Lonesome Dove (24 page)

21

JAKE AWOKE not long after dawn to find Lorena up before him. She sat at the foot of the bed, her face calm, watching the first red light stretch over the mesquite flats. He would have liked to sleep, to hide in sleep for several days, make no decisions, work no cattle, just drowse. But not even sleep was really under his control. The thought that he had to get up and leave town—with Lorie—was in the front of his mind, and it melted his drowsiness. For a minute or two he luxuriated in the fact that he was sleeping on a mattress. It might be a poor one stuffed with corn shucks, but it was better than he would get for the next several months. For months it would just be the ground, with whatever weather they happened to catch.

He looked at Lorie for a minute, thinking that perhaps if he scared her with Indian stories she would change her mind.

But when he raised up on one elbow to look at her in the fresh light, the urge to discourage her went away. It was a weakness, but he could not bear to disappoint women, even if it was ultimately for their own good. At least he couldn’t disappoint them to their faces. Leaving them was his only out, and he knew he wasn’t ready to leave Lorie. Her beauty blew the sleep right out of his brain, and all she was doing was looking out a window, her long golden hair spilling over her shoulders. She wore an old threadbare cotton shift that should have been thrown away long ago. She didn’t own a decent dress, and had nothing to show her beauty to advantage, yet most of the men on the border would ride thirty miles just to sit in a saloon and look at her. She had the quality of not yet having really started her life—her face had a freshness unusual in a woman who had been sporting for a while. The thought struck him that the two of them might do well in San Francisco, if they could just get there. There were men of wealth there, and Lorie’s beauty would soon attract them.

“You don’t look like you’ve changed your mind,” he said. “I guess I’ve got to get up and go buy you a horse.”

“Take my money,” she said. “Don’t get one that’s too tall.”

She gave him Gus’s fifty dollars.

“Hell, I don’t need all this,” he said. “There ain’t a horse in town worth fifty dollars, unless it’s that mare of Call’s, and she ain’t for sale.” But he took the money, thinking it a fine joke on Gus that the money from his poke would buy Lorie a mount to ride to Montana, or however far they went. He had known perfectly well Gus would try something of the sort, for Gus would never let him have a woman to himself. Gus liked to be a rival more than anything else, Jake figured. And as for Lorie going through with it—well, it relieved him of a certain level of responsibility for her. If she was going to keep that much independence, so would he.

Lorena kept looking out the window. It was as if her mind had already left Lonesome Dove and moved up the trail. Jake sat up and put his arms around her. He loved the way she smelled in the mornings; he liked to sniff at her shoulders or her throat. He did it again. She didn’t reject these little morning attentions, but she didn’t encourage them either. She waited for him to leave and go buy the horse, running over in her mind the few things she could take with her. There was not much. Her favorite thing was a mother-of-pearl comb Tinkersley had bought her when they first got to San Antonio. She had a thin gold ring that had been her mother’s, and one or two other trifles. She had never liked to buy things; in Lonesome Dove it didn’t matter, for there was nothing much to buy.

Jake sat and scratched himself for a while, smelling Lorie’s flesh and hoping she would encourage him, but since she didn’t, he finally got dressed and went off to see about horses and equipment.

Before Jake had been gone ten minutes Lorena got a surprise. There was a timid knock at her door. She opened it a peek and there was Xavier, standing on the stairs in tears. He just stood there looking as if it was the end of the world, tears running down his cheeks and dripping onto his shirt. She didn’t know what to make of it, but since she wasn’t dressed, she didn’t want to let him in.

“Is it true, what Jake says?” he asked. “You are leaving today?”

Lorena nodded. “We’re going to San Francisco,” she said.

“I want to marry you,” Xavier said. “Do not go. If you go I don’t want to live. I will burn the place down. It’s a filthy place anyway. I will burn it tomorrow.”

Well, it’s your place, she thought. Burn it if you want to. But she didn’t say it. Xavier had not been unkind to her. He had given her a job when she didn’t have a penny, and had paid promptly for whatever services he required. Now he was standing on the stairs, so wrought up he could hardly see.

“I’m going,” she said.

Xavier shook his head in despair. “But Jake is not true,” he said. “I know him. He will leave you somewhere. You will never get to San Francisco.”

“I’ll get there,” Lorena said. “If Jake don’t stay, I’ll get there with someone else.”

He shook his head. “You will die somewhere,” he said. “He’ll take you the wrong way. We could marry. I will sell this place. We can go to Galveston and take a boat for California. We can get a restaurant, there. I have Therese’s money. We can get a clean restaurant, with tablecloths. You won’t have to see men anymore.”

Except I’d have to see you, she thought.

“Let me come in,” he said, “I will give you anything… more than Gus.”

She shook her head. “Jake would kill you,” she said. “You go on now.”

“I can’t,” he said, still crying. “I am dying for you. If he kills me I would be better. I will give you anything.”

Again she shook her head, not quite sure what to think. She had seen Xavier have fits before, but usually fits of anger. This fit was different. His chest was heaving and his eyes poured tears.

“You should marry me,” he said. “I will be good to you. I am not like these men. I have manners. You would see how kind I would be. I would never leave you. You could have an easy life.”

Lorena just kept shaking her head. The most interesting thing he said was about the boat. She didn’t know much, but she knew Galveston was closer than Denver. Why was Jake wanting to ride to Denver, if they could take a boat?

“You better leave,” she said. “I don’t want Jake to catch you up here. He might shoot you.”

“No!” Xavier exclaimed. “I will shoot
him
! I have a shotgun. I will shoot him when he comes back if you don’t let me in.”

Lorena hardly knew what to think. It was crazy behavior. Xavier didn’t seem to want to budge from the stairs. He did own a shotgun. It was not likely Jake would let someone as pitiful as Xavier shoot him, but then if he shot Xavier, that would be almost as bad. He already had his Arkansas trouble from shooting someone. They might not get to leave if there was a shooting, and Xavier looked desperate enough to do anything.

Then Xavier began to pull money out of his pocket. It was hard to say how much he held out to her, but it was a good deal more than fifty dollars. It might even be a hundred dollars. The sight of it made her feel tired. No matter what plans she made or how she tried to live, some man would always be looking at her and holding out money. Without giving it much thought, Mosby had started something that nothing seemed to stop. She thought Jake had stopped it, but he hadn’t. His talk about killing men was just talk. If he had cared that much he would have shot Gus, friend or no friend. It was hard to believe he would even shoot Xavier—probably he would just give her another slap and forget about it.

“Please,” Xavier said. “Please. I need you.”

At least it might calm him down, she thought, opening the door. Also, he was usually quick as a rabbit when he came to her.

“I ain’t messin’ this bed,” she said. “It’s the last sheet.”

Xavier didn’t care. He put the money on her little chest of drawers and turned to her. Lorie shut the door and leaned against it, lifting her shift. With a grateful look Xavier dropped his pants. Soon his legs were trembling so she was afraid he would collapse before he was done. But he didn’t. When he finished he put his head against her bosom for a moment, wetting her breasts with his tears even as she felt his drip on her thigh.

Then he stepped back and pulled up his pants.

“Goodbye,” he said.

“Well, I ain’t left yet,” she said. “We’re not going till afternoon.”

Xavier looked at her once more, and left. His look startled her. It was like the look in her Pa’s eyes, when he died in Baton Rouge. She watched him go down the stairs. He went slowly, as if feeling for each stair. He had scarcely been in her room two minutes, but her shift was wet with his tears. Men were all strange, but Xavier was stranger than many.

When he finally made it to the bottom she turned and hid the money. It was just one more secret she had from Jake.

22

LATE THAT AFTERNOON, as the boys were sitting around Bolivar’s cook fire, getting their evening grub, Augustus looked up from his plate and saw Jake and Lorena ride into camp. They were riding two good horses and leading a pack horse. The most surprising thing was that Lorena was wearing pants. So far as he could remember, he had never seen a woman in pants, and he considered himself a man of experience. Call had his back turned and hadn’t seen them, but some of the cowboys had. The sight of a woman in pants scared them so bad they didn’t know where to put their eyes. Most of them began to concentrate heavily on the beans in their plates. Dish Boggett turned white as a sheet, got up without a word to anybody, got his night horse and started for the herd, which was strung out up the valley.

It was Dish’s departure that got Call’s attention. He looked around and saw the couple coming.

“We got you to thank for this,” he said to Gus.

“I admit I was inspired,” Augustus said. He knew his friend was in a silent fury, but he himself thought the visit might provide a little amusement. It had been in short supply lately. The only thing there had been to laugh at was Allen O’Brien getting pitched into a pile of prickly pears by a bronc. When he emerged he even had thorns in his beard.

But that was a normal hazard, the horses being unreliable and the prickly pear abundant.

A woman in pants was far more unusual. Jake rode right up to the cook fire, though Augustus could tell from his manner that he was nervous.

“Howdy, boys,” he said. “Mind if we make a meal?”

“Course not, you’re as welcome around here as money, Jake,” Augustus said. “You and Lorie too.”

Call watched the proceedings silently, unable to decide who he was more aggravated at, Gus or Jake. Surely the latter knew better than to bring a woman into a cow camp. It was difficult enough to keep men peaceful even if they didn’t have a woman to argue about.

“Woodrow, you know Lorie, I reckon,” Jake said, although he knew it wasn’t true. Call’s silence had always made him nervous.

“We’ve not met,” Call said, touching his hat but not looking at the woman. He didn’t want to get angry at Jake in front of all the hands, and all but Dish and the two Rainey boys were lounging around eating their evening meal. Or, at least, they
had
been lounging. Now they were sitting as stiffly as if they were in church. Some looked paralyzed. For a moment the only sound in the camp was the jingle of a bit as the woman’s horse slung its head.

Augustus walked over to help Lorena dismount. The sight of the boys all sitting like statues made him want to laugh. The sudden appearance of a Comanche would not have affected them as much.

He recognized the brown mare Lorie rode as having belonged to Mary Pumphrey, the young widow.

“I would not have thought Mary would give up her mare,” he said.

“Jake bought her,” Lorena said, grateful that Gus had come over to offer her help. Jake had not so much as looked at her since they rode into camp. She had never seen Captain Call up close before, but she could tell Jake was mighty uneasy about him.

It depressed her a little that she was left to depend on Gus’s courtesy from the very outset. He took her over to the cook fire and saw that she got a good helping of food, talking casually all the while, mainly about the qualities of the Pumphrey mare. Jake followed and got some grub but he was silent when he did it.

Still, it had felt good to ride out of Lonesome Dove. She had not seen Xavier again. The Dry Bean had been empty as they made their preparations. The pants had been Jake’s idea. He had known a woman mule skinner in Montana who had worn pants.

While Jake had been fixing the pack horse Lippy had come out on the steps of the saloon and waved his lip at her one more time.

“I never tolt on you, Lorie,” he said. He looked like he might cry too. You’ll just have to cry, she thought. He took his bowler off and turned it around and around in his hand until it made her nervous.

“You’ll have to pardon the grub,” Augustus said. “Bol has learned to season but he forgot to learn to cook.”

Bolivar was resting comfortably against a wagon wheel and ignored the sally. He was wavering in his mind whether to stay or go. He did not like travel—the thought of it made him unhappy. And yet, when he went home to Mexico he felt unhappy too, for his wife was disappointed in him and let him know it every day. He had never been sure what she wanted—after all, their children were beautiful—but whatever it was, he had not been able to give it to her. His daughters were his delight, but they would soon all marry and be gone, leaving him no protection from his wife. Probably he would shoot his wife if he went home. He had shot an irritating horse, right out from under himself. A man’s patience sometimes simply snapped. He had shot the horse right between the ears and then found it difficult to get the saddle off, once the horse fell. Probably he would shoot his wife in the same way, if he went home. Many times he had been tempted to shoot one or another of the members of the Hat Creek outfit, but of course if he did that he would be immediately shot in return. Every day he thought he might go home, but he didn’t. It was easier to stay and cut up a few snakes into the cook pot than to listen to his wife complain.

So he stayed, day by day, paying no attention to what anyone said. That in itself was a luxury he wouldn’t have at home, for a disappointed woman was not easy to ignore.

Jake ate without tasting his food, wishing he had never come back to Lonesome Dove. It was going to be no pleasure riding north, if Call was so disapproving. He had meant to take Call aside and quietly explain it, but somehow he could not think of the best words to use. Call’s silences had a way of making him lose track of his thoughts—some of which were perfectly good thoughts, in their way.

As they ate, the dusk deepened. Sean O’Brien, on the far side of the herd, began to sing his night song, an Irish melody whose words did not carry across the long plain where the cattle stood. But in the still night the sound carried; somehow it made Newt want to cry. He was sitting stiffly only a few feet from Lorena. He had been looking at her closely for the first time—hardly daring to, and yet feeling that he was safe because of the dusk. She was more beautiful than he had imagined, but she did not look happy—it gave him a painful feeling to see her unhappiness, and the song made it worse. His eyes filled up. It was no wonder Sean cried so much, Newt thought—his songs made you want to cry even when you couldn’t hear the words.

“This is a lucky herd,” Augustus said.

“And how is that?” Jake asked, a little testy. In some moods he could tolerate Gus’s talk, but at other times the very sound of Gus’s voice made him want to take out a gun and shoot the man. It was a loud voice—the sound of it made it hard to think, when it wasn’t easy to think anyway. But the most aggravating aspect to it was that Gus always sounded cheerful, as if there was no trouble in the world that could catch him. At times when life seemed all trouble, the sight of Gus, untouched by all that went on around him, was difficult to bear.

“Why, it’s the only herd on the trail that’s got two Irish baritones to sing to it,” Augustus said.

“He sings too sad,” Needle Nelson said, for the sound of Sean’s voice affected him as it had Newt. It brought to mind his mother, who had died when he was eight, and also a little sister he had been fond of, who had succumbed to a fever when only four.

“It’s the Irish nature,” Augustus said.

“No, it’s just Sean,” Allen O’Brien said. “He’s just a crybaby.”

Call came walking over. He felt he had to know what Jake meant to do.

“Well, Jake, have you made your plans?” he asked, being as formal as possible.

“Oh, we’ve decided to try our luck in Denver for the time being,” Jake said. “I believe we’d both enjoy the cool weather.”

“It’s a hard trip,” Call observed.

“Why tell that to Jake?” Augustus asked. “He’s a traveled man and ain’t put off by hardship. Feather beds ain’t his style.”

He had meant it as blatant irony, since of course feather beds were exactly Jake’s style, but the discussion was so solemn that his flourish went unnoticed.

“We had hoped to sort of ease along with the bunch of you,” Jake said, his eyes down. “We’ll make our own camp, so as not to be in the way. Might could help out a little if things get tight. The water might be a little chancy, once we hit the plains.”

“If I’d liked water better I guess I’d have stayed a river-boater, and you boys would have missed out on some choice conversation over the years,” Augustus said.

“Hell, it’s taken ten years off my life, listening to you talk,” Jake said.

“Jake, you are surly tonight,” Augustus said mildly. “I guess leaving the easy pickings around here has put you out of sorts.”

Pea Eye was carefully whetting his bowie knife on the sole of one boot. Though they were still perfectly safe, as far as he knew, Pea had already begun to have bad dreams about the big Indian whose ferocity had haunted his sleep for years. The dreams had been so bad that he had already started sleeping with the unsheathed bowie knife in his hand, so he would be in the habit of it by the time they hit Indian country. This precaution caused certain problems for the young hands whose duty it was to wake him for his shift at night herding. It put them in danger of getting stabbed, a fact which troubled Jasper Fant particularly. Jasper was sensitive to danger. Usually he chose to wake Pea by kicking him in one foot, although even that wasn’t really safe—Pea was tall and who knew when he might snap up and make a lunge. Jasper had concluded that the best way would be to pelt him with small rocks, although such caution would only earn him the scorn of the rest of the hands.

“I wouldn’t have wanted to miss hearing you talk, Gus,” Pea said, though he could not offhand remember a single thing Gus had said over the years. But he could remember, night after night, drowsing off to the sound of Gus’s voice.

“I’m ready to start, if we got to start,” Augustus said. “We got enough cattle now to stock five ranches.”

Call knew that was true, but he found it difficult to resist running over to Mexico every few nights to add more cattle. They were easy to get, without Pedro Flores to contend with.

“It does seem a pity you’re so independent, Jake,” Augustus said. “If you come in with us you could be a cattle baron yet.”

“Nope, I’d rather be pore than chew the dust,” Jake said, standing up. Lorie stood up too. She felt her silence coming back. It was men watching her while trying to pretend they weren’t watching her that brought it on. Few of them were bold enough just to look straight at her. They had to be sneaky about it. Being among them in the camp was worse than the saloon, where at least she had her room. In the camp there was nothing she could do but sit and listen to the talk pass her by.

“I guess we’ll try to find a ridge to camp on,” Jake said. “It would be nice to be upwind from these smelly beasts.”

“Good God, Jake, if you’re that finicky you ought to have been a barber,” Augustus said. “Then you could smell hair oil and toilet water all day and never be offended.” He walked over and helped Lorena mount. The brown mare was restless and kept slinging her head.

“I may take to barbering yet,” Jake said, annoyed that Gus had seen fit to help Lorie again. She was going to have to learn to mount sometime, with over a thousand miles of riding ahead.

“I hope you’ll come back for breakfast,” Augustus said. “We eat about an hour before sunrise. Woodrow Call likes to put in a full day, as you may remember.”

“For that matter we intend to have our breakfast sent out by the hotel,” Jake said sarcastically, spurring his horse.

Call watched them go, annoyed. Augustus noticed, and chuckled.

“Even you can’t stop inconvenient things from happening, Call,” he said. “Jake can only be controlled up to a point, and Lorie’s a woman. She can’t be controlled at all.”

Call didn’t want to argue about it. He picked up his Henry and walked out of the circle of firelight, meaning to have a few minutes to himself. Passing behind the wagon, he bumped into Newt, who had evidently been holding his water while the woman was in camp and had just slipped off to relieve himself.

“Sorry, Captain,” he said.

“You ought to go get Dish,” Call said. “I don’t know why he rode off. It ain’t his shift. I guess we’ll start tomorrow. We can’t take all the cattle in Mexico.”

He stood silently a moment. The mood to walk had left him.

Newt was surprised. The Captain never shared his decisions with him, and yet it seemed that the decision to leave had just been made, right there behind the wagon.

“Captain,” he asked, “how far is it, up north?” It was something he couldn’t stop wondering about, and since the Captain hadn’t walked away, the question just popped out.

Then he immediately felt silly for asking it. “I guess it’s a mighty far piece, up north,” he said, as if to relieve the Captain of the need to answer.

It struck Call that they should have educated the boy a little better. He seemed to think north was a place, not just a direction. It was another of Gus’s failings—he considered himself a great educator, and yet he rarely told anyone anything they needed to know.

“It’s a ways farther than you’ve been,” Call said, not sure the boy had ever been anywhere. Probably they had at least taken him to Pickles Gap at some point.

“Oh, I been north,” Newt said, not wanting the Captain to think him completely untraveled. “I been north clear to San Antone—remember?”

Call remembered then—Deets had taken him once.

“Where we’re going is a sight farther,” he said.