Lonesome Dove Part 51

"I guess he took Joe's horse," July said.

"Yes, and his life," Augustus said. "I'm sure he had more interest in the horse."

"If you're going after him I'd like to try and help," July said.

"I got nothing to go after him on," Augustus said. "He's better mounted than us, and this ain't no place to go chasing a man who's got you out-horsed. He's headed for the Purgatory this time, I bet."

"The what?" July asked.

"It's a river up in Colorado," Augustus said. "He's probably got another gang there. We best let him go this time."

"I hate to," July said. He had begun to imagine confronting the man and shooting him down.

"Son, this is a sad thing," Augustus said. "Loss of life always is. But the life is lost for good. Don't you go attempting vengeance. You've got more urgent business. If I ever run into Blue Duck I'll kill him. But if I don't, somebody else will. He's big and mean, but sooner or later he'll meet somebody bigger and meaner. Or a snake will bite him or a horse will fall on him, or he'll get hung, or one of his renegades will shoot him in the back. Or he'll just get old and die."

He went over and tightened the girth on his saddle.

"Don't be trying to give back pain for pain," he said. "You can't get even measures in business like this. You best go find your wife."

July looked across the river at the unending prairie. If I find her she'll hate me worse now, he thought.

Augustus watched him mount, thinking how young he looked. He couldn't be much over twenty. But he was old enough to have found a wife and lost her-not that it took long to lose one, necessarily.

"Where is this Adobe Walls place?" July asked.

"It ain't far down the river," Augustus said, "but I'd pa.s.s by it if I were you. Your wife ain't there. If she went up the Arkansas I'd imagine she's up in Kansas, in one of the towns."

"I would hate to miss her," July said.

If she's at Adobe Walls, you'd do better to miss her, Augustus thought, but he didn't say it. He shook hands with the young sheriff and watched him mount and ride across the river. Soon he dipped out of sight, in the rough breaks to the north. When he reappeared on the Vast plain, he was only a tiny speck.

Augustus went to Lorena. He had spent most of the night simply holding her in his arms, hoping that body heat would finally help her stop trembling and shaking. She had not said a word so far, but she would look him in the face, which was a good sign. He had seen women captives too broken even to raise their eyes.

"Come on, Lorie," he said. "Let's take a little ride."

She stood up obediently, like a child.

"We'll just ride over east a ways and see if we can find us some shade," Augustus said. "Then we'll loll around for a couple of weeks and let Call and the boys catch up with us. They'll be coming with the cattle pretty soon. By then I expect you'll be feeling better."

Lorena didn't answer, but she mounted without help and rode beside him all day.

59.

CALL EXPECTED GUS to be back in a day or two. Maybe he'd have the girl and maybe he wouldn't, but it was not likely he'd be gone long. Gus was a hard traveler and usually overtook whoever he was after promptly, arrested them or dispatched them, and got back.

For a day or two he didn't give Gus's absence much thought. He was irritated with Jake Spoon for having been so troublesome and undependable, but then, he partly had himself to blame for that. He should have set Jake straight before they left Lonesome Dove-informed him in no uncertain terms that the girl wasn't coming.

When the third day pa.s.sed and Gus wasn't back, Call began to be uneasy. Augustus had survived so much that Call didn't give his safety much thought. Even men accustomed all their lives to sudden death didn't expect it to happen to Gus McCrae. The rest of them might fall by the wayside, their mortality taking gentle or cruel forms, but Gus would just go on talking.

Yet five days pa.s.sed, and then a week, and he didn't return. The herd crossed the Brazos without incident, and then the Trinity, and there was still no Gus.

They camped west of Fort Worth and Call allowed the men to go into town. It would be the last town they would see until they hit Ogallala, and it might be that some of them wouldn't live to hit Ogallala. He let them go carouse, keeping just the boys, to help him hold the herd. Dish Boggett volunteered to stay, too-he still had his thoughts on Lorena and was not about to leave camp while there was a chance that Gus would bring her back.

"Dern, he's behaving like a deacon," Soupy said. "I expect to hear him preach a sermon any day."

Needle Nelson took a more charitable view. "He's just in love," he said. "He don't want to go tras.h.i.+ng around with us."

"By G.o.d, he'll wish he had before we hit Nebraska," Jasper Fant said. "You don't see me waiting. I'd like to drink a couple of more bottles of good whiskey before I have to cross any more of them cold rivers. They got real cold rivers up north, I hear. Some of them even got ice in them, I guess."

"If I was to see a chunk of ice in a river, I'd rope it and we could use it to water our drinks," Bert Borum said.

Bert was inordinately proud of his skill with a rope, the men thought. He was indeed quick and accurate, but the men were tired of hearing him brag on himself and were constantly on the lookout for things he could rope that might cause him to miss. Once Bert had silenced them for a whole day by roping a coyote on the first throw, but they were not the sort of men to keep silent long.

"Go rope that dern bull, if you're so good at roping," Needle Nelson said, referring to the Texas bull. The bull seemed to resent it when the cowboys sat in groups-he would position himself fifty yards away and paw the earth and bellow. Needle was in favor of shooting him but Call wouldn't allow it.

"I can rope the son of a b.i.t.c.h fast enough," Bert said. "Getting the rope off would be the problem."

"Getting you buried would be the problem if you was to rope that bull," Dish said. The fact that he chose to restrain himself and not get drunk in Fort Worth increased his sense of superiority somewhat, and many of the crew had had about all of Dish's sense of superiority as they could take, particularly since he was restraining himself for love of a young woman who clearly didn't give a hoot about him.

"If you're so in love, why didn't you go bring her back and leave Gus here?" Jasper asked. "Gus is a d.a.m.n sight more entertaining than you are, Dish."

At that Dish turned and jumped him but Call soon broke it up. "If you want to fight, collect your wages first," he said.

The Rainey boys were feeling grownup and wanted Newt to talk the Captain into letting them go to town. "I wanta try a wh.o.r.e," Ben Rainey said.

Newt declined to make the request.

"Just ask him," Ben said.

"I'll ask him when we get to Nebraska," Newt said.

"Yeah, and if I drown in the Red River I won't ever get to try no wh.o.r.e," Ben said.

Call began to be very worried about Gus. It was unusual for him to be gone so long with only one man to chase. Of course, Blue Duck might have had a gang waiting, and Gus might have ridden into an ambush. He had not done any serious fighting in years. Even Pea Eye had begun to worry about him.

"Here we are all the way to Fort Worth and Gus still ain't back," Pea Eye said.

Po Campo didn't go to Fort Worth either. He sat with his back to one of the wheels of the wagon, whittling one of the little female figures he liked to carve. As he walked along during the day he kept his eye out for promising chunks of wood and, if he saw one, would pitch it in the wagon. Then at night he whittled. He would start with a fairly big chunk, and after a week or so would have it whittled into a little wooden woman about two inches high.

"I hope he comes back," Po Campo said. "I enjoy his acquaintance, although he doesn't like my cooking."

"Well, we wasn't used to eating bugs and such when you first came," Pea Eye said. "I expect he'll work up a taste for it when he comes back. It never used to take him so long to catch a bandit."

"He won't catch Blue Duck," Po Campo said.

"Why, do you know the man?" Call asked, surprised.

"I know him," Po Campo said. "There is no worse man. Only the devil is worse and the devil won't bother us on this trip."

That was surprising talk. Call looked at the old man closely, but Po Campo was just sitting by the wagon wheel, wood shavings all over his short legs. He noticed Call's look and smiled.

"I lived on the llano llano once," he said. "I wanted to raise sheep but I was foolish. The wolves killed them and the Comanches killed them and the weather killed them. Then Blue Duck killed my three sons. After that I left the once," he said. "I wanted to raise sheep but I was foolish. The wolves killed them and the Comanches killed them and the weather killed them. Then Blue Duck killed my three sons. After that I left the llano llano."

"Why don't you think Gus will catch him?" Call asked.

Po Campo considered the question. Deets was sitting near him. He loved to watch the old man whittle. It seemed miraculous to Deets that Po could take a plain chunk of wood and make it into a little woman figure. He watched to see if he could figure out how it happened, but so far he had not been able to. Po Campo kept turning the wood in his hand, the shavings dropping in his lap, and then finally it would be done.

"I didn't like the horse Captain Gus took," Po Campo said. "He won't catch Blue Duck on that horse. Blue Duck always has the best horse in the country-that's why he always gets away."

"He don't have the best horse in this country," Call said. "I do."

"Yes, that's true, she is a fine mare," Po said. "You might catch up with him but Captain Gus won't. Blue Duck will sell the woman. Captain Gus might get her back if the Indians don't finish him. I wouldn't make a bet."

"I'd make one, if I had money," Deets said. "Mister Gus be fine."

"I didn't think there was much left in the way of Indians," Call said.

"There are young renegades," Po said. "Blue Duck always finds them. Some are left. The llano llano is a big place." is a big place."

That was certainly true. Call remembered the few times they had ventured on it. After a day or two the men would grow anxious because of the emptiness. "There's too much of this nothing," Pea said. He would say it two or three times a day, like a refrain, as the mirages s.h.i.+mmered in the endless distances. Even a man with a good sense of direction could get lost with so few surface features to guide him. Water was always chancy.

"I miss Gus," Pea Eye said. "I get to expecting to hear him talk and he ain't here. My ears sort of get empty."

Call had to admit that he missed him too, and that he was worried. He had had at least one disagreement a day with Gus for as many years as he could remember. Gus never answered any question directly, but it was possible to test an opinion against him, if you went about it right. More and more Call felt his absence, though fortunately they were having uneventful times-the cattle were fairly well trail-broken and weren't giving any trouble. The crew for the most part had been well behaved, no more irritable or contrary than any other group of men. The weather had been ideal, water plentiful, and the spring gra.s.s excellent for grazing.

A thought that nagged Call was that he had let Gus go off alone to do a job that was too big for him-a job they ought to have done together. Often, during the day, as he rode ahead of the herd, he would look to the northwest, hoping to see Gus returning. More and more the thought came to him that Gus was probably dead. Men simply vanished into the llano llano to die somewhere and lie without graves, their bones eventually scattered by varmints. Of course, Gus was a famous man, in his way. If Blue Duck had killed him he might brag, and word would eventually get back. But what if some young renegade who didn't know he was famous killed him? Then he would simply be gone. to die somewhere and lie without graves, their bones eventually scattered by varmints. Of course, Gus was a famous man, in his way. If Blue Duck had killed him he might brag, and word would eventually get back. But what if some young renegade who didn't know he was famous killed him? Then he would simply be gone.

The thought that Gus was dead began to weigh on Call. It came to him several times a day, at moments, and made him feel empty and strange. They had not had much of a talk before Gus left. Nothing much had been said. He began to wish that somehow things could have been rounded off a little better. Of course he knew death was no respecter. People just dropped when they dropped, whether they had rounded things off or not. Still, it haunted him that Gus had just ridden off and might not ride back. He would look over the cattle herd strung out across the prairie and feel it was all worthless, and a little absurd. Some days he almost felt like turning the cattle loose and paying off the crew. He could take Pea and Deets and maybe the boy, and they would look for Gus until they found him.

The crew came back from Fort Worth hung over and subdued. Jasper Fant's head was splitting to such an extent that he couldn't bear to ride-he got off his horse and walked the last two miles, stopping from time to time to vomit. He tried to get the other boys to wait on him-in his state he could have been easily robbed and beaten, as he pointed out-but his companions were indifferent to his fate. Their own headaches were severe enough.

"You can walk to China for all I care," Needle said, expressing the sentiments of the group. They rode on and left Jasper to creep along as best he could.

Po Campo had antic.i.p.ated their condition and had a surprise waiting for them-a sugary cobbler made with dewberries he had picked.

"Sugar is the thing for getting over liquor," he said. "Eat a lot and then lie down for a few minutes."

"Did Jasper quit?" Call asked.

"No, he's enjoying the dry heaves somewhere between here and town," Soupy Jones allowed. "Last I heard of him he sounded like he was about to vomit up his socks."

"What's the news of Jake?" Call inquired.

The question produced a remarkable collection of black looks.

"He's a haughty son of a b.i.t.c.h," Bert Borum said. "He acted like he never knowed a one of us."

"He tolt me I smelled like cows.h.i.+t," Needle said. "He was sitting there gambling and had some wh.o.r.e hanging over him."

"I wouldn't say he misses that one that got took," Soupy said.

Jasper Fant finally straggled in. Everyone was standing around grinning, though he couldn't see why.

"Something must have happened funnier than what I been doing," he said.

"A lot of things are funnier than vomiting," Pea Eye said.

"Jasper missed the cobbler, that's the laugh," Allen O'Brien said, not feeling too frisky himself. "I used to be better at hangovers, back in Ireland. Of course, then I had one every day," he reflected. "I had more practice."

When Jasper realized he had missed a dewberry cobbler, one of his favorite dishes, he threatened to quit the outfit, since they were so ungrateful. But he was too weak to carry out his threat. Po Campo forced him to eat a big spoonful of mola.s.ses as a headache cure, while the rest of the crew got the herd on the move.

"I guess the next excitement will be the old Red River," Dish Boggett said, as he took the point.

60.

JUST AS THE WORLD had been drying out nicely and the drive becoming enjoyable, in Newt's view, it suddenly got very wet again. Two days before they hit the Red River low black clouds boiled out of the northwest like smoke off grease. It was springlike and fair in the morning, but before it was even afternoon the world turned to water.

It rained so hard for two hours that it was difficult even to see the cattle. Newt moped along on Mouse, feeling chilled and depressed. By this time, they were on a rolling plain bare of trees. There was nothing to get under except the sky. They made a wet camp and Po Campo poured hot coffee down them by the gallon, but it still promised to be a miserable night. Po and Deets, the acknowledged experts on weather, discussed the situation and admitted they didn't know when it might stop raining.

"It probably won't rain a week," Po Campo said, which cheered n.o.body up.

"Dern, it better not rain no week," Jasper said. "Them rivers will be like oceans."

That night they all herded, not because the cattle were particularly restless but because it was drier on a horse than on the sopping ground. Newt began to think it had been a mistake to leave Lonesome Dove if it was going to be so wet. He remembered how dry and clear the days had been there. He and Mouse stumbled through the night somehow, though before morning he was so tired he had lost all interest in living.

The next day was no better. The skies were like iron, and Mr. Gus wasn't back. He had been gone a long time, it seemed, and so had Lorena. Dish Boggett grew increasingly worried and took to confiding in Newt now and then. Newt respected his feelings, whereas the other hands were distinctly callous when it came to Dish's feelings.

"Because of Jake we lost 'em both, I guess," Dish said. "Jake is a G.o.dd.a.m.n b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

It was painful to Newt to have to think of Jake that way. He still remembered how Jake had played with him when he was a little child, and that Jake had made his mother get a lively, merry look in her eyes. All the years Jake had been gone, Newt had remembered him fondly and supposed that if he ever did come back he would be a hero. But it had to be admitted that Jake's behavior since his return had not been heroic at all. It bordered on the cowardly, particularly his casual return to card playing once Lorena had been stolen.

"If she's alive and Gus gets her back, I still aim to marry her," Dish said, as rain poured off his hat in streams.

"Dern, we should be herding fish," he said, a little later, holding the point nonetheless, though he hardly felt like it. If Lorena was indeed dead, he meant to stay clear of other women and grieve for her for a lifetime.

It was still raining when they came to the low banks of the Red River. The river was up somewhat, but it was still not a very wide channel or a very deep one. What worried Call was the approach to it-over a hundred yards of wet, rusty-colored sand. The Red was famous for its quicksands.