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 guess 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
'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.'
