Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“To Texas?” he repeated.

“Yes, that’s my favor to you,” Augustus said. “It’s the kind of job you was made for, that nobody else could do or even try.

Now that the country is about settled, I don’t know how you’ll keep busy, Woodrow. But if you’ll do this for me you’ll be all right for another year, I guess.” “You’re one of a kind, Gus,” Call said, sighing. “We’ll all miss you.” “Even you, Woodrow?” Augustus asked.

“Yes, me,” Call said. “Why not me?” “I take it back, Woodrow,” Augustus said. “I have no doubt you’ll miss me. You’ll probably die of boredom this winter and I’ll never get to Clara’s orchard.” “Why do you call it that?” “We had picnics there,” Augustus said. “I took to calling it that. It pleased Clara. I could please her oftener in those days.” “Well, but is that any reason to go so far to be buried?” Call said. “She’d allow you a grave in Nebraska, I’m sure.” “Yes, but we had our happiness in Texas,” Augustus said. “It was my best happiness, too. If you’re too lazy to take me to Texas, then just throw me out the window and be done with it.” He spoke with vehemence. “She’s got her family in Nebraska,” Augustus added, more quietly. “I don’t want to lie there with that dumb horse trader she married.” “This would make a story if there was anybody to tell it,” Call said. “You want me to carry your body three thousand miles because you used to go picnicking with a girl on the Guadalupe River?” “That, plus I want to see if you can do it,” Augustus said.

“But you won’t know if I do it,” Call said. “I reckon I’ll do it, since you’ve asked.” He said no more, and soon noticed that Augustus was dozing. He pulled his chair closer to the window. It was a cool night, but the lamp made the little room stuffy. He blew it out—there was a little moonlight. He tried to doze, but couldn’t for a time. Then he did doze and woke to find Augustus wide awake, burning with fever. Call lit the lamp but could do nothing for him.

“That was the Musselshell River, where you holed up,” he said. “I met that old trapper and he told me. We may take him with us to scout, since he knows the country.” “I wish I had some better whiskey,” Augustus said. “This is a cheap product.” “Well, the saloon’s closed, probably,” Call said.

“I doubt they got better, open or closed,” Augustus said. “I have a few more instructions, if you’re ready to hear them.” “Why, fine,” Call said. “I suppose now you’ve decided you’d rather be buried at the South Pole.” “No, but do stop in Nebraska a night and let the women know,” Augustus said. “I’m leaving my half of the herd to Lorie,and don’t you dispute with me about it. Just see she gets what money’s coming to her. I’ll leave you a note to hand her, and one for Clara.” “I’ll pass them on,” Call said.

“I told Newt you was his pa,” Augustus said.

“Well, you oughtn’t to,” Call said.

“I oughtn’t to have had to, but you never got around to it, so I did,” Augustus said. “All you can do about it now is shoot me, which would be a blessing. I feel mighty poorly, and embarrassed to boot.” “Why embarrassed?,” Call asked.

“Imagine getting killed by an arrow in this day and age,” Augustus said. “It’s ridiculous, especially since they shot at us fifty times with modern weapons and did no harm.” “You always was careless,” Call said. “Pea said you rode over a hill and right into them. I’ve warned you about that very thing a thousand times. There’s better ways to approach a hill.” “Yes, but I like being free on the earth,” Augustus said. “I’ll cross the hills where I please.” He paused a minute. “I hope you won’t mistreat Newt,” he said.

“Have I ever mistreated him?” Call asked.

“Yes, always,” Augustus said. “I admit it’s practically your only sin, but it’s a big one. You ought to do better by that boy.

He’s the only son you’ll ever have—I’d bet my wad on that—though I guess it’s possible you’ll take to women in your old age.” “No, I won’t,” Call said. “They don’t like me. I never recall mistreating that boy.” “Not naming him is mistreatment,” Augustus said. “Give him your name, and you’ll have a son you can be proud of. And Newt will know you’re his pa.” “I don’t know that myself,” Call said.

“I know it and you know it,” Augustus said. “You’re worse than me. I’m stubborn about legs, but what about you? Women are goddamn right not to like you. You don’t want to admit you ever needed one of them, even for a moment’s pleasure.

Though you’re human, and you did need one once—but you don’t want to need nothing you can’t get for yourself.” Call didn’t answer. It seemed wrong to quarrel while Gus was dying. Always over the same thing too. That one thing, after all they had done together.

Gus slept through the morning, fitful and feverish. Call didn’t expect him to wake. He didn’t leave the room. He was finally eating the plate of cold venison when Gus came to his senses briefly.

“Do you want me to do anything about them Indians?” Call asked.

“Which Indians?” Augustus asked, wondering what his friend could be talking about. Call’s cheeks looked drawn, as though he hadn’t eaten for days, though he was eating even as he asked the question.

“Those that shot the arrows into you,” Call said.

“Oh, no, Woodrow,” Augustus said. “We won more than our share with the natives. They didn’t invite us here, you know.

We got no call to be vengeful. You start that and I’ll spoil your appetite.” “I don’t have much, anyway,” Call said.

“Didn’t I stick that sign in the wagon, that one I made in Lonesome Dove that upset Deets so much at first?” Augustus asked.

“Upset me too,” Call said. “It was a peculiar sign. It’s on the wagon.” “I consider it my masterpiece, that and the fact that I’ve kept you from not getting no worse for so long,” Augustus said.

“Take the sign back and stick it over my grave.” “Have you wrote them notes for the women yet?” Call asked. “I won’t know what to say to them, you see.” “Dern, I forgot, and my two favorite women, too,” Augustus said. “Get me some paper.” The doctor had brought in a tablet for Augustus to write his will on. Augustus drew himself up and slowly wrote two notes.