Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

Augustus, who had had no chance to examine Call’s big catch, rode into the herd and eased through to the other side, where Deets and Pea were waiting. He took his time about it, giving the animals a critical inspection as he went past. Not more than forty of them struck him as prime mounts. A lot were undersized, some had saddle sores, and the whole bunch of them were skinny from overwork or underfeeding, or probably no feeding. Except for a prize stud or two, Pedro Flores had probably never wasted an oat on a horse in his life.

“These nags is barely worth a night’s sleep,” he said to Deets and Pea. “If we was aiming to start a soap factory they might do, but so far as I know, we ain’t. I’ve a notion to keep the best fifty and run the rest off.” “My lord,” Pea said, aghast at what Gus had suggested. “The Captain would shoot all of us if we run off any of these horses.” “I don’t doubt he’d foam at the mouth,” Augustus said. “What do you think, Deets?” “They skinny,” Deets said. “Might get fat, if we give ’em enough time.” “You might grow wings, if I give you enough time,” Augustus said. They looked across the river. The sun was slipping fast—in an hour or two they could expect a loud visit.

“Here’s the plan,” he said. “Pedro won’t bother coming to town, knowing our habits like he does. We’ll pen the prime stock and hide the skinny little rabbits up in some thicket. Then if we don’t like the looks of his army, we can skedaddle and let him drive his own soap factory back home.” Pea Eye felt deeply uneasy about the plan. When the Captain was around, things were done in a more straightforward fashion. Gus was always coming up with something sly. However, Pea’s opinion hadn’t been asked—he watched as Gus and Deets began to cut the herd. Soon Dish Boggett figured out what was happening and rode over to help them. Dish was always a willing hand except when it came to digging wells.

Jake sat with the boy and the Irishmen and watched the proceedings without much interest. He had himself a smoke but didn’t offer anybody else one.

Newt watched too, trying to decide if he ought to go help. Mr. Gus and Deets and Dish were doing the work so efficiently he decided he’d just be in the way, so he stayed put, hoping Jake would say something to him. There had been no chance to renew their friendship since Jake had come home.

As sunset approached, Newt felt more and more anxious. The Captain being gone always affected him that way. He knew Mr. Gus was supposed to be one of the coolest hands on the border, and he was confident Jake could handle practically anything that came up, but despite those two he couldn’t stop himself from feeling anxious when the Captain was gone.

Young Sean O’Brien felt anxious too, only his anxiety was of a different nature. The prospect of shooting and being shot at had loomed larger and larger in his thinking until he could think of little else. Since Newt looked friendly, he decided to seek his counsel in the matter.

“What part of a man is it best to shoot at?” he asked, addressing himself to Newt.

Jake Spoon chuckled. “His horse,” he said. “Just aim for his horse. There ain’t many of them chili-bellies that will bother you once they’re afoot.”With that he touched spurs to his horse and trotted around to the other side of the herd.

“Is that right?” Sean asked. “You’re supposed to shoot the horse?” “If Jake says so, it’s right,” Newt said loyally, though the advice had surprised him too.

“Have you shot many?” Sean asked.

Newt shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “Last night was the first time I even got to go. I never even shot at a man, or a horse either.” “You shoot the horse,” Sean said, when his brother Allen rode up. Allen said nothing. He was thinking of his little wife, Sary, whom he had left in Ireland. She had wept for weeks before he left, thinking it wrong that he should leave her. He had got his dander up and left anyway, and yet now he missed her so that tears as wet as hers sprang from his eyes almost every time he thought of her. Though normally a cheerful and even a merry man, the absence of Sary had affected him more than he had supposed anything could. In his mind’s eye he saw her small redheaded figure moving through the chores of the day, now cooking spuds, now wringing milk from the tired teat of their old milk cow. He ignored all talk when he was thinking of Sary, refusing to let it distract him. How would she feel if she could know what he had got himself into, sitting on a horse with a heavy gun beneath his leg?

On the other side of the herd Augustus had finished separating out the prime stock and was about to divide up the crew.

Deets and Dish were holding the cut at a little distance from the main herd.

“Well, girls,” Augustus said, “you might as well take these nags in and put ’em to bed. Me and this fine bunch of hands will ease the others upriver.” Dish Boggett could hardly believe his good fortune. He had been braced for a scratch night of brush-busting, but it seemed old Gus had a mind to spare him.

“All right,” he said. “Tell me what you want for supper, Gus, and I’ll go eat it for you once we get these penned.” Augustus ignored the sally. “Deets, you watch close,” he said. “This young spark will probably have to go and get drunk, or maybe married before the night is over.” Dish waved and started the horses; just as he did, Jake came loping over.

“Where are they going?” he asked.

“Back to town,” Augustus said. “Be the safest place for the good stock, I figure.” “Why, damn,” Jake said, plainly chagrined. “You could have sent me back. I’m the one that’s worn to a frazzle.” “Somebody’s got to help me protect these boys,” Augustus said. “As I recall, you made a name for yourself by shooting Mexican bandits—I thought you’d welcome the chance to polish your reputation a little.” “I’d rather shoot you,” Jake said, pretty grumpily. “You’ve caused me more hell than all the bandits in Mexico.” “Now Jake, be fair,” Augustus said. “You was just hoping to go back and get your bean in that girl again. I feel young Dish should have his shot before you ruin her completely.” Jake snorted. The young cowboy was the least of his worries.

“If you like these Irishmen so much, you watch them,” he said. “Send me little Newt, and we’ll take one side. Are we supposed to be going anywhere in particular?” “No,” Augustus said. “Just try to keep them out of Mexico.” He waved at Newt, who soon came loping over.

“Son, Jake Spoon has requested your help,” he said. “If you and him watch the east me and Pea and them shortcakes will take the west.” The boy’s face lit up as if he had just been given a new saddle. He had practically worshipped Jake Spoon once, and would clearly be willing to again, given the encouragement. Augustus felt a momentary pang—he liked Jake, but felt him to be too leaky a vessel to hold so much hope. But then, all vessels leaked to some degree.

“Will we just keep riding or will we stop and wait for the Mexicans?” Newt asked, anxious to know the right thing to do.

“Keep riding,” Augustus said. “Let ’em catch us, if they’re men enough. And if they do, try not to shoot up all your ammunition. We might need some tomorrow.” With that he turned and, in a few minutes, with the inexpert help of the Irishmen, got the hundred horses moving north in the fading light.THE MINUTE they got the herd penned, Dish felt himself getting restless. He had a smoke, leaning on the gate of the big corral. He knew he had a clear duty to stay with the horses. Though the darky was obviously a superior hand, he could hardly be expected to hold the place against a swarm of bandits.

The problem was that Dish could not believe in the swarm of bandits. Under the red afterglow the town was still as a church. Now and then there was the bleat of a goat or the call of a bullbat, but that was all. It was so peaceful that Dish soon convinced himself there was no need for two men to waste the whole evening in a dusty corral. The bandits were theoretical, but Lorena was real, and only two hundred yards away.

Leaning on the gate, Dish had no trouble imagining favorable possibilities. Jake Spoon was only human—and he was oversure of himself, at that. He might have rushed his suit. Dish could understand it; he would have rushed one himself, had he known how. Perhaps Lorie had not welcomed such boldness—perhaps she had recognized that Jake was not a man to depend on.

By the time he had mulled the prospect for thirty minutes, Dish was in a fever. He had to have another shot or else carry some sharp regrets with him up the trail. Some might think it irresponsible—Captain Call, for one, certainly would—but he could not stand all night in chunking distance of Lorena and not go see her.