Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“You boys look like a dern bunch of wet chickens,” he said.

It was true that the crew presented an odd appearance, though Newt wouldn’t have compared them to chickens. Most of them were burned a deep brown on the face, neck and hands, but the rest of their bodies, which the sun never touched, were stark white. Bert Borum was the funniest-looking without a shirt, for he had a round fat belly with curly black on it that ran right down into his pants.

Pea Eye walked around in a pair of all-enveloping long johns which he had worn continuously for the last several years. He had his knife and gun belt on over his underwear, in case of sudden attack.

“There ain’t no point in gettin’ too dry,” he pointed out. “We got to cross the river after a while.” “I’d just as soon go around it,” Needle said. “I’ve crossed it many times but I’ve been lucky.” “I’ll be glad to cross it—maybe I’ll get a wash,” Lippy said. “I can’t do much under all this mud.” “Why, that ain’t a river, it’s just a creek,” Dish said. “The last time I crossed it I didn’t even notice it.” “I guess you’ll notice it if five or six of them heifers get on top of you,” Jasper said.

“It’s just the first of many,” Bert said. “How many rivers is it between here and the Yellowstone?” The question set everyone to counting and arguing, for as soon as they decided they had an accurate count, someonewould think of another stream, and there would be a discussion as to whether it should count as a river.

The Rainey boys were sleeping under the wagon. Both had dropped like rocks once they dismounted, oblivious to wet clothes and too tired to be interested in food. The Raineys liked their sleep, whereas the Spettles could do without it.

They seemed unaffected by the strenuous night—they sat apart, as silent as always.

“I wish they’d talk, so we’d know what they were thinking,” Sean said. The silent Spettles made him nervous.

Call was annoyed with Gus, who had still not returned. Pea had reported seeing him just after dawn, riding east in evident health. Call noticed the Texas bull, standing about fifty yards away. He was watching the two pigs, who were rooting around a chaparral bush. Probably they were trying to root out a ground squirrel, or perhaps a rattlesnake. The bull took a few steps toward them, but the pigs ignored him.

Needle Nelson was scared of the bull. The minute he noticed him he went to get his rifle out of his saddle scabbard. “If he comes at me, I aim to shoot him,” Needle said. “He’ll never live to cross the Yellowstone unless he leaves me be.” Lippy, too, disliked the bull, and climbed up on the wagon when he saw how close the bull was.

“He won’t charge the camp,” Call said—though in fact he was not so sure the bull wouldn’t.

“Why, he charged Needle,” Jasper said. “Needle had to get going so fast he near forgot his dingus.” At that there was a general laugh, though Needle Nelson didn’t join in. He kept his rifle propped against a wagon wheel while he was eating.

The bull continued to watch the pigs.

AS SOON AS THE SUN got high enough to be warm, Lorena spread their gear on trees and bushes to dry. It seemed astonishing to her that she was alive and unhurt after such a night. Her spirits rose rapidly and she was even reconciled to having to ride the pack mule. But Jake wouldn’t hear of that. His own spirits were low.

“I hate to squish every move I make,” he said. “It ain’t supposed to get this wet in these parts.” Now that the scare was over, Lorena found that she didn’t mind that things were damp. It beat being hot, in her book.

The only awkward part was that the few foodstuffs they had brought had been soaked. The flour was ruined, the salt a lump. At least the bacon and coffee weren’t ruined, and they had a little of each before Jake rode off to look for her horse.

Once he left, she went down to the river to wash the mud off her legs. Then, since the sun was already hot, she found a grassy place that wasn’t too wet and lay down to have a nap. Looking up at the sky, her spirits rose even more. The sky was perfectly clear and blue, only whitened with sun over to the east. Being outside felt good—she had spent too much time in little hot rooms, looking at ceilings.

While she was resting, who should come riding up with her mare but Gus.

“I hope there’s still some coffee in the pot,” he said, when he dismounted. “I’ve usually had ten biscuits by this time of day, not to mention some honey and a few eggs. Got any eggs, Lorie?” “No, but we got bacon,” she said. “I’ll fry you some.” Augustus looked around with amusement at the muddy camp.

“I don’t see young Jake,” he said. “Is he off preaching a sermon, or did he wash away?” “He went to look for the horse, only I guess he went in the wrong direction,” Lorie said.

Augustus took out his big clasp knife and cut the bacon for her. For a woman who had spent the night being drenched she looked wonderfully fresh, young and beautiful. Her hair was not yet dry; the wet ends were dark. Occasionally a little line of water ran down her bare arm. Bending over the fire, her face was relaxed in a way he had never seen it. The strain that always showed in Lonesome Dove—the strain of always holding herself apart—had disappeared, making her look girlish.

“Why, Lorie,” he said, “I guess traveling agrees with you. You look pretty as the morning.” Lorena smiled. It was funny. Out in the open she felt more at ease with Gus than she had in the saloon.

“How long has Jake been gone?” he asked.

“Not long,” she said. “He rode down the river, looking for tracks.” Augustus laughed. “Why, Jake couldn’t track an elephant if he was more than ten steps behind it,” he said. “I guess we ought to call him back before he gets lost.” He drew his pistol and fired a couple of shots into the air.

A few minutes later, as he was finishing the bacon, Jake came galloping into camp, rifle in hand. Lorena was going around from bush to bush, collecting the clothes, which the hot sun had already dried.