Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Newt, why don’t you take this pony?” he said, looking at the boy. “He’s a pacer—you won’t find no easier gait. And the rest of you boys divide what money’s in my pocket.”He smiled at the thought of how surprised they would be when they saw how much he had—it was that lucky week in Fort Worth he had to thank for it.

“All right, Jake, many thanks,” Newt said, his voice cracking.

Before he got the thanks out, Jake Spoon had quickly spurred his pacing horse high back in the flanks with both spurs. The rope squeaked against the bark of the limb. Augustus stepped over and caught the swinging body and held it still.

“I swear,” Pea Eye said. “He didn’t wait for you, Gus.” “Nope, he died fine,” Augustus said. “Go dig him a grave, will you, Pea?” They buried Jake Spoon by moonlight on the slope above the creek and, after some discussion, cut down Roy Suggs and little Eddie, plus the old man Dan Suggs had killed, a drummer named Collins with a wagonful of patent medicines. There was a good lantern in the wagon, which, besides the medicines, contained four white rabbits in a cage. The old man had run a medicine show, evidently, and did a little magic. The wagon contained a lot of cheaply printed circulars which advertised the show.

“Headed for Denver, I guess,” Call said.

Dan Suggs they left hanging. Augustus took one of the circulars and wrote “Dan Suggs, Man Burner and Horse Thief on the back of it. He rode over and pinned the sign to Dan Suggs’s shirt.

“That way if a lawman comes looking for him he’ll know he can quit the search,” Augustus said.

They rounded up Wilbarger’s horses and unhitched the two mules that had been pulling the little wagon. Augustus wanted to take the white rabbits, but the cage was awkward to carry. Finally Deets put two in his saddlebags, and Augustus took the other two. He also sampled the patent medicines and took several bottles of it.

“What do you think it will cure, Gus?” Pea Eye asked.

“Sobriety, if you guzzle enough of it,” Augustus said. “I expect it’s just whiskey and syrup.” The wagon itself was in such poor repair that they decided to leave it sit. Call broke up the tailgate and made a little marker for Jake’s grave, scratching his name on it with a pocketknife by the light of the old man’s lantern. He hammered the marker into the loose-packed dirt with the blunt side of a hatchet they had found in the wagon. Augustus trotted over, bringing Call his mare.

“I’m tired of justice, ain’t you?” he asked.

“Well, I wish he hadn’t got so careless about his company,” Call said. “It was that that cost him.” “Life works out peculiar,” Augustus said. “If he hadn’t talked you into making this trip, we wouldn’t have had to hang him today. He could be sitting down in Lonesome Dove, playing cards with Wanz.” “On the other hand, it was gambling brought him down,” Call said. “That’s what started it.” Deets and Pea Eye and Newt held the little horse herd. Newt was leading the horse Jake had left him. He didn’t know if it was right to get on him so soon after Jake’s death.

“You can ride the pacing pony,” Deets said. “Mister Jake meant you to have it.” “What will I do with his saddle?” Newt asked. “He didn’t say anything about the saddle.” “It’s better than that old singletree of yours,” Pea Eye said. “Take it—Jake’s through with it.” “Don’t neither of you want it?” Newt asked. It bothered him to take it, for Jake hadn’t mentioned it.

“Oh, no,” Deets said. “Saddle goes with the horse, I guess.” Nervous and a little reluctant, Newt got on Jake’s horse. The stirrups were too long for him, but Deets got down and quickly adjusted them. As he was finishing the lacing, Call and Augustus rode by. Deets took the bridle off Newt’s other horse and turned him, still saddled, into the horse herd. No one seemed to have anything to say.

They started Wilbarger’s horses west across the dark prairie in the direction the cattle should be. Captain Call led, Augustus and Deets rode to the sides, and Pea Eye and Newt brought up the rear. Newt had to admit that Jake’s horse had a beautiful smooth gait, but even so he wished he hadn’t changed horses—not so soon. It seemed wrong to be enjoying Jake’s horse, and his fine saddle too, after what had happened. But he was tired, so tired he didn’t even feel the sadness for very long. Soon his head dropped and he sat on the pacing gelding, sound asleep. Pea Eye noticed and trotted close beside him so he could catch the weary boy if he started to fall off.

CLARA WAS MILKING A MARE when Sally, her oldest girl, came racing down to the lots.

“Somebody’s coming, Ma,” Sally said, excitement in her face. Sally was ten years old and sociable—she loved visitors.

The young mare had dropped her foal early and the colt was too weak to stand up, which was why she was milking. The colt would suck milk off a rag, and Clara was determined to save it if she could. When Sally ran up, the mare flinched, causing Clara to squirt a stream of milk along her own arm.

“Haven’t I told you to walk up to horses?” Clara said. She stood up and wiped the milk off her dripping arm.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” Sally said, more excited than sorry. “See, there’s a wagon coming.” Then Betsey, only seven, came flying out of the house, her brown hair streaming, and raced down to the corrals. Betsey liked company as much as her sister.

“Who’s coming?” she asked.

The wagon was barely visible coming along the Platte from the west.

“I thought I told you girls to churn,” Clara said. “Seems like all you do is hang out the window watching for travelers.” Of course, no one could blame them, for company was rare. They lived twenty miles from town, and a bad town at that—Ogallala. If they went in, it was usually for church, but they seldom made the trip. Their company mostly consisted of men who came to trade horses with Bob, her husband, and now that he was injured, few came. They had just as many horses—more, in fact—and Clara knew more about them than Bob had ever learned, but there were few men disposed to bargain with a woman, and Clara was not disposed to give their horses away. When she named a price she meant it, but usually men got their backs up and wouldn’t buy.

“I expect they’re just buffalo hunters,” Clara said, watching the distant wagon creep over the brown plains. “You girls won’t learn much from them, unless you’re interested in learning how to spit tobacco.” “I ain’t,” Betsey said.

“You aren’t, you mean,” Sally said. “I thought all the buffalo were dead—how come they still hunt them?” “Because people are slow learners, like your sister,” Clara said, grinning at Betsey to mitigate the criticism.