“Oh, well,” Augustus said, “we wasn’t always cowpokes. We put in some twenty years fighting Comanches in the state of Texas. Don’t these Indians up here fall off their horses like other Indians when you put a bullet or two in them?”
“Some do and some just keep coming,” Captain Weaver said. “I didn’t come over here to talk all morning. Have you men seen any sign?”
“Our scout didn’t mention any,” Call said, waving to Deets.
“Oh, you’ve got a nigger for a scout,” Dixon said. “No wonder you’re lost.”
“We ain’t lost,” Call said, annoyed suddenly, “and that black man could track you across the coals of hell.”
“And bring you back on a pitchfork, if we asked him to,” Augustus added.
“What makes you think you can say things like that to us?” Captain Weaver said, flushing with anger.
“Ain’t it still a free country?” Augustus asked. “Who asked you to ride up and insult our scout?”
Deets came loping up and Call asked him if he had seen Indian sign.
“None between here and the river,” Deets said.
A pale-looking young lieutenant suddenly spoke up.
“I thought they went east,” he said.
“We went east,” Weaver said. “Where do you think we’ve been for the last week?”
“Maybe they went farther and faster,” Augustus said. “Indians usually do. From the looks of those nags you’re riding they could probably outrun you on foot.”
“You’re a damn impertinent man,” Weaver said. “Those Indians killed a buffalo hunter and a woman, two days ago. Three weeks ago they wiped out a family southeast of here. If you see them you’ll wish you’d kept your damn beeves in Texas.”
“Let’s go,” Call said, abruptly turning his horse.
“We need horses,” Captain Weaver said. “Ours are about ridden down.”
“Ain’t that what I said that you thought was so impertinent?” Augustus remarked.
“I see you’ve got extras,” Weaver said. “We’ll take ’em. There’s a man who sells horses west of Ogallala. You can buy some more there and send the Army a bill.”
“No, thanks,” Call said. “We like the ones we’ve got.”
“I wasn’t asking,” Weaver said. “I’m requisitioning your horses.”
Augustus laughed. Call didn’t. He saw that the man was serious.
“We need ’em,” Dixon said. “We’ve got to protect this frontier.”
Augustus laughed again. “Who have you protected lately?” he asked. “All you’ve told us about are people you didn’t protect.”
“I’m tired of talking,” Weaver said. “Go get the horses, Jim. Take a couple of men and pick out good ones.”
“You can’t have any horses,” Call said. “You have no authority to requisition stock from us.”
“By God, I’ll have those horses or I’ll have your hides,” Weaver said. “Go get ’em, Jim.”
The young lieutenant looked very nervous, but he turned as if to ride over to the herd.
“Hold on, son, the argument ain’t over,” Augustus said.
“You’d defy an officer of the U.S. Army?” Weaver asked.
“You’re as close to that horse trader in Ogallala as we are,” Call pointed out.
“Yes, but we’re going the other way,” Weaver said.
“You were headed this way when you spotted us,” Augustus said. “When’d you change your mind?”
Dixon, the big scout, was listening to the conversation with contempt in his expression. The contempt was as much for Weaver as for them.
Captain Weaver turned to the young man. “I gave you an order. These men are all bluff. They’re just cowboys. Go get the horses.”
As the young man passed, Augustus reached down and caught his bridle.
“If you want them horses, why don’t you go get ’em?” he said. “You’re the Captain.”
“I call this treason,” Weaver said. “You men can be hung for treason.”
Call had been looking over the rest of the troop. Throughout his career in the Rangers he had been bothered by how sluggishly the cavalry performed, and the troop he saw watching the proceedings looked more sluggish than most. Half the men had gone to sleep in their saddles the moment the column stopped, and the horses all looked as if they needed a month off on good grass.
“How far is Ogallala?” Call asked.
“I’m not interested in Ogallala,” Weaver said. “I’m interested in Red Cloud.”
“We don’t know this Red Cloud,” Augustus said. “But if he’s much of a war chief you better hope you don’t catch him. I doubt an Indian would even consent to eat them ponies you’re riding. I never saw a worse-mounted bunch of men.”
“Well, we’ve been out ten days, and it’s none of your concern,” Weaver said, trembling with indignation. Although Augustus was doing most of the talking, it was Call whom he looked at with hatred.
“Let’s go,” Call said. “This is pointless talk.” He saw that the little Captain was keyed up to the point where it wouldn’t take much to provoke him into an explosion.
“Jim, get them horses,” Weaver said.
“No,” Call said. “You can’t have our horses. And I’ll give you some advice, too. Your troop’s exhausted. If you was to find Indians you’d be the one’s massacred, most likely. You don’t just need fresh horses, you need fresh men.”
“What I don’t need is advice from a goddamn cowboy,” Weaver said.
“We’ve fought Comanches and Kiowas and Mexican bandits for twenty years and we’re still here,” Call said. “You’d do well to listen.”
“If I see you in town I’ll box your goddamn ears,” Dixon said, addressing himself to Call.
Call ignored the man. He turned and started to ride away. Augustus released the young lieutenant’s bridle.
“Leave me that nigger,” Weaver said. “I’ve heard they can smell Indians. They’re just red niggers, anyway.”
“No,” Call said. “I’d be afraid you’d mistreat him.”
They went to the wagon. When they turned to look, the cavalry troop was still sitting there.
“Reckon they’ll charge?” Augustus asked.
“Charge a cow herd?” Call said. “I wouldn’t think so. Weaver’s mad, but not that mad.”
They waited, but the cavalry merely sat on the ridge for a few minutes and then turned and rode away.
84.
THAT AFTERNOON they crossed the Platte River just east of Ogallala and turned the herd northwest. From the slopes north of the river they saw the little collection of shacks and frame buildings that made up the town. The cowboys were so entranced by the sight that they could hardly keep their minds on their business long enough to drive the cattle to a good bed-ground.
Call tried to caution them a little, mentioning that there were said to be Indians on the rampage, but the men scarcely heard him. Even Dish Boggett was in a fever to go. Call let six men go in first: Dish, Soupy, Bert, Jasper, Needle and the Irishman. They all put on fresh shirts and raced away as if a hundred Comanches were after them.
Augustus, setting up his tent, stopped a moment to watch them run. The cowboys whooped and waved their hats as they raced.
“Look at ’em go, Lorie,” Augustus said. “Can’t wait to get to town.”
Lorena was uninterested. She had only one thing on her mind.
“When are you going to see her?” she asked.
“Oh, tomorrow will do,” Augustus said. “We’ll both go.”
“I’ll stay here,” Lorena said. “I’d be too scared of what you’d say.”
Her hands were shaking at the thought of the woman, but she helped Gus peg the tent.
“I’ve a mind to go to Ogallala myself,” Augustus said. “Would you like to come?”
“Why do you want to?” she asked.
“Well, it’s a town, of sorts,” he said. “I’ve a mind to do something civilized, like eat dinner in a restaur
ant. If that’s asking too much, I could at least go in a barroom and drink a glass of whiskey.
“Come with me,” he added. “They’ve probably got a store or two. We could buy you some clothes.”
Lorena considered it. She had been wearing men’s clothes since Gus rescued her. There hadn’t been any place to buy any others. She would need a dress if she went with Gus to see the woman. But she didn’t know if she really wanted to go see her—although she had built up a good deal of curiosity about her. Lots of curiosity, but more fear. It was a strange life, just staying in the tent and talking to no one but Gus, but she was used to it. The thought of town frightened her almost as much as the thought of the woman.
“Do you want a whore or what?” she asked, when she saw him getting ready to go to town.
“Why would I want a whore, when I’ve got you?” he asked. “You womenfolk have got strange minds. What I’d mainly like to do is sit in a chair and drink whiskey. I wouldn’t mind a hand or two of cards either.”
“You want that other woman, and you’ve got me,” Lorena said. “You could want us both and a whore too, I guess. Go get one if you want—I don’t care.”
She almost hoped he would. It would strengthen her case against the other woman.
“Come with me,” Augustus said. “I’ll buy you some new dresses.”
“Just buy me one yourself,” Lorena said. “Buy one you like.”
“But I don’t know your size,” he said. “Why are you so shy of towns? There ain’t a soul in that town who’s ever met you.”
She wouldn’t go, so he gave up asking her and went himself, stopping at the wagon a minute to make sure Po Campo would take her her food. Call was there, looking restless. Since most of the experienced hands were gone, he had decided to stay with the herd and buy supplies tomorrow once some of them got back.
The herd was grazing peacefully on the rolling slopes. The hands who were left, boys mostly, looked melancholy at the thought of the opportunities they were missing.
“Come ride to town with me,” Augustus said to Call. “This place is quiet as a church on Monday. I’ll buy you a meal and we can sit and talk philosophy.”
“No, I’ll stay,” Call said. “I don’t know a philosophy.”
“Your philosophy is to worry too much,” Augustus said. “Jake would have gone with me quick enough if we hadn’t hung him.”
“Damn it, he brought it on himself,” Call said.
“I know that, but when I spot a town I remember what a fine companion he was around supper time,” Augustus said.
He loped the five or six miles to Ogallala, feeling rather strange, for it had just hit him how much he did miss Jake Spoon. Many a time, returning from a scout on the Brazos, they had raced into Austin together and divided the night between whiskey, cards and women. Clara and Call would both be stiff with them for a week after such a carouse; Clara, if anything, softened slower than Call.
Now Jake was gone and Clara near. It seemed to him he might be wise not to go see her—just trail on into Montana and let the past be past. No woman had affected his heart in the way she had. The memory was so sweet he was almost afraid to threaten it by seeing what Clara had become. She might have become a tyrant—she had that potential, even as a girl. Or she might have become merely a worked-out, worn-down pioneer woman, her beauty gone and her spirit tamed. He might look at her and not feel a thing—in which case he would lose something he treasured. On the other hand, he might look at her and feel all that he had felt in their younger days—in which case riding off and leaving her wouldn’t be very easy.
Then there was Lorena. In the last weeks she had proved sweeter than any woman he had known—more responsive than his wives, kinder than Clara. Her beauty had flowered again—the cowboys were always thinking of excuses to ride within twenty or thirty yards of them, so they could get a glimpse of it. He ought to consider himself lucky, he knew—everyone in the outfit, with the possible exception of Call, considered him lucky. He ought to let the past keep its glow and not try to mix it with what he had in the present.
But then he knew he could not simply ride by Clara, whatever the threat of turmoil or disappointment. Of all the women he knew, she had meant the most; and was the one person in his life he felt he had missed, in some ways.
He remembered what she had said when she told him she was going to marry Bob—that she would want his friendship for her daughters. He would at least go and offer it; besides, it would be interesting to see if the girls were like their mother.
To his surprise, he didn’t enjoy the visit to Ogallala very much. He hit the dry-goods store just as the owner was closing and persuaded him to reopen long enough for him to buy Lorie a mass of clothes. He bought everything from petticoats to dresses, a hat, and also a warm coat, for they were sure to strike cool weather in Montana. He even bought himself a black frock coat worthy of a preacher, and a silk string tie. The merchant soon was in no mood to close; he offered Augustus muffs and gloves and felt-lined boots and other oddities. In the end he had such a purchase that he couldn’t even consider carrying it—they would have to come in tomorrow and pick it up in the wagon, though he did wrap up a few things in case Lorie wanted to wear them to Clara’s. He bought her combs and brushes and a mirror—women liked to see themselves, he knew, and Lorena hadn’t had the opportunity since Fort Worth.
The one hotel was easy to find, but the restaurant in it was a smoky little room with no charm and only one diner, a somber man with mutton-chop whiskers. Augustus decided he would prefer a cheerful bar, but that proved not easy to find.
He went into one that had a huge rack of elk horns over the door and a clientele consisting mostly of mule skinners who hauled freight for the Army. None of the Hat Creek outfit was there, though he had seen a couple of their horses tied outside. They had probably gone straight to the whorehouse next door, he concluded. He ordered a bottle and a glass, but the boisterous mule skinners made so much racket he couldn’t enjoy his drinking. A middle-aged gambler with a thin mustache and a greasy cravat soon spotted him and came over.
“You look like a man who could tolerate a game of cards,” the gambler said. “My name is Shaw.”
“Two-handed gambling don’t interest me,” Augustus said. “Anyway, it’s too rackety in here. It’s hard work just getting drunk when things are this loud.”
“This ain’t the only whiskey joint in town,” Mr. Shaw said. “Maybe we could find one that’s quiet enough for you.”
Just then a girl walked in, painted and powdered. Several of the mule skinners whooped at her, but she came over to where Augustus sat. She was skinny and could hardly have been more than seventeen.
“Now, Nellie, leave us be,” the gambler said. “We were about to go have a game.”
Before the girl could answer, one of the mule skinners at the next table toppled backwards in his chair. He had gone to sleep with the chair tilted back, and he fell to the floor, to the amusement of his peers. The fall did not wake him—he sprawled on the saloon floor, dead drunk.
“Oh, go along, Shaw,” the girl said. “There ain’t but two of you. What kind of game would that be?”
“I made that point myself,” Augustus said.
A bartender came over, got the drunk man by the collar and drug him out the door.
“Wanta go next door, mister?” Nellie asked.
The gambler, to Augustus’s surprise, suddenly cuffed the girl—it was not a hard blow, but it surprised and embarrassed her.
“Now, here,” Augustus said. “There’s no excuse for that. The young lady was talking perfectly polite.”
“She ain’t a lady, she’s a tart, and I won’t have her interfering with our pleasure,” the gambler said.
Augustus stood up and pulled out a chair for Nellie.
“Sit down, miss,” he said. Then he turned to the gambler. “You scoot,” he said. “I don’t gamble with men who mistreat women.”
The gambler had a ferretlike expression. He ignor
ed Augustus and glared at the girl. “What have I told you?” he said. “You’ll get a beating you won’t forget if you interfere with me again.”
The girl trembled and seemed on the verge of tears.
“I won’t have a slut interrupting my play,” the gambler said.
Augustus hit the man in the chest so hard that he was knocked back onto the next table, amid three or four mule skinners. The mule skinners looked up in surprise—the gambler had the wind knocked out of him so thoroughly that he waved his arms in the air, his mouth open, afraid he would die before he could draw another breath.
Augustus paid him no more attention. The girl, after a moment, sat down, though she kept glancing nervously toward the gambler. A big mule skinner shoved him unceremoniously off the table, and he was now on his hands and knees, still trying to get his breath.
“He ain’t hurt,” Augustus assured the girl. “Would you like a sip of whiskey?”
“Yeah,” the girl said, and when the bartender brought a glass, quaffed the whiskey Augustus poured her. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the gambler, though. He had managed to breathe again, and was standing by the bar, holding his chest.
“Have you had trouble with that fellow before?” Augustus asked.
“He’s Rosie’s husband,” Nellie said. “Rosie is the woman I work for. They don’t get along. Rosie sends me out, and he runs me off.”
She tried to recover from her fright and to look alluring, but the attempt was so pathetic that it saddened Augustus. She looked like a frightened young girl.
“Rosie ain’t nice to work for,” she said. “Do you want to go next door? I got to do something quick. If Shaw complains she’ll whup me. Rosie’s meaner than Shaw.”
“I’d say you need to change bosses,” Augustus said. As soon as he put more whiskey in her glass, the girl quaffed it.
“There ain’t but one other madam, and she’s just as bad,” Nellie said. “You sure you won’t come next door? I got to find a customer.”
“I guess you better bribe that gambler, if that’s the situation,” Augustus said. “Give him five and Rosie five and keep the rest for yourself.” He handed her twenty dollars.
The Lonesome Dove Chronicles (1-4) Page 207