The Lonesome Dove Chronicles (1-4)

by Larry McMurtry

  Sometimes he missed Maggie, and would have liked to sit with her for an hour, and enjoy one of her tasty beefsteaks. Still, he knew he was better off than Augustus, who still pined so severely for Clara Allen that the mere sight of her handwriting on an envelope would send him into the saloons for a long bout of drinking. Often Gus would keep one of Clara’s letters for a week before he could even work up to opening it. He never said much about the letters, though he did once remark that Clara had lost a boy—a year or two later he remarked that she had lost another boy.

  Augustus, when he chose to employ it, had a great gift for politics. He could persuade better than any governor or senator Call had ever met. Gus could easily have been elected a senator, and gone to Washington; he could have been elected governor. And yet, because he had lost the love of the one woman he really wanted, Clara Allen, Augustus had stayed a ranger. Once or twice Gus did consider running for office, but then another letter from Clara would come and he’d drink and put off reading it for a week. It seemed, to Woodrow Call, a strange way to live a life.

  28.

  LAST HORSE was sitting idly by the fire, sharpening one of his knives on a whetstone, when it gradually dawned on him what the women were saying. The women were always talking some ribaldry or other. Last Horse didn’t understand why they talked about coupling so much since most of them, including his two wives, were rarely eager to couple with him—but such was the talk of women, year in and year out. He had only been half listening until one of them mentioned Buffalo Hump. Even though Buffalo Hump was old now some of the women still speculated about coupling with him; but that was not what they were talking about this morning. It was only when he realized that the women were claiming that the old chief had left the camp that Last Horse suddenly realized that something important had happened.

  What they said was true: Buffalo Hump’s lodge appeared to be empty; there was no sign that he had used it for two or three days. Last Horse started to go inside the lodge and see if Buffalo Hump had left anything behind, but when he got to the entrance he stopped. Buffalo Hump was unpredictable; he might be in his lodge, waiting quietly for some fool to slip in and try to rob him. He might be waiting with his big knife.

  Even if he wasn’t waiting, even if he was truly gone, entering his lodge was not a step to be taken lightly. After all, he might only have gone on a hunt; he might return and make an issue of the fact that his lodge had been entered without his permission. Last Horse hesitated—he had been afraid of Buffalo Hump all his life. Even if he knew that Buffalo Hump were dead he would have felt the need for caution. Such a chief would have a powerful spirit, one that might come back and work evil on interferers. Alive or dead, Buffalo Hump was a power Last Horse did not want to confront. He immediately got his rifle and set off for the northeast, to look for Blue Duck.

  Last Horse had grown up with Blue Duck. Last year, while on a hunt, he had run into Blue Duck and some of his men; he feared trouble, but instead Blue Duck was friendly and even gave him some of his whiskey, a liquid he liked very much, although the sickness that came the next day was not pleasant.

  In the morning, to his surprise, Blue Duck had given him two pistols and a watch. Later in the day, while still feeling the unpleasantness that resulted from drinking so much whiskey, Last Horse had a most unfortunate accident while trying to load one of his new pistols. Because he was a little shaky he let the hammer slip while the pistol was pointed at his foot, the result being that he shot off the middle toe on his right foot. Such a foolish accident caused Last Horse great embarrassment, but it amused the ruffians who rode with Blue Duck very much. They began to tease him and call him Lost Toe—their rude behavior annoyed Last Horse greatly. Before he left to go home Blue Duck himself brewed some leaves and made a little poultice to put on his toe.

  “How do you know how to make medicine?” Last Horse asked.

  “A witch woman taught me,” Blue Duck said.

  Then he revealed the real reason he had been so generous with Last Horse: he wanted Last Horse to keep an eye on Buffalo Hump and let him know if the old man left the camp to go on a hunt or a journey. Blue Duck made no secret of the fact that he meant to kill Buffalo Hump. All the Comanches, including Buffalo Hump, had known of Blue Duck’s intentions for many years, but Buffalo Hump, old as he was, feared no one and didn’t let the threat keep him from going where he pleased.

  Blue Duck showed Last Horse a fine rifle, with silver on the stock. He promised to give Last Horse the rifle if he would come quickly and let him know if Buffalo Hump left camp.

  Once back with the tribe, Last Horse could not get the fine rifle out of his mind, or the whiskey either. That is why the women’s news excited him so.

  Last Horse asked all the warriors if Buffalo Hump had mentioned where he was going—he even asked Kicking Wolf, a man he was afraid of—but Buffalo Hump had spoken to no one. He had just ridden away. Kicking Wolf seemed a little surprised by the news. He took the trouble to ride out to the horse herd, to see if he could determine how many horses Buffalo Hump had taken with him; when he came back he seemed subdued. He went himself to Buffalo Hump’s lodge, to examine the horse tracks—once he had done so he seemed even more subdued.

  “He only took that one old horse,” Kicking Wolf said. “He has gone to find a place to die.”

  Last Horse did not wait to question Kicking Wolf further. He set off at once to find Blue Duck. He knew he had to get to Blue Duck as soon as possible; if he delayed, Buffalo Hump might go on and die, in which case Blue Duck would have no reason to give him the rifle.

  Last Horse did not feel entirely right about his errand, though. He knew that he was doing a thing that would not be approved of. Buffalo Hump had been a great chief, but Blue Duck was only an outlaw. The People might scorn him for taking Blue Duck such news, but Last Horse kept riding east anyway. He felt sad but he kept riding; his sadness wasn’t just from the knowledge that he was doing something that was not too honorable. In the great days of the Comanche people it would not have occurred to him to betray a chief to a brash outlaw who happened to be his son.

  The farther Last Horse went from the camp and the tribe, the more he began to doubt that he could ever go back and live among the People again. With the People he was always hungry; everyone in the band was always hungry. The great days of feasting were over. Peta, their leader, had talked to the whites more than once lately; it would not be long before the band would have to move onto the land the whites wanted them to have.

  Because of that, Last Horse felt less bad about what he was doing. He pressed his horse until the horse was lathered white with sweat. There was nothing behind him but sickness and starvation; if he rode with Blue Duck there would at least be food, because Blue Duck hunted in the forests where the deer were still thick.

  When Blue Duck saw Last Horse coming, his horse pushed almost to the point of death, he immediately slipped his ammunition belts over his shoulder. If the Comanche had run his horse almost to death it could only be because he had urgent news of Buffalo Hump. Blue Duck went to a little wagon where he kept his whiskey and pulled out a bottle, which he handed to Last Horse as soon as the Comanche stepped off his stumbling mount.

  “You have killed your horse, we might as well eat him,” Blue Duck said. “I don’t know why you were in such a hurry, unless you have a big thirst for whiskey.”

  Last Horse was almost as tired as his mount. He wanted to deliver his news at once, before he started drinking the whiskey.

  “Buffalo Hump left,” he said. “He took only one horse and he went northwest. Kicking Wolf says he has gone away to die. Now can I have that pretty gun?”

  He saw the rifle he had been promised, propped against a wagon wheel, the sun glinting off the silver on the stock. Blue Duck walked over and picked it up; he looked at it carefully, as if he had never seen it before. Then, instead of giving it to Last Horse, as he had promised, he pointed it at him instead.

  “This gun is too good for a thieving Com
anche like you,” Blue Duck said. “But since you are here I can let you have the bullets.”

  Blue Duck fired twice; the bullets spun Last Horse around and knocked him to his knees. Several grasshoppers were hopping in the brown grass. Last Horse fell forward. His eyes were still open when one of the yellow grasshoppers hopped onto his face.

  Blue Duck took the unopened whiskey bottle out of his hand and put it back in the little wagon. Ermoke, who had been about to snatch it, was disappointed.

  29.

  AFTER KILLING LAST HORSE, a man so foolish he had shot off his own toe, Blue Duck needed only a few minutes to complete his preparations for his journey in pursuit of Buffalo Hump. He caught four of his fastest horses, because he wanted to travel fast and far. Although he didn’t expect much resistance from the old man himself, it was hard to predict what one might encounter on the prairies, so he made sure he was well armed. The week before, his men had come upon two buffalo hunters whose hide wagon had broken down, and had killed them both, mainly in order to get their supply of tobacco, a substance always in short supply around the camp. Blue Duck didn’t care about the tobacco himself, but he was always pleased to capture the buffalo hunters’ heavy rifles and their ammunition.

  Now he strapped one of their big fifty-caliber rifles on one of the horses, an action that aroused the suspicions of Ermoke and Monkey John. They knew that Blue Duck had it in mind to kill his father someday, but they were not aware of the news Last Horse had brought. When they saw Blue Duck making ready to leave, with four horses and a buffalo gun, they assumed he must be going to ambush somebody rich. Blue Duck made no effort to divide treasures when he killed or captured some traveler. He always kept everything for himself, and frequently bullied other members of the robber gang to give him some of their spoils. It was a source of annoyance. When Ermoke complained, which he only did when he was drunk, Blue Duck laughed at him. Two or three men immediately went over and searched the dead Comanche, Last Horse, but he had nothing on him except a knife and one of the pistols Blue Duck had given him earlier—it was the pistol he had used to shoot off his own toe.

  When Blue Duck was ready he simply rode away, without saying a word to anyone. As soon as he was out of sight, Ermoke and Monkey John caught their horses and followed him. They caught up with him about three miles from camp. Both men were a little nervous; when Blue Duck acted as if he didn’t want company it was well to be cautious. His killing moods were unpredictable. Neither of them had expected him to kill the Comanche who had ridden into camp—earlier he had been quite friendly with the man. Certainly the Comanche had not expected to be killed. He had ridden his horse to death to reach Blue Duck quickly. But now he was dead, and so was his horse. The women were butchering it as Ermoke and Monkey John rode away.

  Blue Duck didn’t say a word when the two men joined him on his ride to the west. He knew they had followed thinking he was about to kill some traveler with a lot of money. Though it was impertinent for the two to join him when he hadn’t asked for their company, he decided to let them come. They didn’t know he was only riding off to kill an old Comanche who owned nothing worth stealing. They would make a long ride for nothing, which would serve them right.

  Once they found Buffalo Hump, Blue Duck meant to inform the two killers that only he was to kill the old man—he did not want them to interfere. The mission he was on was one he had waited for since he left the tribe. Blue Duck had forgotten none of the insults Buffalo Hump had heaped on him: now he meant to have his revenge.

  Blue Duck was convinced, too, that he knew where his father would go to make his death. Long ago, when Blue Duck was a boy of seven or eight, before his father began to insult him, Buffalo Hump had taken him on a long ride to Black Mesa, west of the Beaver River, in country that was so dry Blue Duck thought they might die of thirst. But Buffalo Hump did not intend to die of thirst—he knew of an old lake near Black Mesa, a lake that was then dry. What Buffalo Hump knew was that there was a little seeping spring in the center of the dry lake, hidden under weeds. They had ridden two days without water before they came to the dry lake and found the little seeping spring; Blue Duck had never forgotten the taste of that cool water, and he never told anyone else about the existence of the spring. Buffalo Hump had told him that the People had lived near Black Mesa long before his own time, when they were just becoming a horse people. He had said it was a place of powerful spirits. Blue Duck had a clear memory of the journey and felt sure he could find the dry lake again, and the little spring. He wanted to hurry, though. Last Horse had said that Buffalo Hump had left with only one horse, and an old one at that. If the horse weakened, Buffalo Hump might die before he reached the mesa. Blue Duck rode hard all day, switching horses often so as not to wear out his mounts. Ermoke and Monkey John, foolishly, had not brought extra horses. They had assumed that Blue Duck must be after a victim fairly close to camp, which only showed Blue Duck how stupid they were. They had seen him ride out with four horses—did they think the other three were only to carry loot from his ambush?

  Blue Duck showed them no mercy, where speed was concerned. If they rode their horses to death he meant to leave them; if they starved before they could get back to camp it was what they deserved. By the afternoon of the third day Ermoke and Monkey John were far behind. Already they were on a part of the llano they didn’t know, and it was very dry. Both men knew Blue Duck would not wait for them, or show them any consideration at all.

  Monkey John began to regret that they had come—as usual, Ermoke had been hasty in his judgment. If their horses failed in such country they would probably die.

  “Who’s he going to rob, out here?” Monkey John asked, several times. “There don’t nobody live way out here.”

  Ermoke didn’t answer. He was watching the ground, determined not to lose Blue Duck’s track.

  “We ought to have brought more horses,” Monkey John said, a little later, when he began to feel the force of the desert. They were in a great ring of empty land; the horizons seemed a hundred miles away.

  Ermoke was thinking that if Blue Duck didn’t slow down he might have to kill Monkey John. That way he would have another horse.

  30.

  CALL HAD NO TROUBLE persuading Famous Shoes to help them find Blue Duck’s camp. Famous Shoes liked to be free to go anywhere at any time, across the plains, into the forests, down to Mexico, over the mountains. The Kickapoo people were widely scattered now—he had to be able to move freely in order to visit his own people. Recently, though, because of Blue Duck and his renegades, he had had to recognize that it was unwise to travel north of the Trinity River, unless he went very far to the west to do it. Famous Shoes did not want to get killed, and he knew that Blue Duck would kill him without hesitation if he found him alone. He well remembered that Blue Duck had once delivered him to Slow Tree, thinking he was delivering him to torture. Slow Tree had let him go, but Blue Duck would not let him go if he caught him now.

  So when Captain Call came to him and said that the rangers were going after Blue Duck, Famous Shoes immediately made ready to go with them.

  Four days later Captain Call, Captain McCrae, eight rangers, and several sheriffs were hidden in a clump of timber near the south bank of the Red River, waiting for Famous Shoes to find the renegades and let them know how many fighting men they would have to face.

  Famous Shoes easily found the renegades’ camp, but he soon saw that Blue Duck wasn’t there. He knew this news would displease Captain Call and Captain McCrae, and he was right.

  “Who is there, if he ain’t?” Augustus asked impatiently.

  “There are twelve men and some women—they are cooking a horse,” Famous Shoes said. “Ermoke is not there either. He is a man who rapes whenever he can.”

  “Where the hell is Blue Duck?” Gus asked. “I hate to waste time on the chiggers he left behind. The sheriffs can handle them.”

  “Gus, we’re here—we might as well help the sheriffs do this job,” Call said. “Maybe some of the
men know where he went.”

  “Blue Duck has gone west and he is in a hurry,” Famous Shoes said. “He took four horses and two men.”

  “That’s it, let’s go get after him,” Augustus said.

  Call looked at the sheriffs, all local men. They did not look happy at the prospect of being left to fight a dozen renegades. All were poor men—probably they had just agreed to serve as sheriffs because they feared starvation if they tried to continue as farmers or merchants. Money was short and jobs scarce in Texas at the time.

  “No, let’s help the sheriffs round up these outlaws,” Call said. “The sheriffs would be outnumbered if we leave.”

  In the event, the renegades in Blue Duck’s camp didn’t fight at all. One man did raise his rifle when the rangers came charging into camp, but he was immediately shot dead. Then ten dirty, half-starved men threw up their hands—the twelfth man managed to wiggle out of the back of a tent into some reeds by the river. He escaped that day but was killed two days later in Shreveport, Louisiana, while trying to rob a hardware store.

  Once the renegades were disarmed Deets was given the job of tying them. Jake Spoon, before he left, taught Deets what he knew about knots. Call and Augustus were ready to hand the prisoners over to the sheriffs, but the sheriffs balked.

  One of the sheriffs, whose name was Kettler, pointed to a grove of oak trees not far from the river.

  “We can’t be putting the county to the expense of raising no jury,” he said. “It’s planting time. The men need to be in their fields. I ain’t asking them to take off just to try a bunch of bad ’uns like these men.