Lonesome Dove Part 57

"Yes, he was never a fighter," Augustus said. "I'm surprised he's still alive."

"He fed us buffalo once," Call said. "It was only fair he should have a beef."

They were fifty yards from the tent, so Call drew rein. He couldn't see the girl, but he took care not to come too close. Augustus said she was spooked.

"Look how blue it is toward the sunset," Augustus said. "I've heard about what they call the Blue Mounds. I guess those must be them."

The prairie was rolling, and there were humplike rises to the north as far as they could see. Though the sky was still bright yellow with afterglow, the mounds ahead did have a bluish electric look, almost as if blue lightning had condensed over their tops.

In the dawn the Blue Mounds s.h.i.+mmered to the north. Augustus usually came out of the tent early so he could see the sunrise. Lorena had stopped having so many nightmares and she slept heavily, so heavily that it was hard to get her awake in the mornings. Augustus never rushed her. She had regained her appet.i.te and put on flesh, and it seemed to him her sleeping late was healthy. The gra.s.s was wet with dew, so he sat on his saddle blanket watching Dish Boggett point the cattle into the blue distances. Dish always swung the point as close to the tent as he dared, hoping for a glimpse of Lorena, but it was a hope seldom rewarded.

When Lorena awoke and came out of the tent the herd was almost out of sight, though Lippy and the wagon were not far away. Po Campo and the two pigs were walking along looking at things, a hundred yards ahead of the wagon.

Augustus made room for Lorena on the blanket and she sat down without a word, watching the strange little man walk along with the pigs. As the sun rose, the blueness to the north diminished, and it could be seen that the mounds were just low brown hills.

"It must be that wavy gra.s.s that gives it the blue look-or else it's the air," Augustus said.

Lorena didn't say anything. She felt so sleepy that she could hardly sit up, and after a moment she leaned against Gus and shut her eyes. He put his arms around her. His arms were warm and the sun on her face was warm. Sleep had pulled at her so much lately that it seemed she was never fully awake, but it didn't matter so long as Gus was there to talk to her and sleep close beside her. If he was there she could let go and slide into sleep. He didn't mind. Often she would rest in his arms, while he held forth, talking almost to himself, for she only half heard. Only when she thought of coming to a town did she feel worried. She stayed in her sleeps as long as she could, so as not to have to worry about the towns.

Augustus stroked her hair as she lay against him. He was thinking how strange life was, that he and Lorena were sitting on a saddle blanket on the south edge of Kansas, watching Call's cattle herd disappear to the north.

One little shot during a card game in Arkansas had started things happening-things he couldn't see the end of. The shot had ended up killing more than a dentist. Sean O'Brien, Bill Spettle, and the three people who were traveling with July Johnson had lost their lives so far, and Montana nowhere in sight.

"He ought to have taken his hanging," Augustus said out loud.

Actually, Jake couldn't fairly be blamed for any of the deaths, though he could be blamed for Lorena's troubles, which were worth a hanging by Augustus's reckoning.

"Who ought?" Lorena asked. Her eyes were open but she still rested her head against Augustus's chest.

"Jake," he said. "Look at all the bad that happened since he showed up."

"He wanted to take me to town," Lorena said. "I wouldn't go. I didn't want no towns.

"I still don't want no towns," she said a little later, beginning to tremble at the thought of all the men that would be in them.

Augustus held her close and didn't try to discuss it with her. Soon she stopped trembling. Two big hawks were skimming the surface of the prairie, not far away.

"Look at them birds," Augustus said. "I'd give a pa.s.sel if I could fly like that."

Lorena had an uneasy thought in her mind. Gus was holding her in his arms, as he had every day and night since he had rescued her. Yet he had not approached her, had never mentioned it. She understood it was kindness-he was letting her get well. She didn't want him to approach her, never would want any man to again. And yet it troubled her. She knew what men wanted with her. It wasn't just a bedfellow. If Gus had stopped wanting her, what did that mean? Would he take her to a town someday and say goodbye?

"My goodness, Lorie, you smell fresh as dew," he said, sniffing her hair. "It's a miracle you can keep fresh out in these raw parts."

One b.u.t.ton had come off his s.h.i.+rt, and a few tufts of the white hair on his chest were sticking out. She wanted to say something, but she was afraid to. She tried to poke the little white chest hairs back under his s.h.i.+rt.

Augustus laughed at the tidy way she did it. "I know I'm a shameful sight," he said. "It's all Call's fault. He wouldn't let me bring my tailor on this trip."

Lorena was silent, but fear was building up in her. Gus had become too important to her. It was disturbing to think that he might leave her someday. She wanted to make sure of him, but she didn't know how to do it. After all, he had already told her there was a woman in Ogallala. She began to tremble again from her sudden fear.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Here it is, a beautiful morning, and you're sitting here shaking."

She was afraid to speak but began to cry.

"Lorie, we're an honest pair," he said. "Why don't you tell me why you're so upset?"

He seemed so friendly that it eased her mind a little. "You can have a poke," she said. "If you want one. I wouldn't charge you."

Augustus smiled. "That's neighborly of you," he said. "But why should a beauty like you drop her price? You ought to raise it, for you're getting more beautiful than ever. I ain't never seen nothing wrong with paying a toll to beauty."

"You can have one if you want one," she said, trembling still.

"What if I want five or six?" he asked, rubbing her neck with his warm hand. It relieved her-he was still the same. She could see it in his eyes.

"The truth is you want to stay clear of such doings for a while," Augustus said. "That's natural. You best take your time."

"It won't matter how much time," she said, and began to cry again. Gus held her.

"I'm glad we didn't break camp," he said. "There's a rough cloud to the north. We'd be in for a drenching. I bet them cowboys is already floating."

It suited her that it was going to rain and they would stay longer. She didn't like being too close to the cowboys. It was more restful just being with Gus. When he was there it was easier not to think of the things that had happened.

For some reason Gus was still watching the cloud, which seemed to her no worse-looking than many another cloud. But he was studying it intently.

"That's a dern funny cloud," he said.

"I don't care if it rains," Lorena said. "We got the tent."

"The funny part is, I can hear it," Augustus said. "I never heard a cloud make a noise like that before."

Lorena listened. It seemed she did hear something, but it was a long way off, and faint.

"Maybe it's the wind getting up," she said.

Augustus was listening. "It don't sound like no wind I ever heard," he said, standing up. The horses were looking at the cloud, too. They were acting nervous. The sound the brown cloud made had become a little louder, but was still far away and indefinable.

Suddenly Augustus realized what it was. "Good lord," he said. "It's gra.s.shoppers, Lorie. I've heard they came in clouds out on the plains, and there's the proof. It's a cloud of gra.s.shoppers."

The horses were grazing on long lead ropes. There were no trees to tie the ropes to, so he had loosened a heavy block of soil and put the lead ropes under it. Usually that was sufficient, for the horses weren't troublesome. But now they were rolling their eyes and jerking at the ropes. Augustus grabbed the ropes-he would have to hold them himself.

Lorena watched the cloud, which came down on them faster than any rain cloud. She could plainly hear the hum of millions of insects. The cloud covered the plain in front of them from the ground far up in the air. It was blotting out the ground as if a cover were being pulled over it.

"Get in the tent," Augustus said. He was holding the terrified horses. "Get in and pile whatever you can around the bottom to keep 'em out."

Lorena ran in, and before Augustus could follow, gra.s.shoppers covered the canvas, every inch. Augustus had fifty on his hat, though he tried to knock them off outside the tent, and more on his clothes. He backed in, hanging to the lead ropes as the horses tried to break free.

"Pull the flaps," he said, and Lorena did. Soon there was just the hole the two ropes fed through. It was dim and dark in the tent, as more and more gra.s.shoppers covered the canvas-insects on top of insects. The hum they made as they spread over the prairie gra.s.s was so loud Lorena had to grit her teeth. As the tent got darker, she began to cry and shake-it was just more trouble and more fear, this life.

"It's all right, honey, it's just bugs," Augustus said. "Hang onto me and we'll be fine. I don't think bugs will eat canvas when they've got all this gra.s.s."

Lorena put her arms around him and shut her eyes. Augustus peeked out and saw that every inch of the lead ropes were covered with gra.s.shoppers.

"Well, that old cook of Call's that likes to fry bugs will be happy, at least," he said. "He can fry up a d.a.m.n wagonful tonight."

When the cloud of gra.s.shoppers. .h.i.t the Hat Greek outfit, they were on a totally open plain and could do nothing but watch it come, in terror and astonishment. Lippy sat on the wagon seat, his mouth hanging open.

"Is them gra.s.shoppers?" he asked.

"Yes, but shut your mouth unless you want to choke on them," Po Campo said. He promptly crawled in the wagon and pulled his hat down and his serape close around him.

The cowboys who saw the cloud while on horseback were mostly terrified. Dish Boggett came racing back to the Captain, who sat with Deets, watching the cloud come.

"Captain, what'll we do?" he asked. "There's millions of them. What'll we do?"

"Live through it," Call said. "That's all we can do."

"It's the plague," Deets said. "Ain't it in the Bible?"

"Well, that was locusts," Call said.

Deets looked in wonderment as the insects swirled toward them, a storm of bugs that filled the sky and covered the land. Though he was a little frightened, it was more the mystery of it that affected him. Where did they come from, where would they go? The suns.h.i.+ne glinted strangely off the millions of insects.

"Maybe the Indians sent 'em," he said.

"More likely they ate the Indians," Call said. "The Indians and everything else."

Newt's first fear when the cloud hit was that he would suffocate. In a second the gra.s.shoppers covered every inch of his hands, his face, his clothes, his saddle. A hundred were stuck in Mouse's mane. Newt was afraid to draw breath for fear he'd suck them into his mouth and nose. The air was so dense with them that he couldn't see the cattle and could barely see the ground. At every step Mouse crunched them underfoot. The whirring they made was so loud he felt he could have screamed and not been heard, although Pea Eye and Ben Rainey were both within yards. Newt ducked his head into the crook of his arm for protection. Mouse Suddenly broke into a run, which meant the cattle were running, but Newt didn't look up. He feared to look, afraid the gra.s.shoppers would scratch his eyes. As he and Mouse raced, he felt the insects beating against him. It was a relief to find he could breathe.

Then Mouse began to buck and twist, trying to rid himself of some of the gra.s.shoppers, and almost ridding himself of Newt in the process. Newt clung to the saddle horn, afraid that if he were thrown the gra.s.shoppers would smother him. From the way the ground shook he knew the cattle were running. Mouse soon stopped bucking and ran too. When Newt risked a glimpse, all he saw was millions of fluttering bugs. Even as he raced they clung to his s.h.i.+rt. When he tried to change his reins from one hand to another he closed his hand on several gra.s.shoppers and almost dropped his rein. It would have been a comfort if he could have seen at least one cowboy, but he couldn't. In that regard, running through a bug cloud wasn't much different than running in rain: he was alone and miserable, not knowing what his fate might be.

And, as in the rainstorms, his misery increased to a pitch and then was gradually replaced by fatigue and resignation. The sky had turned to gra.s.shoppers-it seemed that simple. The other day it had turned to hailstones, now it was gra.s.shoppers. All he could do was try and endure it-you couldn't shoot gra.s.shoppers. Finally the cattle slowed, and Mouse slowed, and Newt just plodded along, occasionally wiping the gra.s.shoppers off the front of his s.h.i.+rt when they got two or three layers deep. He had no idea how long a gra.s.shopper storm might last.

In this case it lasted for hours. Newt mainly hoped it wouldn't go on all night. If he had to ride through gra.s.shoppers all day and then all night, he felt he'd just give up. It was already fairly dark from the cloud they made, though it was only midday.

Finally, like all other storms, the gra.s.shopper storm did end. The air cleared-there were still thousands of gra.s.shoppers fluttering around in it, but thousands were better than millions. The ground was still covered with them, and Mouse still mashed them when he walked, but at least Newt could see a little distance, though what he saw wasn't very cheering. He was totally alone with fifty or sixty cattle. He had no idea where the main herd might be, or where anything might be. Dozens of gra.s.shoppers still clung to his s.h.i.+rt and to Mouse's mane, and he could hear them stirring in the gra.s.s, eating what little of it was left. Most of it had been chewed off to the roots.

He gave Mouse his head, hoping he would have some notion of where the wagon might be, but Mouse seemed as lost as he was. The cattle were walking listlessly, worn out from their run. A few of them tried to stop and graze, but there was nothing left to graze on except gra.s.shoppers.

There was a rise a mile or two to the north, and Newt rode over to it. To his vast relief, he saw several riders coming and waved his hat to make sure they saw him. The hoppers had nibbled on his clothes, and he felt lucky not to be naked.

He went back to get the cattle, and when he glanced again at the boys, they looked funny. They didn't have hats. A second later he realized why: they were Indians, all of them. Newt felt so scared he went weak. He hated life on the plains. One minute it was pretty, then a cloud of gra.s.shoppers came, and now Indians. The worst of it was that he was alone. It was always happening, and he felt convinced it was Mouse's fault. Somehow he could never stay with the rest of the boys when there was a run. He had to wander off by himself. This time the results were serious, for the five Indians were only fifty yards away. He felt he ought to pull his gun, but he knew he couldn't shoot well enough to kill five of them-anyhow, the Captain hadn't shot when the old chief with the milky eye had asked for a beef. Maybe they were friendly.

Indeed, that proved the case, although they were rather smelly and a little too familiar to suit Newt. They smelled like the lard Bolivar had used on his hair. They crowded right around him, several of them talking to him in words he couldn't understand. All of them were armed with old rifles. The rifles looked in bad repair, but they would have sufficed to kill him if that had been what the Indians wanted to do. Newt was sure they would want the cattle, for they were as skinny as the first bunch of Indians.

He began to try and work out in his mind how many he could let them have without risking dishonor. If they wanted them all, of course, he would just have to fight and be killed, for he could never face the Captain if he had been responsible for the loss of fifty head. But if they could be bought off with two or three, that was different.

Sure enough, a little, short Indian began to point at the cattle. He jabbered a lot, and Newt a.s.sumed he was saying he wanted them all.

"No sabe," he said, thinking maybe some of the Indians knew Mexican. But the little short Indian just kept jabbering and pointing west. Newt didn't know what to make of that. Meanwhile the others crowded around, not being mean exactly, but being familiar, fingering his hat and his rope and his quirt, and generally making it difficult for him to think clearly. One even lifted his pistol out of its holster, and Newt's heart nearly stopped. He expected to be shot with his own gun and felt foolish for allowing it to be taken so easily. But the Indians merely pa.s.sed it around for comment and then stuck it back in the holster. Newt smiled at them, relieved. If they would give him his gun back, they couldn't mean to harm him.

But he shook his head when they pointed at the cattle. He thought they wanted to take the cattle and go west. When he shook his head, it caused a big laugh. The Indians seemed to think everything he did was pretty comical. They jabbered and pointed to the west, laughing, and then, to his dismay, three of them began to whoop at the cattle and got them started west. It seemed they were just going to take them. Newt felt sick with confusion. He knew the point had been reached when he ought to draw his pistol and try to stop it but he couldn't seem to do it. The fact that the Indians were laughing and seemed friendly made it difficult. How do you shoot people who were laughing? Maybe the Captain could have, but the Captain wasn't there.

The Indians motioned for him to come with them, and, very reluctantly, Newt went. He felt he ought to make a break for it, go find the cowboys and get them to help him reclaim the sixty head. Of course the Indians might shoot him if he ran, but what really stopped him was the fact that he had no idea where the rest of the boys were. He might just charge off and be lost for good.

So, with a sinking heart, he slowly followed the five Indians and the cattle. At least he wasn't deserting by doing that. He was still with the cattle, for what it was worth.

Before he had gone a mile or two he wished he had thought of another alternative. The plains had always seemed empty, and somehow, with the gra.s.s chewed off and him captured by Indians, they seemed even more empty. He began to remember all the stories he had heard about how tricky Indians were and decided these were just laughing to trick him. Probably they had a camp nearby, and when they got there they might stop laughing and butcher him and the cattle both. The surprising thing was how young they were. None of them looked any older than Ben Rainey.

Then they rode over a ridge so low it hardly seemed like a ridge, and there was the herd and the cowboys too. They were two or three miles away, but it was them-he could even see the wagon. Instead of stealing him, the Indians had just been keeping him from getting lost, for he had been angling off in the wrong direction. He realized then that the young Indians were laughing because he was so dumb he didn't even know which way his own cattle were. He didn't blame them. Now that he was safe, he felt like laughing too. He wanted to thank the Indians, but he didn't know their words. All he could do was smile at them.

Then Dish Boggett and Soupy Jones rode over to help him hurry the cattle along. Their clothes had little holes in them where the gra.s.shoppers had nibbled through.

"It's a good thing they found you, we ain't had time to look," Soupy said. "If we'd gone on north, it would be sixty miles to water, the Indians say. Most of these cattle wouldn't make no sixty miles."

"Nor most of these men, either," Dish said.

"Did the gra.s.shoppers hurt anybody?" Newt asked, still amazed that such a thing could happen.

"No, but they ruint my Sunday s.h.i.+rt," Soupy said. "Jasper's horse spooked and he got thrown and claims his collarbone might be broken, but Deets and Po don't think so."

"I hope Lorie didn't suffer," Dish said. "Their horses could have spooked. They might be afoot and a long way from grub."

"I suppose you'd like to go check on their safety?" Soupy said.

"Somebody ought," Dish said.

"Ask the Captain," Soupy said. "I expect he'll want to a.s.sign you the ch.o.r.e."

Dish thought otherwise. Already the Captain was looking at him as if he expected him to rush back to the point, although the cattle were moving along fine.

"You ask him, Newt," Dish said.

"Newt?" Soupy said. "Why, Newt was just lost himself. If he went looking for Gus he'd just be lost again."

"Ask him, Newt," Dish said again, with such intensity that Newt knew he had to do it. He knew it meant Dish trusted him a lot to ask such a thing of him.

The Captain was talking in sign to ten or twelve young Indians. Then the Indians went over to the herd and cut out three beeves. Newt rode over, feeling foolish. He didn't want to ask the Captain, but on the other hand he couldn't ignore Dish's request.

"Do you think I ought to go check on Mr. Gus?" Newt asked. "The boys think they might be in trouble." Call noticed how nervous the boy seemed and sensed that somebody had put him up to asking the question.

"No, we better all drive," he said. "Gus had a tent. I imagine he's happy as a badger. They're probably just sitting there playing cards."

It was what he had expected, but Newt still felt chastened as he turned back to the drags. He felt he would never learn to say the right thing to the Captain.