanted to know.

“They’re camped,” Deets said. “They killed somebody in a wagon and he had whiskey.” “More work for the gravediggers,” Augustus said, checking his rifle. “We better go challenge them before they wipe out Kansas.” Pea Eye and Newt were left with the horses. Deets led Call and Augustus on foot for a mile. They crept up the crest of a ridge and saw Wilbarger’s horses grazing three or four miles away on the rolling prairie. Between them and the horse herd was a steep banked creek. A small wagon was stopped on the near bank, and four men were lounging on their saddle blankets. One of the men was Jake Spoon. The corpse of the man who had been driving the wagon lay some fifty yards away. The men on the blankets were amusing themselves by shooting their pistols at the buzzards that attempted to approach the corpse. One man, annoyed at missing with his pistol, picked up a rifle and knocked over a buzzard.

“They’re cocky, I’d say,” Call said. “They don’t even have a guard.” “Well, they’ve killed the whole population of this part of the country except us, and we’re just wandering through,” Augustus said.