He yanked his saddle off the horse and passed her the whiskey bottle, which was already half empty.
"I don't want none," she said.
"I guess there's nothing I could ask that you'd do," Jake said. "I wish that dern Gus would show up. At least we could have a card game." Lorena lay back on her blanket and didn't answer. Anything she said would only make him worse.
Watching her lie there, calm and silent, Jake felt hopeless and took another long drink from the whiskey bottle. He considered himself a smart man, and yet he had got himself in a position that would have embarrassed a fool. He had no business traveling north with a woman like Lorie, who had her own mind and wouldn't obey the simplest order unless it happened to suit her.
The more he drank, the sorrier he felt for himself.
He wished he had just told Lorie no, and left her to sweat it out in Lonesome Dove. Then at least he could be in camp with the men, where there were card games to be had, not to mention protection.
Despite himself, he could not stop worrying about July Johnson.
Then he remembered Elmira, whom he had sported with a few times in Kansas. What a trick on July to have married a whore and not know it.
He offered Lorena the bottle again, but she just lay there.
"Why won't you drink?" Jake asked. "Are you too good to get drunk?" "I don't want to," she said. "You'll be drunk enough for both of us." "By God, I guess I'll find out if there's anything you'll still do," Jake said, yanking open his pants and rolling onto her.
Lorena let him, thinking it might put him in a better humor. She watched the stars. But when Jake finished and reached for his bottle again, he seemed no happier. She reached for the bottle and took one swallow--her throat was dry. Jake wasn't angry anymore, but he looked sad.
"Lie down and sleep," Lorena said. "You don't rest enough." Jake was thinking that Austin was only two days away. Maybe he could take Lorena to Austin and sneak off and leave her. Once he rejoined the boys, there would be little she could do about it. After all, she would be safer there than she would be on the trail. Beautiful as she was, she would do well in Austin.
Yet she was uncommonly beautiful. It had always been his trouble--he liked the beauties. It gave her a power he didn't appreciate, otherwise he would never have been talked into a trip that was little more than absurd.
He was slowed to the pace of Call's cow herd and tied to a woman who attracted every man she saw.
Even then, he didn't know if he could leave her. For all her difficult ways, he wanted her and couldn't tolerate the thought of her taking up with Gus or anyone else. He felt she would stick by him if things got bad. He didn't like being alone or having to take orders from Call.
"Have you ever been to a hanging?" he asked.
"No," Lorena said. The question surprised her.
Jake offered her the bottle and she took another swallow. "I expect they'll hang me someday," he said. "I was told by a fortune-teller that such would be my fate." "Maybe the fortune-teller didn't know," Lorie said.
"I've seen many a hanging," Jake said.
"We hung plenty of Mexicans when we were Rangers. Call never wasted no time when it came to hangings." "He wouldn't, I guess," Lorena said.
Jake chuckled. "Did he ever come visit you all that time you were there?" he asked.
"No," Lorena said.
"Well, he had a whore once," Jake said. "He tried to sneak around, but me and Gus found out about it. We both used to spark her once in a while, so we both knew. I guess he thought he got away with it." Lorena knew the type. Many men came to her hoping no one would know.
"Her name was Maggie," Jake said. "She was the one had little Newt. I was gone when she died.
Gus said she wanted to marry Call and give up the life, but I don't know if it's true.
Gus will say anything." "So whose boy is he?" Lorena asked. She had seen the boy often, looking at her window.
He was old enough to come to her, but he probably had no money, or else was just too shy.
"Newt? Why, who knows?" Jake said.
"Maggie was a whore." Then he sighed and lay down beside her, running his hand up and down her body. "Lorie, me and you was meant for feather beds," he said. "We wasn't meant for these dusty blankets. If we could find a nice hotel I'd show you some fun." Lorena didn't answer. She would rather keep traveling. When Jake had his feel he went to sleep.
Before the herd had passed San Antonio they nearly lost Lippy in a freak accident with the wagon. It was a hot day and the herd was moseying along at a slow rate. The mosquitoes were thinning a little, to everyone's satisfaction, and the cowboys were riding along half asleep in their saddles when the trouble started.
The herd had just crossed a little creek when Newt heard stock running and looked back to see the wagon racing for the creek like Comanches were after it. Bol was not on the seat, either--the mules ran unchecked. Lippy was on the seat, but he didn't have the reins and couldn't stop the team.
Jim Rainey was in the rear, and, thinking to be helpful, turned back to try and head the mules.
In fact, the mules refused to be headed, and all Jim accomplished was to turn them out of the easy track where the herd had crossed, which caused them to strike the creek at a place where the bank dropped off about three feet. Newt saw there was going to be a terrible wreck, but short of shooting the mules, had no way to stop it. What he couldn't understand was why Lippy didn't jump.
He sat on the seat, frozen and helpless, as the mules raced right off the cutbank.
As they were going off, Newt saw that the tail of Lippy's old brown coat had gotten pinched in the wagon seat--which explained his not having jumped.
The wagon tipped straight down, bounced once, and turned completely over just as it hit the water.
The mules, still hitched to it, fell backwards on top of the mess. All four wagon wheels were spinning in the air when Newt and the Raineys jumped off their horses. The trouble was, they had no idea what to do next.
Fortunately Augustus had seen the commotion and in a minute was in the water, on old Malaria.
He threw a loop over one of the spinning wheels and spurred the big horse vigorously, pulling the wagon to a tilt on one edge.
"Fish him out, boys, otherwise we'll have to go all the way to Montana without no pianer player," he said--though privately he doubted his efforts would do any good. The wagon had landed smack on top of Lippy. If he wasn't drowned he probably had a broken neck.
When the wagon tilted, Newt saw Lippy's legs. He and the Raineys waded in and tried to get him loose, but the coat was still pinched in the seat. All they could do was get his head above water, though his head was so covered with mud that it was difficult at first to know if he was dead or alive. Fortunately Pea soon rode up and cut the coat loose with his bowie knife.
"He's a mudhead, ain't he," Pea said, carefully wiping his knife on his pants leg.
"Now I guess he'll be mad at me for ten years because I ruined his coat." Lippy was limp as a rag and hadn't moved a muscle. Newt felt sick to his stomach.
Once more, on a perfectly nice day with everything going well, death had struck and taken another of his friends. Lippy had been part of his life since he could remember. When he was a child, Lippy had occasionally taken him into the saloon and let him bang on the piano. Now they would have to bury him as they had buried Sean.
Strangely, neither Pea nor Mr. Gus was much concerned. The mules had regained their feet and stood in the shallow water, swishing their tails and looking sleepy. Call rode up about that time.
He had been at the head of the herd, with Dish Boggett.
"Ain't nobody gonna unhitch them mules?" he asked. A big sack of flour had been thrown out of the wagon and lay in the river getting ruined. Newt had not noticed it until the Captain pointed at it.
"Well, I ain't," Augustus said. "The boys can, their feet are already wet." It seemed to Newt everyone was being mighty callous about Lippy, who lay on the riverbank. Then, to his surpri
se, Lippy, whose head was still covered with mud, rolled over and began to belch water. He belched and vomited for several minutes, making a horrible sound, but Newt's relief that he was not dead was so great that he welcomed the sound and waded out to help the Raineys unhitch the mules.
It soon became clear that the wagon bed had been damaged beyond repair in the accident. When it was righted, all the goods that had been in it floated in the shallow water.
"What a place for a shipwreck," Augustus said.
"I never seen a wagon break in two before," Pea said.
The wagon bed, old and rotten, had burst upon impact. Several cowboys rode up and began to fish their bedrolls out of the muddy water.
"What became of Bol?" Pea asked.
"Wasn't he driving the wagon?" Lippy was sitting up, wiping mud off his head. He ran one finger under his loose lip as if he expected to find a tadpole or a small fish, but all he found was mud. About that time the Spettle boys rode up, and crossed the horse herd.
"Seen the cook?" Augustus asked.
"Why, he's walking along carrying his gun," Bill Spettle said. "Them pigs are with him." Bolivar soon came in sight a couple of hundred yards away, the blue pigs walking along beside him.
"I heared a shot," Lippy said. "About that time them mules took to running. I guess a bandit shot at us." "No competent bandit would waste a bullet on you or Bol either," Augustus said. "There ain't no reward for either of you." "It sounded like a shotgun," Bill Spettle volunteered.
"Bol might have been taking target practice," Augustus said. "He might have fired at a cowpie." "It don't matter what it was," Call said. "The damage is done." Augustus was enjoying the little break the accident produced. Walking along all day beside a cow herd was already proving monotonous--any steady work had always struck him as monotonous. It was mainly accidents of one kind and another that kept life interesting, in his view, the days otherwise being mainly repetitious things, livened up mostly by the occasional card game.
It was made even more interesting a few minutes later when Bolivar walked up and handed in his resignation. He didn't even look at the smashed wagon.
"I don't want to go this way," he said, addressing himself to the Captain. "I am going back." "Why, Bol, you won't stand a chance," Augustus said. "A renowned criminal like you. Some young sheriff out to make a reputation will hang you before you get halfway to the border." "I don't care," Bol said. "I am going back." In fact, he expected to be fired anyway.
He had been dozing on the wagon seat, dreaming about his daughters, and had accidentally fired off the ten-gauge. The recoil had knocked him off the wagon, but even so it had been hard to get free of the dream. It turned into a dream in which his wife was angry, even as he awoke and saw the mules dashing away. The pigs were rooting in a rat's nest, under a big cactus. Bol was so enraged by the mules' behavior that he would have shot one of them, only they were already well out of range.
He had not seen the wagon go off the creek bank, but he was not surprised that it was broken.
The mules were fast. He would probably not have been able to hit one of them even with a rifle, distracted as he was by the dream.
The fall convinced him he had lived long enough with Americans. They were not his compa@neros.
Most of his compa@neros were dead, but his country wasn't dead, and in his village there were a few men who liked to talk about the old days when they had spent all their time stealing Texas cattle. In those years his wife had not been so angry. As he walked toward the busted wagon and the little group of men, he decided to go back. He was tired of seeing his family only in dreams. Perhaps this time when he walked in, his wife would be glad to see him.
At any rate, the Americanos were going too far north. He had not really believed Augustus when he said they would ride north for several months. Most of what Augustus said was merely wind. He supposed they would ride for a few days and then sell the cattle, or else start a ranch. He himself had never been more than two days' hard ride from the border in his life.
Now a week had passed and the Americanos showed no sign of stopping. Already he was far from the river. He missed his family. Enough was enough.
Call was not especially surprised. "All right, Bol, do you want a horse?" he asked.
The old man had cooked for them for ten years.
He deserved a mount.
"S@i," Bol said, remembering that it was a long walk back to the river, and then three days more to his village.
Call caught the old man a gentle gelding.
"I've got no saddle to give you," he said, when he presented Bol with the horse.
Bol just shrugged. He had an extra serape and soon turned it into a saddle blanket. Apart from the gun, it was his only possession. In a moment he was ready to start home.
"Well, Bol, if you change your mind, you can find us in Montana," Augustus said. "It may be that your wife's too rusty for you now. You may want to come back and cook up a few more goats and snakes." "Gracias, Capit@an," Bol said, when Call handed him the reins to the gelding. Then he rode off, without another word to anybody. It didn't surprise Augustus, since Bol had worked for them all those years without saying a word to anybody unless directly goaded into it-- usually by Augustus.
But his departure surprised and saddened Newt.
It spoiled his relief that Lippy was alive --after all, he had lost another friend, Bol instead of Lippy. Newt didn't say so, but he would rather have lost Lippy. He didn't want Lippy to die, of course, but he wouldn't have minded if he had decided to return to Lonesome Dove.
But Bol rode away from them, his old gun resting across the horse's withers. For a moment Newt felt so sad that he almost embarrassed himself by crying. He felt his eyes fill up. How could Bol just go? He had always been the cook, and yet in five minutes he was as lost to them as if he had died. Newt turned and made a show of spreading out the bedrolls, but it was mainly to conceal the fact that he felt sad. If people kept leaving, they'd be down to nobody before they even got north of Texas.
Riding away, Bolivar too felt very sad.
Now that he was going, he was not sure why he had decided to go. Perhaps it was because he didn't want to face embarrassment. After all, he had fired the shot that caused the mules to run. Also, he didn't want to get so far north that he couldn't find his way back to the river. As he rode away he decided he had made another stupid choice. So far, in his opinion, almost every decision of his life had been stupid. He didn't miss his wife that much--they had lost the habit of one another and might not be able to reacquire it.
He felt a little bitter as he rode away. The Capit@an should not have let him go. After all, he was the only man among them who could cook.
He didn't really like the Americanos, but he was used to them. It was too bad they had suddenly decided to get so many cattle and go north.
Life in Lonesome Dove had been easy.
Goats were plentiful and easy to catch, and his wife was the right distance away. When he grew bored, he could beat the dinner bell with the broken crowbar. For some reason it gave him great satisfaction to beat the dinner bell. It had little to do with dinner, or anything. It was just something he liked to do. When he stopped he could hear the echoes of his work fading into Mexico.
He decided that, since he was in no hurry, he would stop in Lonesome Dove and beat the bell a few more times. He could say it was the Capit@an's orders. The thought was comforting. It made up for the fact that most of his decisions had been stupid. He rode south without looking back.
"Well, if we wasn't doomed to begin with, we're doomed now," Augustus said, watching Bolivar ride away. He enjoyed every opportunity for pronouncing doom, and the loss of a cook was a good one.
"I expect we'll poison ourselves before we get much farther, with no regular cook," he said.
"I just hope Jasper gets poisoned first." "I never liked that old man's cooking anyway," Jasper said.
"You'll remember it fondly, once you're poisoned," Augustus said.
/> Call felt depressed by the morning's events. He did not particularly lament the loss of the wagon--an old wired-together wreck at best --but he did lament the loss of Bol. Once he formed a unit of men he didn't like to lose one of them, for any reason. Someone would have to assume extra work, which seldom sat well with whoever had to do it. Bolivar had been with them ten years and it was trying to lose him suddenly, although Call had not really expected him to come when he first announced the trip. Bolivar was a Mexican. If he didn't miss his family, he'd miss his country, as the Irishman did.
Every night now, Allen O'Brien sang his homesick songs to the cattle. It soothed the cattle but not the men--the songs were too sorrowful.
Augustus noticed Call standing off to one side, looking blue. Once in a while Call would fall into blue spells--times when he seemed almost paralyzed by doubts he never voiced. The blue spells never came at a time of real crisis. Call thrived on crisis. They were brought on by little accidents, like the wagon breaking.
Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove Page 40