Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Don’t you want to quit?” he asked again.

Jennie shook her head. “I like to see the boys coming in,” she said. “People are always coming in, here in Dodge. The cowboys are nicer than the buffalo hunters, but even the buffalo hunters was people.” She thought a moment. “I couldn’t sit around in a house all day,” she said. “If someone was ever to marry me I expect I’d run off, too. The time I get blue is the winter—there ain’t no people coming in.” July thought of Ellie, sitting in the cabin loft all day, dangling her legs—no people came in at all except him and Joe, and Roscoe once in a while when they caught a catfish. Hearing Jennie talk put his life with Ellie in a very different light.

“You ought to go on back home,” Jennie said. “Even if you catch her it won’t do no good.” July feared it wouldn’t, but he didn’t want to go back. He just stood there. Something in his manner made Jennie suddenly impatient.

“I got to go,” she said. “If you ever do find Ellie, tell her I still got that blue dress she gave me. If she ever wants it back she’ll have to write.” July nodded. Jennie gave him a final look, half pitying, half exasperated, and hurried on down the stairs.

July felt sad when she left. He had the feeling that an opportunity had been missed, though he didn’t know what kind of opportunity. The streets were full of cowboys going from one saloon to the next. There were horses tied to every hitch rail.

He went to the livery stable and saddled his new horse. The old man who ran the stable was sifting with his back against a barrel of horseshoe nails, drinking now and then from a jug he had between his legs. July paid him, but the old man didn’t stand up.

“Which outfit are you with?” the old man asked.

“I’m with myself,” July said.

“Oh,” the man said. “A small outfit. This is a funny time of night to be starting out, ain’t it?” “I guess it is,” July said, but he started anyway.

ONCE THEY GOT WEST, beyond the line of the grasshopper plague, the herd found good grass, the skies stayed clear for nearly two weeks, and the drive went the smoothest it had gone. The cattle settled down and moved north toward the Arkansas without stampedes or other incidents, except for one—a freak accident that cost Newt his favorite horse, Mouse.

Newt wasn’t even riding Mouse when the accident occurred. He had traded mounts for the day with Ben Rainey. The day’s work was over and Ben had ridden into the herd with Call’s permission to cut out a beef for the cook. He rode up to a little bridled cow, meaning to take her yearling calf, and while he was easing the calf away from her the cow turned mean suddenly and hooked Mouse right back of the girth. She was a small cow with unusually sharp horns, and her thrust was so violent that Mouse’s hindquarters were lifted off the ground. Ben Rainey was thrown, and had to scramble to keep from being hooked himself. Soupy Jones saw it happen. He loped in and soon turned the mad cow, but the damage was done. Mouse was spurting blood like a fountain from his abdomen.

“Get Deets,” Soupy said. Deets was the best horse doctor in the outfit, though Po Campo was also good. Both men came over to look at the wound and both shook their heads. Newt, on the other side of the herd, saw people waving at him, and loped over. When he saw Mouse gushing blood he felt faint, from the shock.

“I don’t know what went wrong with her,” Ben Rainey said, feeling guilty. “I wasn’t doin’ nothing to her. She just hooked the horse. Next thing I knew she was after me. She has them little sharp twisty horns.” Mouse’s hind legs were quivering.

“Well, you better put him down,” Call said, looking at Newt. “He’s finished.” Newt was about to take the reins when Dish Boggett intervened. “Oh, now, Captain,” he said quietly, “a feller oughtn’t to have to shoot his own horse when there’s others around that can do it as well.” And without another word he led the bleeding horse a hundred yards away and shot him. He came back, carrying the saddle. Newt was very grateful—he knew he would have had a hard time shooting Mouse.

“I wish now we’d never traded,” Ben Rainey said. “I never thought anything would happen.” That night there was much discussion of the dangers of handling cattle. Everyone agreed there were dangers, but no one had ever heard of a small cow hooking a horse under the girth before and killing it. Newt traded shifts with the Irishman and then traded again with his replacement, four hours later. He wanted to be in the dark, where people couldn’t see him cry. Mouse had never behaved like other horses, and now he had even found a unique way to die. Newt had had him for eight years and felt his loss so keenly that for the first time on the drive he wished it wouldn’t get light so soon.

But the sun came up beautifully, and he knew he would have to go into breakfast. He rubbed the tear streaks off his face as best he could and was about to head for the wagon when he saw Mr. Gus standing outside his little tent, waving at him. Newt rode over. As he passed the open flap of the tent he saw Lorena sitting on a pallet just inside. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and she looked very beautiful.

Augustus had made a fire of buffalo chips and was complaining about it. “Dern, I hate to cook with shit,” he said. “I hear you lost your pony.” “Yes. Ben was riding him. It wasn’t his fault, though,” Newt said.

“Get down and drink a cup of coffee to cut the grief,” Augustus said.

As he was drinking the coffee, Lorena came out of the tent. To Newt’s surprise, she smiled at him—she didn’t say anything, but she smiled. It was such a joy that he immediately started feeling better. All the way from Texas he had been worrying secretly that Lorena would blame him for her kidnap. After all, he had been supposed to watch her the night she got taken. But she obviously bore him no grudge. She stood in front of the tent, looking at the beautiful morning.

“I’ve got so I like this looking far,” she said. Augustus handed her a cup of coffee and she held it in both hands, the smoke drifting in front of her face. Newt was sure he had never seen anyone as beautiful as her—that he was getting to share breakfast with her was like a miracle. Dish or any of the other boys would give their spurs and saddles to be doing what he was doing.

She sat down in front of the tent and blew on her coffee until it was cool enough to drink. Newt drank his and felt a lot better. Poor Mouse was lost, but it was a wonderful day, and he was enjoying the rare privilege of having breakfast with Mr. Gus and Lorena. Across the plain they could see the herd, strung out to the north. The wagon and the remuda were a mile behind them. Po Campo, a tiny dot on the plain, walked well behind the wagon.

“That old cook is a sight,” Augustus said. “I guess he plans to walk all the way to Canada.” “He likes to watch the grass,” Newt explained. “He’s always finding stuff. He’ll cook most anything he picks up.” “Does he cook grass?” Lorena asked, interested. She had never seen Po Campo close up but was intrigued by the sight of the tiny figure walking day after day across the great plain.“No, but he cooks things like grasshoppers once in a while,” Newt said.

Lorena laughed—a delightful sound to Newt.

As she blew on her coffee, she looked at Gus. She had spent many hours looking at him since he had rescued her. It was comfortable traveling with him, for he never got angry or scolded her, as other men had. In the weeks when she trembled and cried, he had expressed no impatience and made no demands. She had become so used to him that she had begun to hope the trip would last longer. It had become simple and even pleasant for her. No one bothered her at all, and it was nice to ride along in the early summer sun, looking at the miles and miles of waving grass. Gus talked and talked. Some of what he said was interesting and some of it wasn’t, but it was reassuring that he liked to talk to her.

It was enough of a life, and better than any she had had before. But she could not forget the other woman Gus had mentioned. The other woman was the one thing he didn’t talk about. She didn’t ask, of course, but she couldn’t forget, either. She dreaded the day when they would come to the town where the other woman lived, for then the simple life might end. It wouldn’t if she could help it, though. She meant to fight for it. She had decided to tell Gus she would marry him before they got to the town.