Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“She’s barely a mile from here,” Augustus said. “He can find her.” “I would have been glad to take on the chore,” Dish pointed out.

“I’ve no doubt you would,” Augustus said. “Then Jake would have showed up and you two would have a gunfight. I doubt you could hit one another, but you might hit a horse or something. Anyway, we can’t spare a top hand like you,” he added, thinking the compliment might soothe Dish’s feelings. It didn’t. He immediately walked off in a sulk.

Captain Call rode in just as Newt was leaving.

“So where’s the new cook?” Augustus asked.

“He’ll be along tomorrow,” Call said. “Why are you sending the boy off?” Newt heard the question and felt unhappy for a moment. Almost everybody called him Newt, but the Captain still called him “the boy.” “Lorie can’t be left by herself tonight,” Augustus said. “I don’t reckon you seen Jake.” “I never hit the right saloon,” Call said. “I was after a cook. He’s there, though. I heard his name mentioned several times.” “Hear anyone mention Blue Duck?” Augustus asked.

Call was unsaddling the mare. At the mention of the Comanchero he stopped.

“No, why would I?” he asked.

“He stopped and introduced himself,” Augustus said. “Over at Jake’s camp.” Call could hardly credit the information. He looked at Gus closely to see if it was some kind of joke. Blue Duck stole white children and gave them to the Comanches for presents. He took scalps, abused women, cut up men. What he didn’t steal he burned, always fleeing west onto the waterless reaches of the llano estacado, to unscouted country where neither Rangers nor soldiers were eager to follow. When he and Call quit the Rangers, Blue Duck had been a job left undone.

Stories of his crimes trickled as far down as Lonesome Dove.

“You seen him?” Call asked. In all these years he himself had never actually seen Blue Duck.

“Yep,” Augustus said.

“Maybe it wasn’t him,” Call said. “Maybe it was somebody claiming to be him. This ain’t his country.” “It was him,” Augustus said.

“Then why didn’t you kill him?” Call asked. “Why didn’t you bring the woman into camp? He’ll butcher her and the boy too if he comes back.” “That’s two questions,” Augustus said. “He didn’t introduce himself at first, and once he did, he was ready. It would have been touch and go who got kilt. I might have got him or at least wounded him, but I’d have probably got wounded in the process and I don’t feel like traveling with no wound.” “Why’d you leave the woman?” “She didn’t want to come and I don’t think he’s after her,” Augustus said. “I think he’s after horses. I sent Deets to track him—he won’t get Lorie with Deets on his trail, and if he’s circling and means to make a play for our horses, Deets will figure it out.” “Maybe,” Call said. “Maybe that killer will figure it out first and lay for Deets. I’d hate to lose Deets.” Pea Eye, who had been standing around waiting for the Irishman to cook the evening’s meat, suddenly felt his appetite going. Blue Duck sounded just like the big Indian of his dreams, the one who was always in the process of knifing him when he woke up.

Call turned the Hell Bitch loose in the remuda and came back to the cook wagon. Augustus was eating a beefsteak and abig plate of beans.

“Is this cook you hired a Mexican?” Augustus asked.

Call nodded. “I don’t like sending that boy off to sit up with a whore,” he said.

“He’s young and innocent,” Augustus said. “That’s why I picked him. He’ll just moon over her a little. If I’d sent one of the full-grown rowdies, Jake might have come back and shot him. I doubt he’d shoot Newt.” “I doubt he’ll even come back, myself,” Call said. “That girl ought to have stayed in Lonesome Dove.” “If you was a young girl, with life before you, would you want to settle in Lonesome Dove?” Augustus asked. “Maggie done it, and look how long she lasted.” “She might have died anyplace,” Call said. “I’ll die someplace, and so will you—it might not be no better place than Lonesome Dove.” “It ain’t dying I’m talking about, it’s living,” Augustus said. “I doubt it matters where you die, but it matters where you live.” Call got up and went to catch his night horse. Without thinking, he caught the Hell Bitch again, though he had just turned her loose. One of the Spettle boys looked at him curiously and said nothing. Call saddled the Hell Bitch anyway and rode around the herd to see that all was in place. The cattle were calm, most of them already bedded down. Needle Nelson, perennially sleepy, dozed in his saddle.

In the fading light, Call saw a horseman coming. It was Deets, which made him feel better. More and more it seemed Deets was the one man in the outfit he could have a comfortable word with from time to time. Gus turned every word into an argument. The other men were easy to talk to, but they didn’t know anything. If one stopped to think about it, it was depressing how little most men learned in their lifetimes. Pea Eye was a prime example. Though loyal and able and brave, Pea had never displayed the slightest ability to learn from his experience, though his experience was considerable.

Time and again he would walk up on the wrong side of a horse that was known to kick, and then look surprised when he got kicked.

Deets was different. Deets observed, he remembered; rarely would he volunteer advice, but when asked, his advice was always to the point. His sense of weather was almost as good as an Indian’s, and he was a superlative tracker.

Call waited, anxious to know where Blue Duck had gone, or whether it had really been him. “What’s the news?” he asked.

Deets looked solemn. “I lost him,” he said. “He went southeast about ten miles. Then I lost him. He went into a creek and never came out.” “That’s odd,” Call said. “You think it was Blue Duck?” “Don’t know, Captain,” Deets said.

“Do you think he’s gone, then?” Call asked.

Deets shook his head. “Don’t think so, Captain,” he said. “We better watch the horses.” “Dern,” Call said. “I thought we might have a peaceful night for once.” “Full moon coming,” Deets said. “We can spot him if he bothers us tonight.” They sat together and watched the moon rise. Soon it shed a pale, cool light over the bed-grounds. The Texas bull began to low. He was across the herd, in the shadows, but in the still air his lowing carried far across the little valley, echoing off the limestone bluffs to the west.

“Well, go get some grub,” Call said to Deets. “I’m going over to them bluffs. He might have a gang or he might not. You get between our camp and Jake’s camp so you can help if he comes for the girl. Be watchful.” He loped over to the bluffs, nearly a mile away, picked his way to the top and spread his bedroll on the bluff’s edge. In the clear night, with the huge moon, he could see far across the bedded herd, see the bright wick of the campfire, blocked occasionally when someone led a horse across in front of it.