“I should have caught him and cooked him when I had the chance,” Blue Duck said.“He would have killed you,” Call said; annoyed by the man’s insolent tone. “Or I would have, if need be.” Blue Duck smiled. “I raped women and stole children and burned houses and shot men and run off horses and killed cattle and robbed who I pleased, all over your territory, ever since you been a law,” he said. “And you never even had a good look at me until today. I don’t reckon you would have killed me.” Sheriff Owensby reddened, embarrassed that the man would insult a famous Ranger, but there was little he could do about it. Call knew there was truth in what Blue Duck said, and merely stood looking at the man, who was larger than he had supposed. His head was huge and his eyes cold as snake’s eyes.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

Clara didn’t answer. The girls had cooked the meal, and she directed the serving with only a glance now and then.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Not as bad as it was,” July said. “Is Ogallala near here?” “Twenty miles,” the old man said. “I’m Cholo. Come to the house. You must be hungry.” July didn’t argue. He had almost forgotten that people sat at tables, in houses, to eat. He had lived so long on half-cooked bacon, or half-cooked game, that he had become shy at the thought of sitting at a proper table. He didn’t look proper, he knew.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“I’d like to see her throw rocks better than Frog can shoot,” Roy Suggs said. “I guess Frog could cool her off.” Frog Lip didn’t say much. He was a black man, but Jake didn’t notice anyone giving him many orders. Little Eddie Suggs cooked the supper, such as it was, while Frog Lip sat idle, not even chopping wood for the fire. The horse he rode was the best in the group, a white gelding. It was unusual to see a bandit who used a white horse, for it made him stand out in a group. Frog Lip evidently didn’t care.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

Luke kept climbing up on the wagon and putting his hands on her, but Elmira kept saying no. She dreamed of Dee occasionally, but other than that she had no interest in men. She thought about telling Zwey that Luke was bothering her, but Zwey was not an easy man to talk to. Anyway, it might start a fight, and Luke might win, in which case her goose would be cooked. Zwey was strong but slow, and Luke didn’t look like a man who would fight fair.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“I wisht they hadn’t killed that dog,” he said. “I liked that dog. It was them Kiowas that killed it, not the Mexicans. Six Kiowas.” “Well, I got six bullets,” Augustus said. “Maybe I’ll send the rascals where your dog went.” “Them Kiowas shot Bob’s horse,” Aus added. “That’s how come they caught him. Built a fire under him and cooked him.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Buenos dias,” Po Campo said to the group at large. “If that donkey ever gets here we’ll have breakfast.” “Why can’t we have it now?” Augustus asked. “You’re here and I see you brought the eggs.” “Yes, but I need my skillet,” Po Campo said. “I’m glad I spotted those plovers. It’s not every day I find this many plover’s eggs.” “It’s not every day I eat them,” Augustus said. “What’d you say your name was?” “Po Campo,” the old man said. “I like this boy here. He helped me gather these eggs, although he’s bunged up from gettin’ throwed.” “Well, I’m Augustus McCrae,” Augustus said. “You’ll have to do the best you can with this rough old crew.” Po Campo whistled at his donkey. “Plover’s eggs are better than quail’s eggs,” he said. “More taste, although quail’s eggs aren’t bad if you boil them and let them cool.” He went around the camp shaking hands with each man in turn. By the time he had finished meeting the crew the donkey had arrived, and in a remarkably short time Po Campo had unpacked a huge skillet, made himself a little grill with a couple of branding irons laid across two chunks of firewood, and had scrambled up sixty or seventy plover’s eggs. He sprinkled in a few spices from his pack and cooked the eggs until they could be cut in slices, like an egg pie. After sampling his own wares and grunting cryptically, he gave each man a slice. Some, like Jasper, were reluctant to sample such exotic fare, but once they had eaten a bite or two their reluctance disappeared.“Dern, this is the best bird-egg pie I ever tasted,” Jasper admitted. “It’s better than hen’s eggs.” “Don’t you even know an omelet when you see one, Jasper?” Augustus said. He was miffed to see the new cook become a hero in five minutes, whereas he had cooked excellent biscuits for years and drawn little praise.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“This is a free country we live in,” Augustus reminded them. “Anyone who don’t like this coffee can spit it out and make their own.” No one cared to do anything that extreme. Since Call didn’t believe in stopping for a meal at noon, breakfast was a necessity, whoever cooked it.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

Augustus usually cooked breakfast, catering to his own interest entirely and drawing many complaints because he favored scrambling eggs—a style several hands, Dish Boggett in particular, found revolting.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

However, when she got them cooked, he ate one and was very pleased with the taste. Then he and the girl divided the rabbit and ate it to the last bite, throwing the bones into the creek. The combination of rabbit and frog innards had caused quite a congregation of turtles to collect.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Got a rabbit and a frog,” she said. “You want ’em fried up?” “I never et no frog,” Roscoe said. “Who eats frogs?” “You just eat the legs,” the girl said. “Gimme your knife.” Roscoe handed it over. The girl rapidly skinned the cottontail, which was indeed plump. Then she whacked the knife into the frog, threw the top half into the creek and peeled the skin off the legs with her teeth. Roscoe had a few simple utensils in his saddlebag, which she got without a word from him. Roscoe assumed the stings must be affecting him because he felt like he was in a dream. He wasn’t asleep, but he felt no inclination to move. The top half of the frog, its dangling guts pale in the water, drifted over to shore. Two gray turtles surfaced and began to nibble at the guts. Roscoe mainly watched the turtles while the girl made a little fire and cooked the rabbit and the frog legs. To his surprise, the frog legs kept hopping out of the pan as if the frog was still alive.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

Call was not especially surprised. “All right, Bol, do you want a horse?” he asked. The old man had cooked for them for ten years. He deserved a mount.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Well, you don’t,” Jake said. “I never seen a woman keep so quiet.” He spoke hotly—indeed, had been angry at her most of the trip. He was spoiling for a battle of some kind, but Lorena didn’t want to battle. She had nothing against Jake, but she didn’t feel she had to jump every time he whistled, which seemed to be what he expected. Jake was very fussy, complaining about the way she cooked the bacon or laid out the blankets. She ignored him. If he didn’t like the way she did things, he was free to do them different—but he never did them different. He just fussed at her.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

Elmira got up and cooked them breakfast, but the food did nothing to ease the heaviness of heart which July felt. All night he had hoped she might turn to him, it being his last night at home for a while—but she hadn’t. Once he had accidentally touched her, turning on the pallet they slept on, and she had stiffened. It was clear to July that she wasn’t going to miss him, though he was certainly going to miss her. It was peculiar, but she showed no sign of being sorry to see Joe go, either. Yet Joe was her son and he was her husband—if she didn’t love her husband and her son, who did she love? For all she knew they would be gone for months, and yet she was just as brisk with them as if it was an ordinary day. She saw to it that Joe drew another bucket of water before he left, and then jumped on July for nearly forgetting his jaundice medicine.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

When they got there she had already cooked the supper—just bacon and cornbread—and was sitting up in the loft with her feet dangling. She liked to sit and let her feet dangle down into the cabin. Elmira liked being alone and spent most of her time in the loft, occasionally doing a little sewing.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Why, Jake, you look plumb grumpy,” Augustus said, when Jake sat down and began to eat. “Honest work don’t agree with you, I guess.” “No, I’m about as cooked as this beef,” Jake said.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“Go get a Mexican woman,” she said. “Why waste your money?” “Because you’re my preference,” Augustus said. “I’ll tell you what, let’s cut the cards. If you’re high, I’ll give you the money and forget the poke. If I’m high, I’ll give you the money and you give me the poke.” Lorena thought she might as well. After all, it was just gambling, which was what Jake did. If she won it would all seem like a joke, something that Gus had cooked up to pass the time. Besides, she would have fifty dollars and could send to San Antonio for some new dresses, so Jake wouldn’t be so critical of her wardrobe. She could tell him she beat Gus to the tune of fifty dollars, which would astonish him, since he played with Gus all the time and seldom won more than a few dollars.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

Augustus cooked his biscuits outside for three reasons. One was because the house was sure to heat up well enough anyway during the day, so there was no point in building any more of a fire than was necessary for bacon and eggs. Two was because biscuits cooked in a Dutch oven tasted better than stove-cooked biscuits, and three was because he liked to be outside to catch the first light. A man that depended on an indoor cookstove would miss the sunrise, and if he missed sunrise in Lonesome Dove, he would have to wait out a long stretch of heat and dust before he got to see anything so pretty.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

“A man that sleeps all night wastes too much of life,” he often said. “As I see it the days was made for looking and the nights for sport.” Since sport was what he had been brooding about when he got home, it was still in his thoughts when he arose, which he did about 4 A.M., to see to the breakfast—in his view too important a meal to entrust to a Mexican bandit. The heart of his breakfast was a plenitude of sourdough biscuits, which he cooked in a Dutch oven out in the backyard. His pot dough had been perking along happily for over ten years, and the first thing he did upon rising was check it out. The rest of the breakfast was secondary, just a matter of whacking off a few slabs of bacon and frying a panful of pullet eggs. Bolivar could generally be trusted to deal with the coffee.
>> Lonesome Dove 孤鸽镇

- Ah... - ( laughs ) - Because... - ( indistinct ) ...there's nothing worse than a cooked one.
>> Fart: A Documentary Movie Script

What kind of dinosaur they cooked up in that lab.
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He crosses to a kitchen counter where A HOME COOKED MEAL on a simple plate has been covered and set aside for him.
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