"He was up in Missouri, testifying on some stage robbers. I don't know if he's even back to Fort Smith yet." "They wouldn't have hung you for an accident, even in Arkansas," Call said.
"I am a gambler, but that's one I didn't figure to gamble on," Jake said. "I just went out the back door and left, hoping July would get too busy to come after me." "July's the sheriff?" Gus asked.
"Yes, July Johnson," Jake said.
"He's young, but he's determined. I just hope he gets busy." "I don't know why a lawman would want a dentist for a brother," Augustus said rather absently.
"If he warned you out of the town you should have left," Call said. "There's plenty of other towns besides Fort Smith." "Jake probably had him a whore," Augustus said. "He usually does." "You're one to talk, Gus," Jake said.
They all fell silent for a time while Jake thoughtfully picked his teeth with the sharpened match.
Bolivar was sound asleep, sitting on his stool.
"I should have rode on, Call," Jake said apologetically. "But Fort Smith's a pretty town. It's on the river, and I like to have a river running by me. They eat catfish down there. It got where it kinda suited my tooth." "I'd like to see the fish that could keep me in a place I wasn't wanted," Call said.
Jake had always been handy with excuses.
"That's what we'll tell the sheriff when he shows up to take you back," Augustus said.
"Maybe he'll take you fishing while you're waiting to be hung." Jake let it pass. Gus would have his joke, and he and Call would disapprove of him when he got in some unlucky scrape. It had always been that way. But the three of them were compa@neros still, no matter how many dentists he killed.
Call and Gus had been the law themselves and didn't always bow and scrape to it. They would not likely let some young sheriff take him off to hang because of an accident. He was willing to take a bit of ribbing. When trouble came, if it did, the boys would stick and July Johnson would have to ride back home empty-handed.
He stood up and walked to the door to look over the hot, dusty little town.
"I hardly thought to find you boys still here," he said. "I thought you'd have some big ranch somewhere by now. This town was a two-bit town when we came here and it looks to me like it's lost about fifteen cents since then. Who's left that we all know?" "Xavier and Lippy," Augustus said.
"Therese got kilt, thank God. A few of the boys are left but I forget who. Tom Bynum's left." "He would be," Jake said. "The Lord looks after fools like Tom." "What do you hear of Clara?" Augustus asked. "I suppose since you traveled the world you've been to see her. Dropped in for supper, innocentlike, I guess." Call stood up to go. He had heard enough to know why Jake had come back, and didn't intend to waste the day listening to him jaw about his travels, particularly not if it meant having to hear any talk about Clara Allen. He had heard enough about Clara in the old days, when Gus and Jake had both been courting her. He had been quite happy to think it all ended when she married, but it hadn't ended, and listening to Gus pine over her was almost as bad as having him and Jake fighting about her. Now, with Jake back, it would all start again, though Clara Allen had been married and gone for over fifteen years.
Deets stood up when Call did, ready for work. He hadn't said a word while eating, but it was clear he took much pride in being the one who had seen Jake first.
"Well, it ain't a holiday," Call said.
"Work to do. Me and Deets will go see if we can help them boys." "That Newt surprised me," Jake said.
"I had it in mind he was still a spud. Is Maggie still here?" "Maggie's been dead several years," Augustus said. "You wasn't hardly over the hill when it happened." "I swear," Jake said. "You mean you've had little Newt for all these years?" There was a long silence, in which only Augustus felt comfortable. Deets felt so uncomfortable that he stepped in front of the Captain and went out the door.
"Why, yes, Jake," Gus said. "We've had him since Maggie died." "I swear," Jake said again.
"It was only the Christian thing," Augustus said. "Taking him in, I mean. After all, one of you boys is more than likely his pa." Call put on his hat, picked up his rifle and left them to their talk.
Jake Spoon stood in the door of the low house, watching Call and Deets head for the barn.
He had been looking forward to being home from the moment he looked out the door of the saloon and saw the dead man laying in the mud across the wide main street of Fort Smith, but now that he was home it came back to him how nervous things could be if Call wasn't in his best mood.
"Deets's pants are a sight, ain't they," he said mildly. "Seems to me he used to dress better." Augustus chuckled. "He used to dress worse," he said. "Why, he had that sheepskin coat for fifteen years. You couldn't get in five feet of him without the lice jumping on you.
It was because of that coat that we made him sleep in the barn. I ain't finicky except when it comes to lice." "What happened to it?" Jake asked.
"I burned it," Augustus said. "Done it one summer when Deets was off on a trip with Call. I told him a buffalo hunter stole it. Deets was ready to track him and get his coat back, but I talked him out of it." "Well, it was his coat," Jake said. "I don't blame him." "Hell, Deets didn't need it," Augustus said. "It ain't cold down here.
Deets was just attached to it because he had it so long.
You remember when we found it, don't you? You was along?" "I may have been along but I don't remember," Jake said, lighting a smoke.
"We found that coat in an abandoned cabin up on the Brazos," Augustus said. "I guess the settlers that run out decided it was too heavy to carry. It weighed as much as a good-sized sheep, which is why Call gave it to Deets. He was the only one of us stout enough to carry it all day.
Don't you remember that, Jake? It was the time we had that scrape up by Fort Phantom Hill." "I remember a scrape, but the rest is kinda cloudy," Jake said. "I guess all you boys have got to do is sit around and talk about old times. I'm young yet, Gus. I got a living to make." In fact, what he did remember was being scared every time they crossed the Brazos, since it would just be ten or twelve of them and no reason not to think they would run into a hundred Comanches or Kiowas. He would have been glad to quit rangering if he could have thought of a way to do it that wouldn't look bad, but there was no way. In the end he came through twelve Indian fights and many scrapes with bandits only to get in real trouble in Fort Smith, Arkansas, as safe a town as you could find.
Now that he had come back, it was just to be reminded of Maggie, who had always threatened to die if he ever left her. Of course, he had thought it just girlish talk, the kind of thing all women said when they were trying to hold a fellow.
Jake had heard such talk all the way up the trail, in San Antonio and Fort Worth, Abilene and Dodge, in Ogallala and Miles City--the talk of whores pretending to be in love for one. But Maggie had actually died, when he had only supposed she would just move on to another town. It was a sad memory to come home to, though from what he knew of the situation, Call had done her even worse than he had.
"Jake, I notice you've not answered me about Clara," Augustus said. "If you've been to see her I'd like to hear about it, even though I begrudge you every minute." "Oh, you ain't got much begrudging to do," Jake said. "I just seen her for a minute, outside a store in Ogallala. That dern Bob was with her, so all I could do was tip my hat and say good morning." "I swear, Jake, I thought you'd have more gumption than that," Augustus said. "They live up in Nebraska, do they?" "Yes, on the North Platte," Jake said. "Why, he's the biggest horse trader in the territory. The Army gets most of its horses from him, what Army's in those parts, and the Army wears out a lot of horses. I reckon he's close to rich." "Any young uns?" Augustus asked.
"Two girls, I believe," Jake said.
"I heard her boys died. Bob wasn't too friendly--I wasn't asked to supper." "Even old dumb Bob's got enough sense to keep the likes of you away from Clara," Augustus said. "How did she look?" "Clara?" Jake said. "Not as pretty as she once was." "I gues
s it's a hard life up in Nebraska," Gus said.
After that, neither of them had any more to say for a few minutes. Jake thought it ill-spoken of Gus to bring Clara up, a woman he no longer had any sympathy for since she had shown him the door and married a big dumb horse trader from Kentucky. Even losing her to Gus wouldn't have been so bitter a blow, since Gus had been her beau before he met her.
Augustus felt his own pangs--irked, mainly, that Jake had had a glimpse of Clara, whereas he himself had to make do with an occasional scrap of gossip. At sixteen she had been so pretty it took your breath, and smart too--a girl with some sand, as she had quickly shown when both her parents had been killed in the big Indian raid of '56, the worst ever to rake that part of the country. Clara had been in school in San Antonio when it happened, but she came right back to Austin and ran the store her parents had started--the Indians had tried to set fire to it but for some reason it didn't catch.
Augustus felt he might have won her that year, but as luck would have it he was married then, to his second wife, and by the time she died Clara had developed such an independent mind that winning her was no longer an easy thing.
In fact, it proved an impossible thing. She wouldn't have him, or Jake either, and yet she married Bob Allen, a man so dumb he could hardly walk through a door without bumping his head.
They soon went north; since then, Augustus had kept his ears open for news that she was widowed --he didn't wish Clara any unpleasantness, but horse trading in Indian country was risky business. If Bob should meet an untimely end --as better men had--then he wanted to be the first to offer his assistance to the widow.
"That Bob Allen's lucky," he remarked.
"I've known horse traders who didn't last a year." "Why, hell, you're a horse trader yourself," Jake said. "You boys have let yourselves get stuck. You should have gone north long ago. There's plenty of opportunity left up north." "That may be, Jake, but all you've done with it is kill a dentist," Augustus said. "At least we ain't committed no ridiculous crimes." Jake smiled. "Have you got anything to drink around here?" he asked. "Or do you just sit around all day with your throat parched." "He gets drunk," Bolivar said, waking up suddenly.
Augustus stood up. "Let's go for a stroll," he said. "This man don't like folks idling in his kitchen after a certain hour." They walked out into the hot morning. The sky was already white. Bolivar followed them out, picking up a rawhide lariat that he kept on a pile of firewood back by the porch. They watched him walk off into the chaparral, the rope in his hand.
"That old pistolero ain't very polite," Jake said. "Where's he going with that rope?" "I didn't ask him," Gus said. He went around to the springhouse, which was empty of rattlesnakes for once. It amused him to think how annoyed Call would be when he came up at noon and found them both drunk. He handed Jake the jug, since he was the guest. Jake uncorked it and took a modest swig.
"Now if we had some shade to drink this in, we'd be in good shape," Jake said. "I don't suppose there's a sporting woman in this town, is there?" "You are a scamp," Augustus said, taking the jug. "Are you so rich that's all you can think about?" "I can think about it, rich or poor," Jake said.
They squatted in the shade of the springhouse for a bit, their backs against the adobe, which was still cool on the side the sun hadn't struck. Augustus saw no need to mention Lorena, since he knew Jake would soon discover her for himself and probably have her in love with him within the week.
The thought of Dish Boggett's bad timing made him smile, for it was certain Jake's return would doom whatever chance Dish might have had. Dish had committed himself to a day of well-digging for nothing, for when it came to getting women in love with him Jake Spoon had no equal. His big eyes convinced them he'd be lost without them, and none of them seemed to want him just to go on and be lost.
While they were squatting by the springhouse, the pigs came nosing around the house looking for something to eat. But there wasn't so much as a grasshopper in the yard. They stopped and looked at Augustus a minute.
"Get on down to the saloon," he said.
"Maybe you'll find Lippy's hat." "Folks that keep pigs ain't no better than farmers," Jake said. "I'm surprised at you and Call. If you gave up being lawmen I thought you'd at least stay cattlemen." "I thought you'd own a railroad by now, for that matter," Augustus said. "Or a whorehouse, at least. I guess life's been a disappointment to us both." "I may not have no fortune, but I've never said a word to a pig, either," Jake said. Now that he was home and back with friends, he was beginning to feel sleepy. After a few more swigs and a little more argument, he stretched out as close to the springhouse as he could get, so as to have shade for as long as possible. He raised up an elbow to have one more go at the jug.
"How come Call lets you sit around and guzzle this mash all day?" he asked.
"Call ain't never been my boss," Augustus said. "It's no say-so of his when I drink." Jake looked off across the scrubby pastures.
There were tufts of grass here and there, but mostly the ground looked hard as flint. Heat waves were rising off it like fumes off kerosene. Something moved in his line of vision, and for a moment he thought he saw some strange brown animal under a chaparral bush. Looking more closely he saw that it was the old Mexican's bare backside.
"Hell, why'd he take a rope if all he meant to do was shit?" he asked. "Where'd you get the greasy old bastard?" "We're running a charitable home for retired criminals," Augustus said. "If you'd just retire you'd qualify." "Dern, I forgot how ugly this country is," Jake said. "I guess if there was a market for snake meat, this would be the place to get rich." With that he put his hat over his face, and within no more than two minutes began a gentle snoring. Augustus returned the jug to the springhouse. It occurred to him that while Jake was napping he might pay a visit to Lorie; once she fell under Jake's spell he would probably require her to suspend professional activities for a while.
Augustus viewed this prospect philosophically; it was his experience that a man's dealings with women were invariably prone to interruptions, often of a more lasting nature than Jake Spoon was apt to prompt.
He left Jake sleeping and strolled down the middle of Hat Creek. As he passed the corrals, he saw Dish straining at the windlass to bring a big bucket of dirt out of the new well. Call was in the lot, working with the Hell Bitch. He had her snubbed to a post and was fanning her with a saddle blanket. Dish was as wet with sweat as if he'd just crawled out of a horse trough. He'd sweated through the hatband of his hat, and had even sweated through his belt.
"Dish, you're plumb wet," Augustus said.
"If there was a well there, I'd figure you fell in it." "If folks could drink sweat you wouldn't need no well," Dish said. It seemed to Augustus that his tone was a shade unfrly.
"Look at it this way, Dish," Augustus said. "You're storing up manna in heaven, working like this." "Heaven be damned," Dish said.
Augustus smiled. "Why, the Bible just asks for the sweat of your brow," he said. "You're even sweating from the belt buckle, Dish. That ought to put you in good with the Seraphim." The reference was lost on Dish, who bitterly regretted his foolishness in allowing himself to be drawn into such undignified work. Augustus stood there grinning at him as if the sight of a man sweating was the most amusing thing in the world.
"I ought to kick you down this hole," Dish said.
"If you hadn't loaned me that money I'd be halfway to the Matagorda by now." Augustus walked over to the fence to watch Call work the mare. He was about to throw the saddle on her. He had her snubbed close, but she still had her eye turned so she could watch him in case he got careless.
"You ought to blindfold her," Augustus said. "I thought you knowed that much." "I don't want her blindfolded," Call said.
"If she was blindfolded she might bite the post next time instead of you," Augustus said.
Call got her to accept the blanket and picked up his saddle. Snubbed as she was, she couldn't bite him, but her hind legs weren't snubbed. He kept close to her s
houlder as he prepared to ease on the saddle. The mare let go with her near hind foot. It didn't get him but it got the saddle and nearly knocked it out of his hand. He kept close to her shoulder and got the saddle in position again.
"Remember that horse that bit off all that old boy's toes--all the ones on the left foot, I mean?" Augustus said. "That old boy's name was Harwell. He went to the war and got killed at Vicksburg. He never was much of a hand after he lost his toes. Of course, the horse that bit 'em off had a head the size of a punkin. I don't suppose a little mare like that could take off five toes in one bite." Call eased the saddle on her, and the minute the stirrups slapped against her belly the mare went as high as she could get, and the saddle flew off and landed twenty feet away. Augustus got a big laugh out of it. Call went to the barn and returned with a short rawhide rope.
"If you want help just ask me," Augustus said.
"I don't," Call said. "Not from you." "Call, you ain't never learned," Augustus said. "There's plenty of gentle horses in this world. Why would a man with your responsibilities want to waste time with a filly that's got to be hobbled and blindfolded before you can even keep a saddle on her?" Call ignored him. In a moment the mare tentatively lifted the near hind foot with the thought of kicking whatever might be in range. When she did he caught the foot with the rawhide rope and took a hitch around the snubbing post. It left the mare standing on three legs, so she could not kick again without throwing herself. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, trembling a little with indignation, but she accepted the saddle.
Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove Page 9