Watching Woodrow Call awkwardly handling his fork caused her to repent a little of her harshness when he arrived, but she didn’t apologize. She had stopped expecting July to contribute to the conversation, but she resented his silence nevertheless. Once Martin spat out a bite of perfectly good food and Clara looked at him sharply and said “You behave,” in a tone that instantly put a stop to his fretting. Martin opened his mouth to cry but thought better of it and chewedmiserably on his spoon until the meal was finished.
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She thought the conversation a good sign. Maybe Lorie was going to come out of it. But it was the last conversation they had for months. Lorena lived through the winter in silence, only speaking to Betsey, who remained as loyal as ever.
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“Or his dern pigs, if they’re so smart,” Soupy said. Both pigs were under the wagon. Pea Eye, who slept in the wagon, had to listen to their grunts and snores all night.Only the Irishman seemed sympathetic to Gus’s stance. “Why, it would only have left half of him,” he said. “Who wants to be half of himself?” “No, half would be about the hips,” Jasper calculated. “Half would be your nuts and all. Just your legs ain’t half.” Dish Boggett took no part in the conversation. He felt sad about Gus. He remembered that Gus had once lent him money to visit Lorena, and this memory lent another tone to his sadness. He had supposed Gus would go back and visit Lorena, but now, clearly, he couldn’t. She was there in Nebraska, waiting for Gus, who would never come.
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“There he is,” Dish said suddenly. “If it ain’t Pea.” Dish was almost stunned with surprise. Pea was no longer walking. He was sitting down in the grass, naked, nodding his head as if in conversation with somebody. When he heard them he looked around, as if not particularly surprised, but when they dismounted there were tears in his eyes.
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Augustus didn’t answer. He watched the tops of the weeds, patiently. It was no time for hurry, much less for conversation. Patience was an Indian virtue. He, himself, didn’t have it in day-to-day life, but he could summon it when it seemed essential. Then he heard a movement behind him, and glanced around quickly, to see if Pea had suddenly decided to take a stroll. When he did he saw the edge of a rifle extending an inch or two from the weeds, pointed not athimself but at Pea. He immediately fired twice into the weeds and an Indian flopped over as a fish might flop.
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“You don’t want to make too many mistakes in this part of the country,” Augustus said. “You’ll end up bearshit.” “Take Pea,” Call said. “Pea can follow orders.” “Yes, that’s what he can do,” Augustus said. “I guess I’ll take him, though he won’t provide much conversation.” Pea Eye was not enthusiastic about going on a scout with Gus, but since the Captain told him to, he tied his bedroll on his saddle and got ready. Other than securing his bedroll, his preparations consisted mainly of sharpening his knife. One thing Pea Eye firmly believed was that it was foolish to start on a trip without a sharp knife. Inevitably on a trip there were things that needed cutting or skinning or trimming. Once his knife was sharp, Pea Eye was ready, more or less. He knewhe wouldn’t get much relaxation on the trip because he was traveling with Gus, and Gus talked all the time. It was hard to relax when he had to be constantly listening. Besides, Gus was always asking questions which were hard to understand, much less answer.
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Finally he decided to send Augustus. “I hate to give you the first look, but somebody’s got to look,” he said. “Would you want to go?” “Oh, sure,” Augustus said. “I’d be happy to get away from all this tedious conversation. Maybe I’ll trot through this Miles City community and see if anyone stocks champagne.” “Take the look around first, if you can be bothered,” Call said. “I doubt the main street of Miles City would make a good ranch, and I doubt you’ll get any farther, once you spot a saloon. We need to find a place and get some shelters built before winter hits. Take a man with you, in case you get into trouble,” Call suggested.
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“That old turkey pecked me,” Sally said. “A wolf got him and I’m glad.” Clara overheard part of the conversation. “I’m getting some more turkeys pretty soon,” she said. “Lorie’s so good with the poultry, I think we might raise a few.” The poultry chores had been assigned to Lorena—mainly just feeding the twenty-five or thirty hens and gathering the eggs. At first it seemed that such a small household couldn’t possibly need so many eggs, and yet they absorbed them effortlessly. July Johnson was a big egg eater, and Clara, who had a ferocious sweet tooth, used them in the cakes she was always making. She made so many cakes that everyone got tired of them except her.
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“Well, my lord,” he said, from time to time. “My lord.” An Indian boy had killed him, the Captain said. Deets was still wearing a pair of the old patchy quilt pants that he had favored for so long. Pea Eye scarcely knew what to think. He and Deets had been the main hired help on the Hat Creek outfit ever since there had been a Hat Creek outfit. Now it was down to him. It would mean a lot more chores for him, undoubtedly, for the Captain only trusted the two of them with certain chores. He remembered that he and Deets had had a pretty good conversation once. He had been vaguely planning to have another one with him if the chance came along. Of course that was off, now. Pea Eye went over and leaned against a wagon wheel, wishing he could stop feeling weak in the legs.
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“Well, I hope we get there before the rivers start icing,” Pea said. “I always worry about that thin ice.” With that he turned away, and the lengthy conversation was over.
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Deets finished trimming the horse’s hooves and wiped the sweat off his face with his shirtsleeve. Pea Eye stood silently nearby. Though the two of them had soldiered together for most of their fives, they had never really had a conversation.
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“Well, time’s changed us,” he said, feeling very uneasy in the conversation. Lorena was looking at him solemnly. He had had women look at him solemnly before and it always made him uncomfortable—it meant they were primed to detect any lies.
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“I notice you’ve taken a fancy to young Mr. Johnson,” Augustus said. “I expect if I did stay around he’d beat me out.” “He’s nearly as dull as Woodrow Call, but he’s nicer,” Clara said. “He’ll do what he’s told, mostly, and I’ve come to appreciate that quality in a man. I could never count on you to do what you’re told.” “So do you aim to marry him?” “No, that’s one of the things I’m through with,” Clara said. “Of course I ain’t quite—poor Bob ain’t dead. But if he passes away, I’m through with it.” Clara smiled. Augustus chuckled. “I hope you ain’t contemplating an irregular situation,” he said.Clara smiled. “What’s irregular about having a boarder?” she asked. “Lots of widows take boarders. Anyway, he likes my girls better than he likes me. He might be ready to marry again by the time Sally’s of age.” At that moment Sally was chattering away to young Newt, who was getting his first taste of conversation with a sprightly young lady.
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Newt, who had enjoyed the picnic mightily, fell into conversation with Sally and rode beside the wagon. Lorena didn’t seem concerned—she and Betsey had taken to one another at once, and were chatting happily.
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“Just hold him or give him to Miss Wood,” Clara said. “I can’t hold him and cook too.” Call, July and Cholo had walked off to the lots, for Call wanted to buy a few horses and anyway didn’t care to sit in a kitchen and try to make conversation.
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“Why, Sheriff Johnson,” Augustus said. “I guess, as they say, it’s a small world.” “Just to you, Gus, you’ve met everybody in it now, I’m sure,” Clara said. She glanced at July, who so far hadn’t spoken. He was watching her and it struck her that it might be because she was still holding Gus’s arm. It made Clara want to laugh again. In minutes, the arrival of Gus McCrae had mixed up everyone, just as it usually had in the past. It had always been a peculiarity of her friendship with Augustus. Nobody had ever been able to figure out whether she was in love with him or not. Her parents had puzzled over the question for years—it had replaced Bible arguments as their staple of conversation.
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“You take ’em, Buf,” Mary said. “I’ll take the one that come in first.” “Well, maybe you will and maybe you won’t,” Buf said. “I seen him first, I oughta have dibs.” Newt almost began to wish he had followed the example of Pete Spettle. It was a hot night, and close in the hall. He felt he might be sick. Also, from listening to the conversation he realized they were the two whores Dish had described. The big one was the Buffalo Heifer, and the other one was the one Dish said treated him nice. The Buffalo Heifer still had her large hand on his shoulder as she looked the group over. She had a black tooth right in front of her mouth. Her large body seemed to give off waves of heat, like a stove, and the toilet water she wore was so strong it made him queasy.
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“You were headed this way when you spotted us,” Augustus said. “When’d you change your mind?” Dixon, the big scout, was listening to the conversation with contempt in his expression. The contempt was as much for Weaver as for them.
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“Deets, have you ever spent much time wanting what you know you can’t have?” he asked, figuring to get the conversation off to a brisk start.
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“What will you do with me?” she had asked. “Leave me in the tent when you go see her?” “No, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll take you along and introduce you properly. You ain’t just baggage, you know. Clara probably don’t see another woman once a month. She’ll be happy for feminine conversation.” “She may know what I am, though,” Lorena said.
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“I’m not sick,” July said. “I must have slept too hard.” “I expect you did something too hard,” she said. “Stay and make conversation with these girls. That’s harder work than gelding horses.” July liked the girls, though he had not said much to them. They seemed fine girls to him, always chattering. Mostly they fought over who got to tend the baby.
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“Only unhappy,” Patrick Arandel said. He felt sorry for the young man. Five idle young whores were listening to the conversation, while one of their friends lay in labor in the next room.
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“He’s as loyal as any dog,” he whispered to her, when she was well enough to understand conversation. For a while she had just stared back at him without comprehension when he spoke to her. He meant Zwey, of course.
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As he neared Nebraska, the plains took on a browner look. Though he was fairly sure now he wasn’t going to die, he kept having spells of lightheadedness in which his vision wavered and he tended to run off at the mouth. At night he would wake and find himself in the middle of a conversation with Roscoe—it embarrassed him, though no one was around to hear.
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“I guess we got us a boy, Bob,” she said. The doctors had told her to talk to him—they thought it might make a difference, but Clara found that the only difference was that she got depressed. The depressing aspect of it was that it reminded her too clearly of their years together, for she had liked to chatter, and Bob never talked. She had talked at him for years and got no answers. He only spoke if money was concerned. She would talk for two hours and he would never utter a sentence. So far as conversation went, the marriage was no different than it had ever been—it was just easier for her to have her way about money, something that also struck her as sad.
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