Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“The creek was up when I left him,” Pea Eye said. “I had to swim down past the Indians and I lost all my gear. Gus kept my pistol.” “Where was this?” Call asked.

“Up north, Captain,” Pea Eye said. “We dug a cave in a riverbank. That’s all I know.” “But he wasn’t dead when you left him?” “No, he sent me off,” Pea said. “He said he wanted you to lope on up there and help him with those Indians.” Dish Boggett could not adjust to the fact that Pea Eye was naked and all scarred up. They had had such a peaceful time of it that he had lost the sense that they were in dangerous country.

“What was that about Deets?” he asked.

“Helped me,” Pea said simply. “Are we going after Gus, Captain? We had a hard time getting one of them arrows out and his leg was giving him pain.”“You’re going to the wagon,” Call said. “You need some grub. How many Indians were there?” Pea tried to think. “A bunch jumped us,” he said. “About twenty, I guess. Gus shot a few.” Call and Dish had to lift him; all strength seemed to have left him, now that he knew he was safe. Dish had to hold him on his horse as they rode back, for Pea Eye had so little strength he could not even grip the saddle horn.

The crew, which had been in high spirits and drunk on their own celebrity—for weren’t they the first men to bring a Texas herd across the Yellowstone?—sobered up immediately when they saw the condition Pea Eye was in.

“Why, hello, boys,” Pea said, when he was helped off the horse. They all gathered around to greet him, and Bert and Needle Nelson helped him down. Po Campo had some coffee ready. Pea reached out for a cup, once they had him propped against the wagon, but his hands were too shaky to hold it. Po fed him a little with a spoon, and between one sip and the next, Pea slid from his position and passed out. He collapsed so quickly that no one even caught him.

“Is he dead?” Newt asked, anxious.

“No, just tuckered out,” Call said.

He was filling his saddlebags with ammunition, glad that he had got new shoes on the mare.

“He said Deets helped him,” Dish Boggett said. The way Pea said it had unnerved him. Deets was dead and buried, back on the Powder River.

Call didn’t answer. He was pondering the question of whether to take a man with him.

“I guess he was out of his head,” Dish said. “I guess that explains it.” Po Campo smiled. “The dead can help us if we let them, and if they want to,” he said.

Jasper Fant, delighted not to be among the dead, looked at Po severely. “Ain’t none ever helped me except my own pa,” he said.

“How’d he help you?” Needle asked.

“Left me twenty dollars in his will. I bought this saddle with it and I been a cowboy ever since.” “You call yourself one, you mean,” Soupy Jones said. He had poor relations with Jasper as a result of a dispute over cards.

“I’m here, ain’t I?” Jasper said. “Just because you lost that hand don’t mean I can’t cow.” “Oh, shut your trap, Jasper,” Dish said. He had had enough of Jasper and Soupy and felt that the whole question of Pea and Deets had been treated too brusquely. After all, the first words Pea had said was that they had just missed Deets.

Dish didn’t want to admit it, but he had been scared of ghosts all his life, and didn’t like to think that any were wandering around. It would just make night herding more nerve-racking, even if the ghost in question was one that might be friendly to him.

Then someone noticed that Captain Call was leaving. He took an extra rifle from the wagon and got the slicker that he had lent Pea, covering Pea with a blanket.

“Just move the stock on north,” he said. “Be alert. I’m going to get Gus.” The thought of him leaving sent a ripple of apprehension through the camp. Though independent to a man in some respects, the outfit was happier in all respects when Captain Call was around. Or if not the Captain, then Gus. Only a few hours earlier, they had felt cocky enough to take on an army. After all, they were the conquerors of the Yellowstone. But now, watching the Captain catch a horse for Gus to ride back on, they all felt daunted. The vast plain was beautiful, but it had reduced Pea Eye to a scarred wreck. And the Indians had Gus holed up somewhere. They might kill him and the Captain too. All men were mortal, and they felt particularly so. A thousand Indians might come by nightfall. The Indians might fall on them as they had fallen on Custer.

Call had no time to soothe the men with elaborate instructions. If Gus was badly wounded, he would weaken rapidly, and every hour counted. Arriving ten minutes too late would be as bad as ten days, or a year, for that matter. Besides, the almost beseeching way the men looked at him was irritating. Sometimes they acted as if they would forget how to breathe if he or Gus wasn’t there to show them. They were all resourceful men—he knew that, if they didn’t—and yet at certain times they became like children, wanting to be led. All his adult life, he had consented to lead, and yet occasionally, when the men seemed particularly dumbstruck, he wondered why he had done it.

He and Augustus had discussed the question of leadership many times.

“It ain’t complicated,” Augustus maintained. “Most men doubt their own abilities. You don’t. It’s no wonder they want to keep you around. It keeps them from having to worry about failure all the time.” “They ain’t failures, most of them,” Call pointed out. “They can do perfectly well for themselves.” Augustus chuckled. “You work too hard,” he said. “It puts most men to shame. They figure out they can’t keep up, and it’sjust a step or two from that to feeling that they can’t do nothing much unless you’re around to get them started.

“It don’t take on me, which is lucky,” he added. “I don’t care how hard you work, or where you go.” “I’d like to see something that could put you to shame,” Call said.

“My pecker’s done it a few times,” Augustus said.

Call wondered what he meant by that, but didn’t ask.