Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Dangerous to write to two women at the same time,” he said. “Especially when I’m this lightheaded. I might not be as particular in my sentiments as women expect a fellow to be.” But he wrote on. Then Call saw his hand drop and thought he was dead. He wasn’t, but he was too weak to fold the second note. Call folded it for him.“Woodrow, quite a party,” Augustus said.

“What?” Call asked.

Augustus was looking out the window. “Look there at Montana,” he said. “It’s fine and fresh, and now we’ve come and it’ll soon be ruint, like my legs.” Then he turned his head back to Call. “I near forgot,” he said. “Give my saddle to Pea Eye. I cut his up to brace my crutch, and I wouldn’t want him to think ill of me.” “Well, he don’t, Gus,” Call said.

But Augustus had closed his eyes. He saw a mist, red at first but then as silvery as the morning mists in the valleys of Tennessee.

Call sat by the bed, hoping he would open his eyes again. He could hear Gus breathing. The sun set, and Call moved back to the chair, listening to his friend’s ragged breath. He tried to remain alert, but he was tired. Some time later the doctor came in with a lamp. Call noticed blood dripping off the sheet onto the floor.

“That bed’s full of blood and your friend’s dead,” the doctor said.

Call felt bad for having dozed. He saw that one of Gus’s notes to the women was still on the bed. There was blood on it, but not much. Call wiped the note carefully on his pants leg before going downstairs.

WHEN CALL TOLD Dr. Mobley that Gus wanted to be transported to Texas to be buried, the little doctor merely smiled.

“People have their whimsies,” he said. “Your friend was a crazy patient. I imagine we’d have quarreled if he’d lived.” “I imagine,” Call said. “But I intend to honor the wish.” “We’ll pack him in charcoal and salt,” the doctor said. “It’ll take a barrel or two. Luckily there’s a good salt lick not far from here.” “I may need to leave him all winter,” Call said. “Is there a place I could store him?” “My harness shed would do fine,” the doctor said. “It’s well ventilated, and he’ll keep better in the cool. Do you want his other leg?” “Well, where is it?” Call asked, startled.

“Oh, I’ve got it,” the doctor said. “Contrary as he was, he might have asked me to sew it back on. It’s a rotten old thing.” Call went outside and walked down the empty street to the livery stable. The doctor had told him to rest and had offered to locate the undertaker himself.

The Hell Bitch looked up when he came into the livery stable, where he had put her. He felt an impulse to saddle her and ride out into the country, but weariness overcame him and he threw his bedroll on some straw and lay down. He couldn’t sleep, though. He regretted not trying harder to save Gus. He should have disarmed him at once and seen that the other leg was amputated. Of course, Gus might have shot him, but he felt he should have taken the risk.

It seemed he only dozed a minute when the sun streamed into the livery stable. Call didn’t welcome the day. All he had to think about were mistakes, it seemed—mistakes and death. His old rangering gang was gone, only Pea Eye left, of all of them. Jake was dead in Kansas, Deets in Wyoming, and now Gus in Montana.

An old man named Gill owned the livery stable. He had rheumatism and walked slowly and with a limp. But he was a kindly old man, with a rusty beard and one milky eye. He came limping in not long after Call woke up.

“I guess you need a coffin,” the old man said. “Get Joe Veitenheimer, he’ll make you a good one.” “It will have to be sturdy,” Call said.

“I know,” the old man said. “That’s all the talk is in this town today, about the feller who wants to be hauled all the way to Texas to be stuck in the ground.” “He considered it his home,” Call said, seeing no reason to go into the part about the picnics.

“My attitude is, why not, if he can find someone to tote him,” old man Gill said. “I’d be buried in Georgia, if I could have my way, but it’s a far piece to Georgia and nobody’s gonna tote me. So I’ll be buried up here in this cold,” he added. “I don’t like this cold. Of course, they say when you’re dead the temperature don’t concern you, but who knows the truth on that?” “I don’t,” Call said.

“People got opinions, that’s all they’ve got,” the old man grumbled. “If somebody was to go and come back, now that’s an opinion I’d listen to.” The old man forked the Hell Bitch a little hay. When he stood watching her eat, the mare snaked out her neck and tried to bite him, causing the old man to stumble backward and nearly stumble over his own pitchfork.

“Dern, she ain’t very grateful,” he said. “Struck at me like a snake, and I just fed her. Typical female. My wife done exactly the same a hunnert times. Buried her in Missouri, where it’s considerable warmer.” Call found the carpenter and ordered a coffin. Then he borrowed a wagon and team and a big scoop shovel from a drunken man at the hardware store. It struck him that the citizenry of Miles City seemed to drink liquor day and night.

Half the town was drunk at dawn.

“The lick’s about six miles north,” the hardware-store man said. “You can find it by the game trails.” Sure enough, several antelope were at the salt lick, and he saw the tracks of buffalo and elk. He worked up a sweat scooping the salt into the wagon.

When he got back to town the undertaker had finished with Gus. The undertaker was a tall man, with the shakes—his whole body trembled, even when he was standing still. “It’s a nervous disease,” he said. “I took it when I was young, and had it ever since. I put extra fluid in your friend, since I understand he’ll be aboveground for a while.” “Yes, until next summer,” Call said.

“I don’t know how he’ll do,” the undertaker said. “If he weren’t a human you could smoke him, like a ham.” “I’ll try salt and charcoal,” Call said.When the coffin was ready, Call bought a fine bandana to cover Gus’s face with. Dr. Mobley brought in the leg he had removed, wrapped in some burlap and soaked in formaldehyde to cover the smell. A bartender and the blacksmith helped pack the charcoal in. Call felt very awkward, though everyone was relaxed and cheerful. Once Gus was well covered, they filled the coffin to the top with salt and nailed it shut. Call gave the extra salt to the drunk at the hardware store to compensate him a little for the use of his wagon. They carried the coffin around and put it in the doctor’s harness shed on top of two empty barrels.

“That’ll do fine,” Dr. Mobley said. “He’ll be there, and if you change your mind about the trip, we’ll just bury him. He’ll have lots of company here. We’ve got more people in the cemetery already than we’ve got in the town.” Call didn’t like the implication. He looked at the doctor sternly. “Why would I change my mind?” he asked.

The doctor had been nipping at a flask of whiskey during the packing, and was fairly drunk. “Dying people get foolish,” he said. “They forget they won’t be alive to appreciate the things they ask people to do for them. People make any kind of promise, but when they realize it’s a dead creature they made the promise to, they usually squirm a little and then forget the whole business. It’s human nature.” “I’m told I don’t have a human nature,” Call said. “How much do I owe you?” “Nothing,” the doctor said. “The deceased paid me himself.” “I’ll get him in the spring,” Call said.

When he got back to the livery stable he found old man Gill drinking from a jug. It reminded him of Gus, for the old man would hook one finger through the loop of the jug and throw back his head and drink. He was sitting in the wheelbarrow, his pitchfork across his lap, glaring at the Hell Bitch.