Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“What if Elmira comes back?” Roscoe asked. No one had raised that possibility. “Then I’d be gone and won’t know it.” “Why would she come back?” Peach asked. “She just left.” Roscoe found it hard even to remember Elmira, though he had done practically nothing but think about her for the last twenty-four hours. All he really knew was that he hated to ride out of the one town he felt at home in. That everyone was eager for him to go made him feel distinctly bitter.

“Well, the soldiers ain’t gonna help you if old man Darton goes on a tear,” he said. “July told me to be sure and watch him.” But the little group of citizens seemed not to be worried by the thought of what old man Darton might do. They watched him silently.

Unable to think of any other warnings, or any reason for his staying that might convince anyone, Roscoe gave Memphis a good kick—he was a steady horse once he hit his stride, but he did start slow—and the big-footed gelding kicked a little dust on Charlie Barnes’s shiny shoes, getting underway. Roscoe took one last look at the river and headed for Texas.

E FIRST GOOD WASH Lorena got was in the Nueces River. They had had a bad day trying to fight their way through mesquite thickets, and when they came to the river she just decided to stop, particularly since she found a shady spot where there wasn’t any mesquite or prickly pear.

Jake had no part in the decision because Jake was drunk. He had been steadily drinking whiskey all day as they rode, and was so unsteady in his seat that Lorena wasn’t even sure they were still going in the right direction. But they were ahead of the cattle—from every clearing she could look back and see the dust the herd raised. It was a fair way back, but directly behind them, which made her feel reassured. It would not be pleasant to be lost, with Jake so drunk.

Of course, he only drank because his hand was paining him. Probably he hadn’t gotten all the thorn out—his thumb had turned from white to purple. She was hoping they would strike a town that had a doctor, but there seemed to be nothing in that part of the country but prickly pear and mesquite.

It was bad luck, Jake having an accident so soon after they started, but it was just a thorn. Lorena supposed the worst it could do was fester. But when he got off his horse, his legs were so unsteady he could barely wobble over to the shade.

She was left to tie the horses and make the camp, while Jake lay propped up against the tree and continued to pull on his bottle.

“Dern, it’s hot,” he said, when she stopped for a minute to look at his hand. “I wonder where the boys are camped tonight. We might go over and get up a game of cards.” “You’d lose,” she said. “You’re too drunk to shuffle.” There was a flash of anger in Jake’s eyes. He didn’t like being criticized. But he made no retort.

“I’m going to have a wash,” Lorena said.

“Don’t drown,” he said. “Be a pity if you was to drown on your way to San Francisco.” It was clear he was angry—he hated to be denied, or to see her take the lead over him in anything. Lorena met his anger with silence. She knew he couldn’t stay mad very long.

The river was green and the water cold underneath the surface. She waded in and stood chest-deep, letting the water wash away the layers of dust and sweat. As she was wading out, feeling clean and light, she got a scare: a big snapping turtle sat on the bank right where she had entered the river. It was big as a tub and so ugly Lorena didn’t want to get near it. She waded upstream, and just as she got out heard a shot—Jake was shooting his pistol at the turtle. He walked down to the water, probably just because he liked to see her naked.

“You are a sight,” he said, grinning. Then he shot at the turtle again and missed. He shot four times, all the bullets plopping into the mud. The turtle, unharmed, slid off into the water.

“I was never no shot with my left hand,” Jake said.

Lorena sat down on a grassy place in the sun and let the water drip off her legs. As soon as she sat down Jake came over and began to rub her back. He had a feverish look in his eye.

“I don’t know where I got such a fancy for you,” he said. “You are a sight to see.” He stretched out beside her and pulled her back. It was odd to look up beyond his head and see the white sky above them instead of the cracked boards in the ceiling above her head in the Dry Bean. More than usual, it made her feel not there—far from Jake and what he was doing. Crowded up in a room, it was difficult for her to keep herself—on the grass, with the sky far above, it was easy.

But it was not easy for Jake to finish—he was sicker than she had suspected. His legs were trembling and his body strained at hers. She looked in his face and saw he was frightened—he groaned, trying to grip her shoulder with his sore hand. Then, despite himself, he slipped from her; he tried to push back in, but kept slipping away. Finally he gave up and collapsed on her, so tired that he seemed to pass out.

When he sat up, she eased out from under him. He looked around with no recognition. She dressed and helped him dress, then got him propped against a big shade tree. She made a little fire, thinking some coffee might help him. While she was getting the pot out of the pack she heard a splashing and looked up to see a black man ride his horse into the river from the other side. Soon the horse was swimming, but the black man didn’t seem frightened. The horse waded out, dripping, and the black man dismounted and let it shake itself.

“How do, miss,” the black man said. Jake had fallen into a drowse and didn’t even know the man was there.

“Mister Jake taking a nap?” he asked.

“He’s sick,” Lorena said.

The man walked over and squatted by Jake a moment, then gently lifted his hand. Jake woke up.

“Why, it’s old Deets,” he said. “We’re all right now, Lorie. Deets will see us through.”“I been looking for a good place to cross the herd,” Deets said. “Captain made me the scout.” “Well, he’s right,” Jake said. “We’d all have been lost twenty years ago if it hadn’t been for you.” “You full of fever,” Deets said. “Let me get that sticker out of your hand.” “I thought I got it all the other day,” Jake said. “I’d as soon have you cut my hand off as dig around in there.” “Oh, no,” Deets said. “You got to keep your hand. Might need you to shoot a bandit if one gets after me.” He went back and rummaged in his saddlebag, bringing out a large needle.

“I got to keep a needle,” he said to Lorena. “Got to sew my pants from time to time.” Then, after heating the needle and letting it cool, he carefully probed the swelling at the base of Jake’s thumb. Jake yelped when he began, and then yelped again a little later, but he didn’t resist.

“Goddamn the dern thorns,” he said weakly.