but in wild country there was such a thing as being too relaxed.
Goodnight's silence irked him a little: what good was a guest who consumed bacon but didn't contribute conversation?
'Do you fear God, Charlie?' Augustus asked, thinking he might pursue the religious theme for a moment.
'Nope, too busy,' Goodnight said.
'Are you a God-fearing man? I would not have supposed it.' 'I expect I ought to be,' Gus said. 'He keeps taking my wives, I suppose he could take me at any time.' 'He might as well, if you're going to sleep till sunup,' Goodnight said. He had already cooked and eaten fully half of Gus's bacon. He stood up and returned the rest to the saddlebag.
'Are you going somewhere?' Goodnight asked.
'Why yes, west,' Augustus said. 'How about yourself?' 'Colorado,' Goodnight replied.
'There's a lively market for Texas beef in Denver, and an abundance of beef on the hoof down here in Texas.' Augustus considered the two remarks, but in his groggy state failed to see how they connected.
'Have you got a herd of cattle with you, Charlie?' he asked. 'If so, I guess I'm blind as well as deaf.' 'Not presently,' Goodnight said.
'But I could soon acquire one if I could find a good route to Denver.' 'Charlie, I don't think this is the way to Colorado,' Augustus said. 'Not unless your cattle can drink air. There's no water between here and Colorado, that I know of.' 'There's the Pecos River--t's a wet river,' Goodnight said. 'If I could just get a herd as far as the Pecos, I expect the moisture would increase, from there to Denver.' Mention of Denver reminded Gus of Matilda Roberts, one of his oldest and best friends. In the old days everyone had known Matty, even Goodnight, though as one of the soberer citizens of the frontier he had no reputation as a whorer.
'You remember Matty Roberts, don't you, Charlie?' Gus inquired.
'Yes, she's a fine woman,' Goodnight said. 'She's in the love business but love ain't been kind to her. I've not visited her establishment in Denver but they say it's lavish.' 'What do you mean, love ain't been kind?' Gus asked. He realized that he had no recent information about his old friend.
'Matilda's dying, that's what I mean,' Goodnight said. He had unsaddled his horse, so the sorrel could have a good roll in the dust; but the sorrel had had his roll and in a few minutes Goodnight was ready to depart.
'What--Matty's dying--what of?' Augustus asked, shocked. Now another woman of his close acquaintance was about to be carried off.
The news struck him almost as hard as if he had been told that Clara was dying. Even Woodrow Call would admit a fondness for Matty Roberts; he would be shocked when he heard the news.
'I don't know what of,' Goodnight informed him. 'I suppose she's just dying of living--t's the one infection that strikes us all down, sooner or later.' He mounted and started to leave, but turned back and looked down at Augustus, who still sat idly at the campfire.
'Are you poorly today?' Goodnight asked.
'No, I'm well--why would you ask, Charlie?' Gus said.
'You don't seem to be in an active frame of mind today, that's why,' Goodnight said. 'You ain't ready to die, are you?' 'Why, no,' Augustus said, startled by the question.
'I'm just a little sleepy. I was sitting up with Nellie quite a few nights before she passed away.' Goodnight did not seem to be satisfied by that answer. The sorrel was nervous, ready to leave, but Goodnight held him back, which was unusual.
When Charlie Goodnight was ready to go he usually left without ceremony, seldom giving whomever he was talking to even the leisure to finish a sentence. He had never been one to linger--yet, now, he was lingering, looking at Augustus hard.
'If you were under my orders I'd order you home,' he said bluntly. 'A man who can't get himself in an active frame of mind by this hour has no business travelling in this direction.' 'Well, I ain't under your orders and I never will be,' Augustus retorted, a little annoyed by the man's tone. 'I ain't a child and nobody appointed you to watch over me.' Goodnight smiled--al a rare thing.
'I was concerned that you might have lost your snap, but I guess you ain't,' he said, turning his horse again.
'Wait, Charlie ... if you're bound for Denver I've got something for you to take to Matty,' Gus said. The news that she was dying struck him hard--he was beginning to remember all the fine times he had had with the woman. He went to his saddlebag and pulled out the sock where he kept his loose money. The sock contained about sixty dollars, which he promptly handed to Goodnight. As he did his face reddened, and he choked up. Why were all the good women dying?
'I was always behind a few pokes with Matilda,' he said. 'I expect I owe her at least this much. I'd be obliged if you'd take it to her, Charlie.' Goodnight looked at the money for a moment and then put it in his pocket.
'How long have you owed this debt?' he asked.
'About fifteen years,' Augustus said.
'If you were going toward the Pecos I'd accompany you until your mind gets a little more active,' Goodnight offered.
'I ain't, though,' Gus said. He did not want company, particularly not company as prickly as Charles Goodnight.
'I'm bound for the good old Rio Grande,' he said, although he wasn't.
'All right, goodbye,' Goodnight said. 'If I plan to find a way to get my cattle to Colorado, I better start looking.' 'Charlie, if you do see Matty, tell her she's got a friend in Texas,' Augustus said-- he was still choked up.
'Done, if I get there in time,' Goodnight said.
