Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

The woman seemed to derive a certain amusement from the way he hobbled around trying to gain control of his limbs.

“Who did they send you off to catch?” she asked. “Or did they just decide you wasn’t worth your salary and run you out of town?” Roscoe felt aggrieved. Even strangers didn’t seem to think he was worth his salary, and yet in his view he did a fine job of keeping the jail.

“I’m after July Johnson,” he said. “His wife run off.” “I wish she’d run this way,” the woman said. “I’d put her to work helping me clear this field. It’s slow work, doing it alone.” And yet the woman had made progress. At the south edge of the field, where Memphis was tied, forty or fifty stumps were lined up.

“Where’s your menfolks?” Roscoe asked.

“Dead or gone,” the woman said. “I can’t find no husband that knows how to stay alive. My boys didn’t care for the work, so they left about the time of the war and didn’t come back. What’s your name, Deputy?” “Roscoe Brown,” Roscoe said.

“I’m Louisa,” the woman said. “Louisa Brooks. I was born in Alabama and I wish I’d stayed. Got two husbands buried there and there’s another buried on this property here. Right back of the house, he’s buried, that was Jim,” she added. “He was fat and I couldn’t get him in the wagon so I dug the hole and there he lies.” “Well, that’s a shame,” Roscoe said.

“No, we didn’t get on,” Louisa said. “He drank whiskey and talked the Bible too, and I like a man that does one thing or the other. I told him once he could fall dead for all I care, and it wasn’t three weeks before the fool just did it.” Though Roscoe had been hopeful of staying the night, he was beginning to lose his inclination. Louisa Brooks was almost as scary as wild pigs, in his view. The mules drug the stump over to where the others were and Roscoe walked over and helped Louisa untie it.

“Roscoe, you’re invited to supper,” she said, before he could make up his mind to go. “I bet you can eat better than you chop.” “Oh, I ought to get on after July,” Roscoe said, halfheartedly. “His wife run off.” “I meant to run off, before Jim went and died,” Louisa said. “If I had, I wouldn’t have had to bury him. Jim was fat. I had to hitch a mule to him to drag him out of the house. Spent all day pulling up stumps and then had to work half the nightplanting a husband. How old are you getting to be?” “Why, forty-eight, I guess,” Roscoe said, surprised to be asked.

Louisa took off her hat and fanned herself with it as they followed the mules down one edge of the field. Roscoe led his horse.

“The skinny ones last longer than the fat ones,” Louisa said. “You’ll probably last till you’re about sixty.” “Or longer, I hope,” Roscoe said.

“Can you cook?” Louisa asked. She was a fair-looking woman, though large.

“No,” Roscoe admitted. “I generally eat at the saloon or else go home with July.” “I can’t neither,” Louisa said. “Never interested me. What I like is farming. I’d farm day and night if it didn’t take so much coal oil.” That seemed curious. Roscoe had never heard of a woman farmer, though plenty of black women picked cotton during the season. They came to a good-sized clearing without a stump in it. There was a large cabin and a rail corral. Louisa unharnessed the mules and put them in the pen.

“I’d leave ’em out but they’d run off,” she said. “They don’t like farming as much as I do. I guess we’ll have corn bread for supper. It’s about all I eat.” “Why not bacon?” Roscoe asked. He was quite hungry and would have appreciated a good hunk of bacon or a chop of some kind. Several chickens were scratching around the cabin—any one of them would have made good eating but he didn’t feel he ought to mention it, since he was the guest.

“I won’t have no pigs around,” Louisa said. “Too smart. I won’t bother with animals I have to outwit. I’d rather just farm.” True to her word, Louisa served up a meal of corn bread, washed down with well water. The cabin was roomy and clean, but there was not much food in it. Roscoe was puzzled as to how Louisa could keep going with nothing but corn bread in her. It occurred to him that he had not seen a milk cow anywhere, so evidently she had even dispensed with such amenities as milk and butter.

She herself munched a plate of corn bread contentedly, now and then fanning herself. It was hot and still in the cabin.

“I doubt you’ll catch that sheriff,” she said, looking Roscoe over.

Roscoe doubted it too, but felt that he had to make a show of trying, at least. What was more likely was that if he rode around long enough July would eventually come and find him.

“Well, he went to Texas,” he said. “Maybe I’ll strike someone that’s seen him.” “Yes, and maybe you’ll ride right into a big mess of Comanche Indians,” Louisa said. “You do that and you’ll never enjoy another good plate of corn bread.” Roscoe let the remark pass. The less said about Indians the better, in his view. He munched corn bread for a while, preferring not to think about any of the various things that might happen to him in Texas.

“Was you ever married?” Louisa asked.

“No, ma’am,” Roscoe said. “I was never even engaged.” “In other words you’ve went to waste,” Louisa said.

“Well, I’ve been a deputy sheriff for a good spell,” Roscoe said. “I keep the jail.” Louisa was watching him closely in a way that made him a little uncomfortable. The only light in the cabin came from a small coal-oil lamp on the table. A few small bugs buzzed around the lamp, their movements casting shadows on the table. The corn bread was so dry that Roscoe kept having to dip dipperfuls of water to wash it down.

“Roscoe, you’re in the wrong trade,” Louisa said. “If you could just learn to handle an ax you might make a good farmer.” Roscoe didn’t know what to say to that. Nothing was less likely than that he would make a farmer.

“Why’d that sheriff’s wife run off?” Louisa asked.

“She didn’t say,” Roscoe said. “Maybe she said to July but I doubt it, since he left before she did.” “Didn’t like Arkansas, I guess,” Louisa said. “He might just as well let her go, if that’s the case. I like it myself, though it ain’t no Alabama.” After that the conversation lagged. Roscoe kept wishing there was something to eat besides corn bread, but there wasn’t.

Louisa continued to watch him from the other side of the table.