Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

He offered Lorena the bottle again, but she just lay there.

“Why won’t you drink?” Jake asked. “Are you too good to get drunk?” “I don’t want to,” she said. “You’ll be drunk enough for both of us.” “By God, I guess I’ll find out if there’s anything you’ll still do,” Jake said, yanking open his pants and rolling onto her.

Lorena let him, thinking it might put him in a better humor. She watched the stars. But when Jake finished and reached for his bottle again, he seemed no happier. She reached for the bottle and took one swallow—her throat was dry. Jake wasn’t angry anymore, but he looked sad.

“Lie down and sleep,” Lorena said. “You don’t rest enough.” Jake was thinking that Austin was only two days away. Maybe he could take Lorena to Austin and sneak off and leave her.

Once he rejoined the boys, there would be little she could do about it. After all, she would be safer there than she would be on the trail. Beautiful as she was, she would do well in Austin.

Yet she was uncommonly beautiful. It had always been his trouble—he liked the beauties. It gave her a power he didn’t appreciate, otherwise he would never have been talked into a trip that was little more than absurd. He was slowed to the pace of Call’s cow herd and tied to a woman who attracted every man she saw. Even then, he didn’t know if he could leave her. For all her difficult ways, he wanted her and couldn’t tolerate the thought of her taking up with Gus or anyone else. He felt she would stick by him if things got bad. He didn’t like being alone or having to take orders from Call.

“Have you ever been to a hanging?” he asked.

“No,” Lorena said. The question surprised her.

Jake offered her the bottle and she took another swallow.

“I expect they’ll hang me someday,” he said. “I was told by a fortune-teller that such would be my fate.” “Maybe the fortune-teller didn’t know,” Lorie said.

“I’ve seen many a hanging,” Jake said. “We hung plenty of Mexicans when we were Rangers. Call never wasted no time when it came to hangings.” “He wouldn’t, I guess,” Lorena said.

Jake chuckled. “Did he ever come visit you all that time you were there?” he asked.

“No,” Lorena said.

“Well, he had a whore once,” Jake said. “He tried to sneak around, but me and Gus found out about it. We both used to spark her once in a while, so we both knew. I guess he thought he got away with it.” Lorena knew the type. Many men came to her hoping no one would know.

“Her name was Maggie,” Jake said. “She was the one had little Newt. I was gone when she died. Gus said she wanted to marry Call and give up the life, but I don’t know if it’s true. Gus will say anything.” “So whose boy is he?” Lorena asked. She had seen the boy often, looking at her window. He was old enough to come to her, but he probably had no money, or else was just too shy.

“Newt? Why, who knows?” Jake said. “Maggie was a whore.” Then he sighed and lay down beside her, running his hand up and down her body. “Lorie, me and you was meant for feather beds,” he said. “We wasn’t meant for these dusty blankets. If we could find a nice hotel I’d show you some fun.” Lorena didn’t answer. She would rather keep traveling. When Jake had his feel he went to sleep.

BEFORE THE HERD HAD PASSED San Antonio they nearly lost Lippy in a freak accident with the wagon. It was a hot day and the herd was moseying along at a slow rate. The mosquitoes were thinning a little, to everyone’s satisfaction, and the cowboys were riding along half asleep in their saddles when the trouble started.

The herd had just crossed a little creek when Newt heard stock running and looked back to see the wagon racing for the creek like Comanches were after it. Bol was not on the seat, either—the mules ran unchecked. Lippy was on the seat, but he didn’t have the reins and couldn’t stop the team.

Jim Rainey was in the rear, and, thinking to be helpful, turned back to try and head the mules. In fact, the mules refused to be headed, and all Jim accomplished was to turn them out of the easy track where the herd had crossed, which caused them to strike the creek at a place where the bank dropped off about three feet. Newt saw there was going to be a terrible wreck, but short of shooting the mules, had no way to stop it. What he couldn’t understand was why Lippy didn’t jump. He sat on the seat, frozen and helpless, as the mules raced right off the cutbank.

As they were going off, Newt saw that the tail of Lippy’s old brown coat had gotten pinched in the wagon seat—which explained his not having jumped. The wagon tipped straight down, bounced once, and turned completely over just as it hit the water. The mules, still hitched to it, fell backwards on top of the mess. All four wagon wheels were spinning in the air when Newt and the Raineys jumped off their horses. The trouble was, they had no idea what to do next.

Fortunately Augustus had seen the commotion and in a minute was in the water, on old Malaria. He threw a loop over one of the spinning wheels and spurred the big horse vigorously, pulling the wagon to a tilt on one edge.

“Fish him out, boys, otherwise we’ll have to go all the way to Montana without no pianer player,” he said—though privately he doubted his efforts would do any good. The wagon had landed smack on top of Lippy. If he wasn’t drowned he probably had a broken neck.

When the wagon tilted, Newt saw Lippy’s legs. He and the Raineys waded in and tried to get him loose, but the coat was still pinched in the seat. All they could do was get his head above water, though his head was so covered with mud that it was difficult at first to know if he was dead or alive. Fortunately Pea soon rode up and cut the coat loose with his bowie knife.

“He’s a mudhead, ain’t he,” Pea said, carefully wiping his knife on his pants leg. “Now I guess he’ll be mad at me for ten years because I ruined his coat.” Lippy was limp as a rag and hadn’t moved a muscle. Newt felt sick to his stomach. Once more, on a perfectly nice day with everything going well, death had struck and taken another of his friends. Lippy had been part of his life since he could remember. When he was a child, Lippy had occasionally taken him into the saloon and let him bang on the piano. Now they would have to bury him as they had buried Sean.

Strangely, neither Pea nor Mr. Gus was much concerned. The mules had regained their feet and stood in the shallow water, swishing their tails and looking sleepy. Call rode up about that time. He had been at the head of the herd, with Dish Boggett.