Lonesome Dove (18 page)

Then he kissed her again, as if to make her a present of his sweet breath. Between kisses he talked to her about San Francisco, and what might be the best route to take. Even after he slid between her legs again and made the old bedspring whine and the sorry mattress crackle, he kept talking a little.

When he finally got up and stretched and suggested they go downstairs, Lorena felt more cheerful than she had for years. Xavier and Lippy, who were used to her long sulks, hardly knew what to think. Neither did Dish Boggett, who happened to walk in. Dish sat down and drank a bottle of whiskey before anybody noticed. Then he got to singing, and everybody laughed at him. Lorena laughed as loud as Lippy, whose lip waved like a flag when he was amused.

Only later, when Jake left to ride south with Captain Call, did Lorena feel impatient. She wanted Jake to come back. The time with him had been so relaxed it almost seemed like a wakeful dream of some kind. She wanted to have the dream again.

That night, when a skinny cowboy named Jasper Fant came in from the river and approached her, Lorie just stared at him silently until he got embarrassed and backed off, never having actually said a word. Staring was all she had to do. Jasper consulted with Lippy and Xavier, and by the end of the week, all the cowboys along the river knew that the only sporting woman in Lonesome Dove had abruptly given up the sport.

14

WHEN JAKE FINALLY came ambling up to the house, having spent the better part of the day asleep in Lorena’s bed, Augustus was already nuzzling his jug from time to time. He was sitting on the front porch, waving off flies and watching the two Irishmen, who were sleeping as if dead under the nearest wagon. They had gone to sleep in the wagon’s meager shade; the shade had moved, but not the Irishmen. The boy had no hat. He slept with his arm across his face. Jake didn’t even glance at them as he walked past, a fact Augustus noted. Jake had never been renowned for his interest in people unless the people were whores.

“Where’s Call?” Jake asked when he got to the porch.

“You didn’t expect to find Woodrow Call sitting in the shade, did you?” Augustus asked. “That man was born to work.”

“Yes, and you was born to talk too much,” Jake said. “I need to borrow ten dollars.”

“Oh?” Augustus said. “Has Lorie upped her rates?”

Jake ignored the question, which was only meant to rile him, and reached for the jug.

“No, the girl’s as generous as a preacher’s widow,” Jake said. “She wouldn’t take money from a gentleman like me. I hope she charged you plenty, though, for I know you’ve been there before me.”

“I’ve always tried to keep a step ahead of you, Jake,” Augustus said. “But to answer your question, Call’s gone to round up a dern bunch of cowboys so we can head out for Montana with a dern bunch of cows and suffer for the rest of our lives.”

“Well, dern,” Jake said. “I admit I was a fool to mention it.”

He settled himself on the lower step and set the jug halfway between them so they could both reach it. He was mildly chagrined that Call had left before he could borrow the money—extracting money from Augustus had always been a long and wearisome business. Call was easier when it came to money—he didn’t like to lend it, but he would rather lend it than talk about it, whereas Augustus would rather talk than do anything.

Also, it was bothersome that Call had seized on the idea of Montana so abruptly, though it had always been his view that if you could just hit Call with the right idea, he would apply his energies and make a fortune, which he might then share with the man who brought along the idea.

Now that he was back, though, he wouldn’t mind spending a few warm idle months in Lonesome Dove. Lorie was more of a beauty than he had expected to find. Her room over the saloon wasn’t much, but it was better accommodation than they could expect on the way to Montana.

As usual, though, life moved faster than he had intended it to. Call would come back with a lot of cowboys and he would practically have to marry Lorie in order to get out of going up the trail. Then, if he did set his foot down and stay in Lonesome Dove, who knew but what some lawman from Fort Smith would show up and drag him off to hang? Just as he had been in the mood to slow down, his own loose mouth had gotten him in trouble.

“Maybe he won’t find no cattle to drive, or no hands, neither,” he suggested, knowing it was wishful thinking.

“He’ll find the cattle, and if he can’t find the hands he drive ’em himself,” Augustus said. “And make us help him.”

Jake tipped his hat back and said nothing. The blue shoat wandered around the corner of the house and stood there looking at him, which for some reason Jake found peculiarly irritating. Gus and his pig were aggravating company.

“I ought to shoot that pig right betwixt the eyes,” he said, feeling more irritable the longer he sat. There was not much good in anything that he could see. Either it was back to Montana and probably get scalped, or stay in Texas and probably get hung. And if he wasn’t careful the girl would get restless and actually expect him to take her to San Francisco. The main problem with women was that they were always wanting something like San Francisco, and once they began to expect it they would get testy if it didn’t happen. They didn’t understand that he talked of pleasant things and faraway places just to create a happy prospect that they could look forward to for a while. It wasn’t meant to really happen, and yet women never seemed to grasp that; he had been in ticklish spots several times as their disappointment turned to anger. It was something, how mad women could get.

“Was you ever threatened by a woman, Gus?” he asked, thinking about it.

“No, not what you’d call threatened,” Augustus said. “I was hit with a stove lid once or twice.”

“Why?” Jake asked.

“Why, no reason,” Augustus said. “If you live with Mexicans you can expect to eat beans, sooner or later.”

“Who said anything about Mexicans?” Jake said, a little exasperated. Gus was the derndest talker.

Augustus chuckled. “You was always slow to see the point, Jake,” he said. “If you fool with women you’ll get hit by a stove lid, sooner or later, whereas if you live with Mexicans you have to expect beans in your diet.”

“I’d like to see a woman that can hit me with a stove lid,” Jake said. “I will take an insult once in a while, but I’d be damned if I’d take that.”

“Lorie’s apt to hit you with worse if you try to wiggle out of taking her to San Francisco,” Augustus said, delighted that an opportunity had arisen to catch Jake out so early in his visit.

Jake let that one float. Of course Gus would know all about the girl. Not that it took brains to know about women: they spread their secrets around like honey in a flytrap. Of course Lorie would want to go to San Francisco, by common agreement the prettiest town in the west.

Augustus stood up and lifted his big pistol off the back of his chair. “I guess we ought to wake up them Irishmen before they bake,” he said. He walked over and kicked at their feet for a while until they began to stir. Finally Allen O’Brien sat up, looking groggy.

“Lord, it’s warm, ain’t it?” he said.

“Why, this is spring, son,” Augustus remarked. “If you’re looking for warm come back on the Fourth of July. We usually thaw out by then.”

When he was sure both Irishmen were awake he went back to the house and came out with his rifle. “Well, let’s go,” he said to Jake.

“Go where?” Jake asked. “I just got set down.”

“To hide them horses,” Augustus said. “Pedro Flores is no quitter. He’ll be coming.”

Jake felt sour. He wished again that circumstances hadn’t prompted him to come back. He had already spent one full night on horseback, and now the boys were expecting him to spend another, all on account of a bunch of livestock he had no interest in in the first place.

“I don’t know as I’m coming,” he said. “I just got here. If I’d known you boys did nothing but chouse horses around all night, I don’t know that I would have come.”

“Why, Jake, you lazy bean,” Augustus said, and walked off. Jake had a stubborn streak in him, and once it was activated even Call could seldom do much with him. The Irish boy was standing up, trying to get the sleep out of his eyes.

“Come on, boys,” Augustus said. “Time to ride the river.”

“You want us to ride some more?” Sean asked. He had rolled over during his nap and had grass burrs in his shirt.

“You’ll soon catch on to riding,” Augustus said. “It’s easier than you might think.”

“Do you have any mules?” Sean asked. “I’m better at riding mules.”

“Son, we’re fresh out,” Augustus said. “Can either of you boys shoot?”

“No, but we can dig potatoes,” Allen said—he didn’t want the man to think they were totally incompetent.

“You boys took the wrong ship,” Augustus said. “I doubt there’s ten spuds in this whole country.”

He caught them the gentlest horses out of the small bunch that were still penned, and taught them how to adjust their stirrups so their feet wouldn’t dangle—he hadn’t had time for that refinement in Sabinas. Just then Jake came walking along, a Winchester in the crook of his arm. No doubt he had concluded it would be easier to stay up all night than to explain to Call why he hadn’t.

Soon the Irishmen were mounted and were cautiously walking their mounts around the pen.

“It’s new to them but they’re a quick-witted race,” Augustus said. “Give ’em a week and they’ll be ridin’ like Comanches.”

“I don’t know that I’ll pause a week,” Jake said. “You boys have got hard to tolerate. I might take that yellow-haired gal and mosey off to California.”

“Jake, you’re a dern grasshopper,” Augustus said. “You ride in yesterday talking Montana, and today you’re talking California.”

Once the Irishmen had got fairly competent at mounting and dismounting, Augustus gave them each a Winchester and made them shoot at a cactus a time or two.

“You’ve got to learn sometime,” he said. “If you can learn to ride and shoot before Captain Call gets back, he might hire you.”

The O’Brien boys were so awed to find themselves with deadly weapons in their hands that they immediately forgot to be nervous about their horses. Sean had never held a gun before, and the flat crack of the bullet when he shot at the cactus was frightening. It occurred to him that if they were expected to shoot, they could also expect to be shot at—an unappealing thought.

“Do we ask their names before we shoot them?” he inquired.

“It ain’t necessary,” Augustus assured him. “Most of them are named Jesus anyway.”

“Well, I ain’t named Jesus,” Jake said. “You boys try not to do your learning in my direction. I’ve been known to get riled when I’m shot at.”

When the two Irishmen came trotting up to the horse herd behind Augustus and Jake, Dish Boggett could hardly believe his eyes. He had always heard that the Hat Creek outfit was peculiar, but arming men who didn’t even know how to dismount from their horses was not so much peculiar as insane.

Augustus took the lead on a big white horse named Puddin’ Foot, and Jake Spoon followed him. Jake looked sour as clabber, which suited Dish fine. Maybe Lorena hadn’t fallen quite in love with him, after all.

Dish rode over and poked Newt, who was asleep on his horse. Dish himself had napped from time to time, the day being hot and the horse herd placid.

“You ought to see what’s coming,” he said. “Gus has put them dern midgets a-horseback.”

Newt had a hard time getting his eyes open. As soon as the chase was over, sleep had begun trying to pull him down. If Pedro Flores had ridden up and offered to shoot him he didn’t think he would much care, since it would at least mean more sleep. He knew cowboys were supposed to be able to stay in the saddle two or three days at a stretch without sleep, but he was guiltily aware that he had not yet learned the trick. When Dish poked him, his hat fell off, and when he got down to get it his legs felt as heavy as if somebody had put lead in his boots. He would have liked to say something to Sean O’Brien, who looked as tired as he was, but he couldn’t think of a word to say.

Augustus, who had had no chance to examine Call’s big catch, rode into the herd and eased through to the other side, where Deets and Pea were waiting. He took his time about it, giving the animals a critical inspection as he went past. Not more than forty of them struck him as prime mounts. A lot were undersized, some had saddle sores, and the whole bunch of them were skinny from overwork or underfeeding, or probably no feeding. Except for a prize stud or two, Pedro Flores had probably never wasted an oat on a horse in his life.

“These nags is barely worth a night’s sleep,” he said to Deets and Pea. “If we was aiming to start a soap factory they might do, but so far as I know, we ain’t. I’ve a notion to keep the best fifty and run the rest off.”

“My lord,” Pea said, aghast at what Gus had suggested. “The Captain would shoot all of us if we run off any of these horses.”

“I don’t doubt he’d foam at the mouth,” Augustus said. “What do you think, Deets?”

“They skinny,” Deets said. “Might get fat, if we give ’em enough time.”

“You might grow wings, if I give you enough time,” Augustus said. They looked across the river. The sun was slipping fast—in an hour or two they could expect a loud visit.

“Here’s the plan,” he said. “Pedro won’t bother coming to town, knowing our habits like he does. We’ll pen the prime stock and hide the skinny little rabbits up in some thicket. Then if we don’t like the looks of his army, we can skedaddle and let him drive his own soap factory back home.”

Pea Eye felt deeply uneasy about the plan. When the Captain was around, things were done in a more straightforward fashion. Gus was always coming up with something sly. However, Pea’s opinion hadn’t been asked—he watched as Gus and Deets began to cut the herd. Soon Dish Boggett figured out what was happening and rode over to help them. Dish was always a willing hand except when it came to digging wells.

Jake sat with the boy and the Irishmen and watched the proceedings without much interest. He had himself a smoke but didn’t offer anybody else one.

Newt watched too, trying to decide if he ought to go help. Mr. Gus and Deets and Dish were doing the work so efficiently he decided he’d just be in the way, so he stayed put, hoping Jake would say something to him. There had been no chance to renew their friendship since Jake had come home.

As sunset approached, Newt felt more and more anxious. The Captain being gone always affected him that way. He knew Mr. Gus was supposed to be one of the coolest hands on the border, and he was confident Jake could handle practically anything that came up, but despite those two he couldn’t stop himself from feeling anxious when the Captain was gone.

Young Sean O’Brien felt anxious too, only his anxiety was of a different nature. The prospect of shooting and being shot at had loomed larger and larger in his thinking until he could think of little else. Since Newt looked friendly, he decided to seek his counsel in the matter.

“What part of a man is it best to shoot at?” he asked, addressing himself to Newt.

Jake Spoon chuckled. “His horse,” he said. “Just aim for his horse. There ain’t many of them chili-bellies that will bother you once they’re afoot.”

With that he touched spurs to his horse and trotted around to the other side of the herd.

“Is that right?” Sean asked. “You’re supposed to shoot the horse?”

“If Jake says so, it’s right,” Newt said loyally, though the advice had surprised him too.