Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“I don’t see why.” “Well, they’ve made history,” Augustus pointed out.

“When?” Call asked. “I didn’t notice.” “Why, they’re the first pigs to walk all the way from Texas to Montana,” Augustus said. “That’s quite a feat for a pig.” “What will it get them?” Call inquired. “Eaten by a bear if they ain’t careful, or eaten by us if they are. They’ve had a long walk for nothing.” “Yes, and the same’s likely true for us,” Augustus said, irritated that his friend wasn’t more appreciative of pigs.

With Deets dead, Augustus and Call alternated the scouting duties. One day Augustus asked Newt to ride along with him, much to Newt’s surprise. In the morning they saw a grizzly, but the bear was far upwind and didn’t scent them. It was a beautiful day—no clouds in the sky. Augustus rode with his big rifle propped across the saddle—he was in the highest of spirits. They rode ahead of the herd some fifteen miles or more, and yet when they stopped to look back they could still see the cattle, tiny black dots in the middle of the plain, with the southern horizon still far behind them.

“I never thought to see so far,” Newt said.

“Ain’t it something,” Augustus said with a grin. “This is rare country, this Montana. We’re a lucky bunch. There ain’t nothing better than this—though you don’t have to tell your pa I said it.” Newt had decided it must be one of Mr. Gus’s many jokes, making out that the Captain was his pa.

“I like to keep Woodrow feeling that he’s caused a peck of trouble,” Augustus said. “I don’t want him to get sassy. But I wouldn’t have missed coming up here. I can’t think of nothing better than riding a fine horse into a new country. It’s exactly what I was meant for, and Woodrow too.” “Do you think we’ll see Indians?” Newt asked.

“You bet,” Augustus said. “We might all get killed this afternoon, for all I know. That’s the wild for you—it’s got its dangers, which is part of the beauty. ’Course the Indians have had this land forever. To them it’s precious because it’s old.

To us it’s exciting because it’s new.” Newt noticed that Mr. Gus had a keen look in his eye. His white hair was long, almost to his shoulders. There seemed to be no one who could enjoy himself like Mr. Gus.

“Now there’s women, of course,” Augustus said. “I do cotton to them. But I ain’t found the one yet who could hold me back from a chance like this. Women are persistent creatures, and will try to nail you down. But if you just dance on off, you’ll usually find them close to the spot where you left them—most of ’em.” “Do you really know who my pa is?” Newt asked. Mr. Gus was being so friendly, he felt he could ask.

“Oh, Woodrow Call is your pa, son,” Augustus said, as if it were a matter of casual knowledge.

For the first time Newt felt it might be true, although extremely puzzling. “Well, he never mentioned it,” he pointed out.

Just being told such news didn’t settle much. In fact it just made new problems, for if the Captain was his father, then why hadn’t he mentioned it?

“It’s a subtle problem,” Augustus said.

Newt didn’t find that a helpful answer, mainly because he didn’t know what subtle meant. “Looks like he’d mention it,” he said softly. He didn’t want to criticize the Captain, especially not to Mr. Gus, the only man who did criticize the Captain.

“It wouldn’t be his way, to mention it,” Augustus said. “Woodrow don’t mention nothing he can keep from mentioning.

You couldn’t call him a mentioner.” Newt found it very puzzling. If the Captain was his father, then he must have known his mother, but he had never mentioned that either. He could remember times when he had daydreamed that the Captain was his father and would take him on long trips.

Now, in a way, the daydream had come true. The Captain had taken him on a long trip. But instead of feeling proud and happy, he felt let down and confused. If it was true, why had everybody been such a long time mentioning it? Deets had never mentioned it. Pea Eye had never mentioned it. Worst of all, his mother had never mentioned it. He had been young when she died, but not too young to remember something so important. He could still remember some of the songs shehad sung to him—he could have remembered who his father was. It didn’t make sense, and he rode beside Mr. Gus for several miles, puzzling about it silently.

“Did you ask me along just to tell me?” Newt asked finally.

“Yep,” Augustus admitted.

Newt knew he ought to thank him, but he didn’t feel in the mood to thank anybody. The information just seemed to make his whole life more puzzling. It spoiled every good thing he had felt, for most of his life—not only about his mother, but about the Captain, and about the Hat Creek outfit as a whole.

“I know it’s tardy news,” Augustus said. “Since Woodrow ain’t a mentioner, I thought I’d tell you. You never know what might happen.” “I wish I’d known sooner,” Newt said—it was the one thing he was sure of.

“Yes, I expect you do,” Augustus said. “I ought to have discussed it sooner, but it was really Woodrow’s place to tell you and I kept hoping he’d do it, though I knew he wouldn’t.” “Is it that he don’t like me?” Newt asked. He felt a longing to be back in Texas. The news, coming when it did, had spoiled Montana.

“No,” Augustus said. “What you have to understand is that Woodrow Call is a peculiar man. He likes to think that things are a certain way. He likes to think everybody does their duty, especially him. He likes to think people live for duty—I don’t know what started him thinking that way. He ain’t dumb. He knows perfectly well people don’t live for duty. But he won’t admit it about anybody if he can help it, and he especially won’t admit it about himself.” Newt saw that Mr. Gus was laboring to explain it to him, but it was no good. So far as he could tell, the Captain did live for duty. What did that have to do with the Captain being his father?

“Woodrow don’t like to admit that he’s like the rest of us,” Augustus said, seeing the boy’s perplexity.

“He ain’t,” Newt said. That was obvious. The Captain never behaved like other people.