Lonesome Dove Part 91

"Your G.o.dd.a.m.n style is your downfall, and it's a wonder it didn't come sooner. Any special funeral?"

"Yes, I've been thinking of that," Augustus said. "I've a big favor to ask you, and one more to do you."

"What favor?"

"The favor I want from you will be my favor to you," Augustus said. "I want to be buried in Clara's orchard."

"In Nebraska?" Call asked, surprised. "I didn't see no orchard."

Augustus chuckled. "Not in Nebraska," he said. "In Texas. By that little grove of live oaks on the south Guadalupe. Remember, we stopped by there a minute?"

"My G.o.d," Call said, thinking his friend must be delirious. "You want me to haul you to Texas Texas? We just got to Montana."

"I know where you just got," Augustus said. "My burial can wait a spell. I got nothing against wintering in Montana. Just pack me in salt or charcoal or what you will. I'll keep well enough and you can make the trip in the spring. You'll be a rich cattle king by then and might need a restful trip."

Call looked at his friend closely. Augustus looked sober and reasonably serious.

"To Texas Texas?" he repeated.

"Yes, that's my favor to you," Augustus said. "It's the kind of job you was made for, that n.o.body else could do or even try. Now that the country is about settled, I don't know how you'll keep busy, Woodrow. But if you'll do this for me you'll be all right for another year, I guess."

"You're one of a kind, Gus," Call said, sighing. "We'll all miss you."

"Even you, Woodrow?" Augustus asked.

"Yes, me," Call said. "Why not me?"

"I take it back, Woodrow," Augustus said. "I have no doubt you'll miss me. You'll probably die of boredom this winter and I'll never get to Clara's orchard."

"Why do you call it that?"

"We had picnics there," Augustus said. "I took to calling it that. It pleased Clara. I could please her oftener in those days."

"Well, but is that any reason to go so far to be buried?" Call said. "She'd allow you a grave in Nebraska, I'm sure."

"Yes, but we had our happiness in Texas," Augustus said. "It was my best happiness, too. If you're too lazy to take me to Texas, then just throw me out the window and be done with it." He spoke with vehemence. "She's got her family in Nebraska," Augustus added, more quietly. "I don't want to lie there with that dumb horse trader she married."

"This would make a story if there was anybody to tell it," Call said. "You want me to carry your body three thousand miles because you used to go picnicking with a girl on the Guadalupe River?"

"That, plus I want to see if you can do it," Augustus said.

"But you won't know if I do it," Call said. "I reckon I'll do it, since you've asked."

He said no more, and soon noticed that Augustus was dozing. He pulled his chair closer to the window. It was a cool night, but the lamp made the little room stuffy. He blew it out-there was a little moonlight. He tried to doze, but couldn't for a time. Then he did doze and woke to find Augustus wide awake, burning with fever. Call lit the lamp but could do nothing for him.

"That was the Musselsh.e.l.l River, where you holed up," he said. "I met that old trapper and he told me. We may take him with us to scout, since he knows the country."

"I wish I had some better whiskey," Augustus said. "This is a cheap product."

"Well, the saloon's closed, probably," Call said.

"I doubt they got better, open or closed," Augustus said. "I have a few more instructions, if you're ready to hear them."

"Why, fine," Call said. "I suppose now you've decided you'd rather be buried at the South Pole."

"No, but do stop in Nebraska a night and let the women know," Augustus said. "I'm leaving my half of the herd to Lorie, and don't you dispute with me about it. Just see she gets what money's coming to her. I'll leave you a note to hand her, and one for Clara."

"I'll pa.s.s them on," Call said.

"I told Newt you was his pa," Augustus said.

"Well, you oughtn't to," Call said.

"I oughtn't to have had had to, but you never got around to it, so I did," Augustus said. "All you can do about it now is shoot me, which would be a blessing. I feel mighty poorly, and embarra.s.sed to boot." to, but you never got around to it, so I did," Augustus said. "All you can do about it now is shoot me, which would be a blessing. I feel mighty poorly, and embarra.s.sed to boot."

"Why embarra.s.sed?," Call asked.

"Imagine getting killed by an arrow in this day and age," Augustus said. "It's ridiculous, especially since they shot at us fifty times with modern weapons and did no harm."

"You always was careless," Call said. "Pea said you rode over a hill and right into them. I've warned you about that very thing a thousand times. There's better ways to approach a hill."

"Yes, but I like being free on the earth," Augustus said. "I'll cross the hills where I please."

He paused a minute. "I hope you won't mistreat Newt," he said.

"Have I ever mistreated him?" Call asked.

"Yes, always," Augustus said. "I admit it's practically your only sin, but it's a big one. You ought to do better by that boy. He's the only son you'll ever have-I'd bet my wad on that-though I guess it's possible you'll take to women in your old age."

"No, I won't," Call said. "They don't like me. I never recall mistreating that boy."

"Not naming him is mistreatment," Augustus said. "Give him your name, and you'll have a son you can be proud of. And Newt will know you're his pa."

"I don't know that myself," Call said.

"I know it and you know it," Augustus said. "You're worse than me. I'm stubborn about legs, but what about you? Women are G.o.dd.a.m.n right not to like you. You don't want to admit you ever needed one of them, even for a moment's pleasure. Though you're human, and you did need one once-but you don't want to need nothing you can't get for yourself."

Call didn't answer. It seemed wrong to quarrel while Gus was dying. Always over the same thing too. That one thing, after all they had done together.

Gus slept through the morning, fitful and feverish. Call didn't expect him to wake. He didn't leave the room. He was finally eating the plate of cold venison when Gus came to his senses briefly.

"Do you want me to do anything about them Indians?" Call asked.

"Which Indians?" Augustus asked, wondering what his friend could be talking about. Call's cheeks looked drawn, as though he hadn't eaten for days, though he was eating even as he asked the question.

"Those that shot the arrows into you," Call said.

"Oh, no, Woodrow," Augustus said. "We won more than our share with the natives. They didn't invite us here, you know. We got no call to be vengeful. You start that and I'll spoil your appet.i.te."

"I don't have much, anyway," Call said.

"Didn't I stick that sign in the wagon, that one I made in Lonesome Dove that upset Deets so much at first?" Augustus asked.

"Upset me too," Call said. "It was a peculiar sign. It's on the wagon."

"I consider it my masterpiece, that and the fact that I've kept you from not getting no worse for so long," Augustus said. "Take the sign back and stick it over my grave."

"Have you wrote them notes for the women yet?" Call asked. "I won't know what to say to them, you see."

"Dern, I forgot, and my two favorite women, too," Augustus said. "Get me some paper."

The doctor had brought in a tablet for Augustus to write his will on. Augustus drew himself up and slowly wrote two notes.

"Dangerous to write to two women at the same time," he said. "Especially when I'm this lightheaded. I might not be as particular in my sentiments as women expect a fellow to be."

But he wrote on. Then Call saw his hand drop and thought he was dead. He wasn't, but he was too weak to fold the second note. Call folded it for him.

"Woodrow, quite a party," Augustus said.

"What?" Call asked.

Augustus was looking out the window. "Look there at Montana," he said. "It's fine and fresh, and now we've come and it'll soon be ruint, like my legs."

Then he turned his head back to Call. "I near forgot," he said. "Give my saddle to Pea Eye. I cut his up to brace my crutch, and I wouldn't want him to think ill of me."

"Well, he don't, Gus," Call said.

But Augustus had closed his eyes. He saw a mist, red at first but then as silvery as the morning mists in the valleys of Tennessee.

Call sat by the bed, hoping he would open his eyes again. He could hear Gus breathing. The sun set, and Call moved back to the chair, listening to his friend's ragged breath. He tried to remain alert, but he was tired. Some time later the doctor came in with a lamp. Call noticed blood dripping off the sheet onto the floor.

"That bed's full of blood and your friend's dead," the doctor said.

Call felt bad for having dozed. He saw that one of Gus's notes to the women was still on the bed. There was blood on it, but not much. Call wiped the note carefully on his pants leg before going downstairs.

97.

WHEN CALL TOLD Dr. Mobley that Gus wanted to be transported to Texas to be buried, the little doctor merely smiled.

"People have their whimsies," he said. "Your friend was a crazy patient. I imagine we'd have quarreled if he'd lived."

"I imagine," Call said. "But I intend to honor the wish."

"We'll pack him in charcoal and salt," the doctor said. "It'll take a barrel or two. Luckily there's a good salt lick not far from here."

"I may need to leave him all winter," Call said. "Is there a place I could store him?"

"My harness shed would do fine," the doctor said. "It's well ventilated, and he'll keep better in the cool. Do you want his other leg?"

"Well, where is it?" Call asked, startled.

"Oh, I've got it," the doctor said. "Contrary as he was, he might have asked me to sew it back on. It's a rotten old thing."

Call went outside and walked down the empty street to the livery stable. The doctor had told him to rest and had offered to locate the undertaker himself.

The h.e.l.l b.i.t.c.h looked up when he came into the livery stable, where he had put her. He felt an impulse to saddle her and ride out into the country, but weariness overcame him and he threw his bedroll on some straw and lay down. He couldn't sleep, though. He regretted not trying harder to save Gus. He should have disarmed him at once and seen that the other leg was amputated. Of course, Gus might have shot him, but he felt he should have taken the risk.

It seemed he only dozed a minute when the sun streamed into the livery stable. Call didn't welcome the day. All he had to think about were mistakes, it seemed-mistakes and death. His old rangering gang was gone, only Pea Eye left, of all of them. Jake was dead in Kansas, Deets in Wyoming, and now Gus in Montana.

An old man named Gill owned the livery stable. He had rheumatism and walked slowly and with a limp. But he was a kindly old man, with a rusty beard and one milky eye. He came limping in not long after Call woke up.

"I guess you need a coffin," the old man said. "Get Joe Veitenheimer, he'll make you a good one."

"It will have to be st.u.r.dy," Call said.

"I know," the old man said. "That's all the talk is in this town today, about the feller who wants to be hauled all the way to Texas to be stuck in the ground."

"He considered it his home," Call said, seeing no reason to go into the part about the picnics.

"My att.i.tude is, why not, if he can find someone to tote him," old man Gill said. "I'd be buried in Georgia, if I could have my way, but it's a far piece to Georgia and n.o.body's gonna tote me. So I'll be buried up here in this cold," he added. "I don't like this cold. Of course, they say when you're dead the temperature don't concern you, but who knows the truth on that?"

"I don't," Call said.

"People got opinions, that's all they've got," the old man grumbled. "If somebody was to go and come back, now that's an opinion I'd listen to."

The old man forked the h.e.l.l b.i.t.c.h a little hay. When he stood watching her eat, the mare snaked out her neck and tried to bite him, causing the old man to stumble backward and nearly stumble over his own pitchfork.

"Dern, she ain't very grateful," he said. "Struck at me like a snake, and I just fed her. Typical female. My wife done exactly the same a hunnert times. Buried her in Missouri, where it's considerable warmer."

Call found the carpenter and ordered a coffin. Then he borrowed a wagon and team and a big scoop shovel from a drunken man at the hardware store. It struck him that the citizenry of Miles City seemed to drink liquor day and night. Half the town was drunk at dawn.

"The lick's about six miles north," the hardware-store man said. "You can find it by the game trails."

Sure enough, several antelope were at the salt lick, and he saw the tracks of buffalo and elk. He worked up a sweat scooping the salt into the wagon.

When he got back to town the undertaker had finished with Gus. The undertaker was a tall man, with the shakes-his whole body trembled, even when he was standing still. "It's a nervous disease," he said. "I took it when I was young, and had it ever since. I put extra fluid in your friend, since I understand he'll be aboveground for a while."

"Yes, until next summer," Call said.

"I don't know how he'll do," the undertaker said. "If he weren't a human you could smoke him, like a ham."

"I'll try salt and charcoal," Call said.