“This is a worrisome situation,” Augustus said. “I probably ought to track that man or send Deets to do it. Deets is a better tracker than me. Jake ain’t back and I ain’t got your faith in him. I best send one of the hands to guard you until we know where that bandit’s headed.” “Don’t send Dish,” Lorena said. “I don’t want Dish coming around.” Augustus chuckled. “You gals are sure hard on the boys that love you,” he said. “Dish Boggett’s got a truer heart than Jake Spoon, although neither one of them has much sense.” “Send me the black man,” she said. “I don’t want none of them others.” “I might,” Augustus said. “Or I might come back myself. How would that suit you?” Lorena didn’t answer. She felt the anger coming back. Because of some woman named Clara she wasn’t getting to San Francisco, when otherwise Gus would have taken her. She sat silently on the rock.
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“Dern, I wonder where that greasy bandit was going,” he said. “I’ve heard of him killing in Galveston; maybe that’s where he’s going. I wish now I’d have shot him while he was drinking.” He tried again to get Lorena to come over to the cow camp, but Lorena just shook her head. She wasn’t going anywhere, and what’s more, she was through talking. It did no good, never had.
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“No, I’ve shot many a sassy bandit with this pistol,” he said. “I’m glad to have my hat, though. It don’t do to go into a scrape bareheaded.” The rider was close enough by then that she too could see the occasional flash of sun on the saddle. A few minutes later he rode into camp. He was a big man, riding a bay stallion. Gus had been right: he was an Indian. He had long, tangled black hair and wore no hat—just a bandana tied around his head. His leather leggings were greasy and his boots old, though he wore a pair of silver spurs with big rowels. He had a large knife strapped to one leg and carried a rifle lightly across the pommel of his saddle.
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“Now look at that,” Augustus said. “The dern people are making towns everywhere. It’s our fault, you know.” “It ain’t our fault and it ain’t our business, either,” Call said. “People can do what they want.” “Why, naturally, since we chased out the Indians and hung all the good bandits,” Augustus said. “Does it ever occur to you that everything we done was probably a mistake? Just look at it from a nature standpoint. If you’ve got enough snakes around the place you won’t be overrun with rats or varmints. The way I see it, the Indians and the bandits have the same job to do. Leave ’em be and you won’t constantly be having to ride around these dern settlements.” “You don’t have to ride around them,” Call said. “What harm do they do?” “If I’d have wanted civilization I’d have stayed in Tennessee and wrote poetry for a living,” Augustus said. “Me and you done our work too well. We killed off most of the people that made this country interesting to begin with.”Call didn’t answer. It was one of Gus’s favorite themes, and if given a chance he would expound on it for hours. Of course it was nonsense. Nobody in their right mind would want the Indians back, or the bandits either. Whether Gus had ever been in his right mind was an open question.
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“I heared a shot,” Lippy said. “About that time them mules took to running. I guess a bandit shot at us.” “No competent bandit would waste a bullet on you or Bol either,” Augustus said. “There ain’t no reward for either of you.” “It sounded like a shotgun,” Bill Spettle volunteered.
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He made his first camp barely ten miles from town. What mostly worried him wasn’t that he was too close to the town but that he was too close to the pigs. For all he knew, the pigs were still tracking him; the thought that they might arrive just after he went to sleep kept him from getting to sleep until almost morning. Roscoe was a town man and had spent little time sleeping in the woods. He slept blissfully on the old settee in the jail, because there you didn’t have to worry about snakes, wild pigs, Indians, bandits, bears or other threats—just the occasional rowdy prisoner, who could be ignored.
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“Why, it’s old Deets,” he said. “We’re all right now, Lorie. Deets will see us through.”“I been looking for a good place to cross the herd,” Deets said. “Captain made me the scout.” “Well, he’s right,” Jake said. “We’d all have been lost twenty years ago if it hadn’t been for you.” “You full of fever,” Deets said. “Let me get that sticker out of your hand.” “I thought I got it all the other day,” Jake said. “I’d as soon have you cut my hand off as dig around in there.” “Oh, no,” Deets said. “You got to keep your hand. Might need you to shoot a bandit if one gets after me.” He went back and rummaged in his saddlebag, bringing out a large needle.
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“That simple,” Call said. “I’ll scare off bandits and you can talk to Indian chiefs.” “You boys let these cattle string out,” he said to the men. “We ain’t in no big hurry.” Augustus had ridden through the cattle and had come back with a count of slightly over twenty-six hundred.
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“Come on, if you’re coming, Bol,” he said. “No reason for you to go north and drown.” Bol was indeed feeling terrible. They only talked of going, not of coming back. It might be he would never see Mexico again, or his lovely daughters, if he left. And yet, when he looked across the river and thought of his village, he just felt tired. He was too tired to deal with a disappointed woman, and much too tired to be a bandit.
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“Look what rode up,” Pea Eye said. “I near mistook him for a bandit since it was pitch-dark.” “’I god, Soupy, you should have waited till we lit the lanterns,” Augustus said, standing up to shake hands. “A sharp bunch of gun hands like us, you’re lucky not to be shot.” “Aw, Gus,” Soupy said, not knowing what else to say. He had always been nonplused by Gus’s witticisms.
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“He kilt that bandit,” Lippy said. “Hit him right in the Adam’s apple, I’ve heard.” “The truth of that is, the bandit rode into the bullet,” Augustus said. “He was unlucky, like the dentist.” Lorena just sat. The situation was so unexpected that she could not think about it clearly. Of course she had no intention of going upstairs with Gus, but he couldn’t just be scared off with a look like some cowboy. Gus was not afraid of looks—or of Jake either, it seemed.
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You wouldn’t even know how to have fun with it. You’d probably use it to buy gravestones for old bandits you happened to like.” “If you drown in the Republican River, I’ll give your part to Jake,” Call said. “I guess he’d know how to spend it.’” With that he mounted and rode off, meaning to find Jasper Fant and hire him, if he really wanted to work.BY THE TIME Jake Spoon had been in Lonesome Dove ten days, Lorena knew she had a job to do—namely the job of holding him to his word and making sure he took her to San Francisco as he had promised to do.
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“First you run out of Indians, now you’ve run out of bandits, that’s the point,” Augustus said. “You’ve got to have somebody to outwit, don’t you?” “I don’t know why I’d need anybody when I’ve got you,” Call said.
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“I didn’t know you liked that old bandit so much,” Augustus said.
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The problem was that Dish could not believe in the swarm of bandits. Under the red afterglow the town was still as a church. Now and then there was the bleat of a goat or the call of a bullbat, but that was all. It was so peaceful that Dish soon convinced himself there was no need for two men to waste the whole evening in a dusty corral. The bandits were theoretical, but Lorena was real, and only two hundred yards away.
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“Keep riding,” Augustus said. “Let ’em catch us, if they’re men enough. And if they do, try not to shoot up all your ammunition. We might need some tomorrow.” With that he turned and, in a few minutes, with the inexpert help of the Irishmen, got the hundred horses moving north in the fading light.THE MINUTE they got the herd penned, Dish felt himself getting restless. He had a smoke, leaning on the gate of the big corral. He knew he had a clear duty to stay with the horses. Though the darky was obviously a superior hand, he could hardly be expected to hold the place against a swarm of bandits.
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“Back to town,” Augustus said. “Be the safest place for the good stock, I figure.” “Why, damn,” Jake said, plainly chagrined. “You could have sent me back. I’m the one that’s worn to a frazzle.” “Somebody’s got to help me protect these boys,” Augustus said. “As I recall, you made a name for yourself by shooting Mexican bandits—I thought you’d welcome the chance to polish your reputation a little.” “I’d rather shoot you,” Jake said, pretty grumpily. “You’ve caused me more hell than all the bandits in Mexico.” “Now Jake, be fair,” Augustus said. “You was just hoping to go back and get your bean in that girl again. I feel young Dish should have his shot before you ruin her completely.” Jake snorted. The young cowboy was the least of his worries.
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“Yes, and the horses too,” Augustus said. “All the bandits was dead drunk by the time we got there. These Irish boys can’t maintain much of a pace riding bareback so we helped ourselves to a few saddles and the best of the nags.” “Them horses wouldn’t make good soap,” Dish said, looking at the horses Augustus had brought back.
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Overhearing that snatch of conversation was an accident Pea was slow to forget. For a month or two after it happened he went around feeling nervous, expecting life to change in some bold way. And yet nothing changed at all. They all soon went up the river to try and catch some bandits raiding out of Chihuahua, and the Captain, so far as he could tell, was the same old Captain. By the time they came back, Maggie had had her child, and soon after, Jake Spoon moved in with her for a while. Then he left and Maggie died and Gus went down one day and got Newt from the Mexican family that had taken him upon Maggie’s death.
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Augustus laughed. “I guess it ain’t hard to miss Galveston if you start from Ireland,” he said. “However, it takes skill to miss the dern United States entirely and hit Pedro Flores’ ranch. I’d like to meet men who can do that.” “You’ll get your chance,” Call said. “They don’t have mounts, unless you count a mule and a donkey. I guess we better help them out of their fix.” “I’m surprised they ain’t naked, too,” Augustus said. “I’d had thought some bandit would have stolen their clothes by now.” “Have you counted these horses, or have you been sitting here jawing?” Call said brusquely. The night was turning out to be more complicated and less profitable than he had hoped.
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No sooner had it occurred to him that there might be more bandits than he began to wish it hadn’t occurred to him. The thought was downright scary. There were lots of low bushes, mostly chaparral, between him and the hut, and there could be a bandit with a Bowie knife behind any one of them. Pea had often explained to him how effective a good bowie knife was in the hands of someone who knew where to stick it—descriptions of stickings came back to his mind as he eased forward. Before he had gone ten steps he had become almost certain that his end was at hand. It was clear to him that he would be an easy victim for a bandit with the least experience. He had never shot anyone, and he couldn’t see well at night. His own helplessness was so obvious to him that he quickly came to feel numb—not too numb to dread what might happen, but too dull-feeling to be able to think of a plan of resistance.
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At that point the Captain and Deets walked off, leaving Newt alone with his nervousness and a vast weight of responsibility. It occurred to him that he was closest to their own horses. If the men were well-trained bandits, they might like nothing better than to steal three such horses. The singing might be a trick, a way of throwing the Captain off guard.
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Dish Boggett had ridden off the worst of his drunk, though there were moments when he still felt queasy. Dish had spent most of his life on a horse and could ride in any condition short of paralysis; he had no trouble keeping his place in the group. In time his head quit throbbing and he felt well enough to take an interest in the proceedings at hand. He was not troubled by any sense of being lost, or any apprehension about Mexican bandits. He was confident of his mount and prepared to outrun any trouble that couldn’t be otherwise handled. His main trouble was that he was riding just behind Jake Spoon and thus was reminded of what had happened in the saloon every time he looked up. He knew he had become a poor second in Lorena’s affections to the man just in front of him, and the knowledge rankled. The one consoling thought was that there might be gunplay before the night was over—Dish had never been in a gun battle but he reasoned that if bullets flew thick and fast Jake might stop one of them, which could change the whole situation. It wasn’t exactly that Dish hoped he’d be killed outright—maybe just wounded enough that they’d have to leave him someplace downriver where there might be a doctor.
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THE FIRST DIFFERENCE Newt noticed about being grown up was that time didn’t pass as slow. The minute they crossed the river the Captain struck southeast in a long trot, and in no time the land darkened and they were riding by moonlight, still in a long trot. Since he had never been allowed in Mexico, except once in a while in one of the small villages down the river when they were buying stock legitimately, he didn’t really know what to expect, but he hadn’t expected it to be quite so dark and empty. Pea Eye and Mr. Gus were always talking about how thick the bandits were, and yet the seven of them rode for two hours into country that seemed to contain nothing except itself. They saw no lights, heard no sounds—they just rode, across shallow gullies, through thinning chaparral, farther and farther from the river. Once in a while the Captain stepped up the pace and they traveled in a short lope, but mostly he stuck with the trot. Since Mouse had an easy trot and a hard lope, Newt was happy with the gait.
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Call was quick to see the point. “You don’t know yourself,” he said. “It could say anything. For all you know it invites people to rob us.” Augustus got a laugh out of that. “The first bandit that comes along who can read Latin is welcome to rob us, as far as I’m concerned,” he said. “I’d risk a few nags for the opportunity of shooting at an educated man for a change.” After that, the argument about the motto, or the appropriateness of the sign as a whole, surfaced intermittently when there was nothing else to argue about around the place. Of the people who actually had to live closest to the sign, Deets liked it best, since in the afternoon the door it was written on afforded a modest spot of shade in which he could sit and let his sweat dry.
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