Lonesome Dove

hat.

18.

AUGUSTUS RODE BACK to camp a little after sunset, thinking the work would have stopped by then. The cattle were being held in a long valley near the river, some five miles from town. Every night Call went across the river with five on six hands and came back with two or three hundred Mexican cattle-longhorns mostly, skinny as rails and wild as deer. Whatever they got they branded the next day, with the part of the crew that had rested doing the hard end of the work. Only Call worked both shifts. If he slept, it was an hour or two before breakfast or after supper. The rest of the time he worked, and so far as anyone could tell the pace agreed with him. He had taken to riding the Hell Bitch two days out of three, and the mare seemed no more affected by the work than he was.

Bolivar had not taken kindly to being moved to a straggly camp out in the brush, with no dinner bell to whack or crowbar to whack it with. He kept his ten-gauge near the chuck box and scowled at everybody. The Irishmen were so intimidated that they were always the last ones in line. As a consequence they got little to eat and were no longer as fat as they had been the day they arrived.

It seemed the Irishmen were part of the outfit, though. Their total inexperience was offset by an energy and a will to learn that impressed even Call. He let them stay in the first place, because he was so shorthanded he couldn't afford to turn away any willing hand. By the time more competent men arrived the Irishmen had gotten over their fear of horses and worked with a will. Not being cowboys, they had no prejudice against working on the ground. Once shown the proper way to throw a roped animal, they cheerfully flung themselves on whatever the ropers drug up to the branding fire, even if it was a two-year-old bull with lots of horn and a mean disposition. They had no great finesse, but they were dogged, and would eventually get the creature down.

This willingness to work on the ground was indispensable, for most cowboys would rather eat poison than be forced to dismount. They all fancied themselves ropers, and swelled like toads if asked to do work they considered beneath their dignity.

Since there were few goats to steal near the camp, Bol's menus relied heavily on beef, with the usual admixture of beans. He had brought along a sack of chilies, and he dumped them liberally into his beans, feeling free to augment the dish with pieces of whatever varmints strayed into his path-rattlesnakes mostly, with an occasional armadillo.

For several days the crew ate the fiery beans without complaint, only the Irishmen showing pronounced ill effects. Young Sean had difficulty with the peppers. He could not eat the beans without weeping, but, with all the work, his appetite raged to such a point that he could not avoid the beans. He ate them and wept. Most of the crew liked the boy and had decided to treat his frequent weepings as simply a mild aberration, related in some way to his nationality.

Then one day Jasper Fant caught Bolivar skinning a rattlesnake. He assumed Bolivar was merely going to make himself a rattlesnake belt, but he happened to turn around as Bol sliced the snake right into the stewpot, a sight which agitated him greatly. He had heard that people ate snake but had never expected to do so himself. When he told the other hands what he had seen they were so aroused that they wanted to hang Bolivar on the spot, or at least rope him and drag him through the prickly pear to improve his manners. But when they approached Augustus with the information about the snake, he laughed at them.

'You boys must have been raised on satin pillows,' he said. 'If you'd rangered you'd have got a taste for snake long ago.'

He then proceeded to give them a lecture on the culinary properties of rattlesnake-a lecture that Jasper, for one, received rather stiffly. It might be superior to chicken, rabbit and possum, as Gus claimed, but that didn't mean he wanted to eat it. His visits to the stewpot became a source of irritation to everyone; he would fish around in the pot for several minutes, seeking portions of meat that he could feel confident hadn't come from a snake. Such delicacy exacerbated the rest of the crew, who were usually so hungry by suppertime that they could ill abide waits.

Call and Jake rode in while Augustus was eating. The sight of Gus with his plate full put Jake in a low temper, since he himself had handled branding irons all day while Gus had amused himself in town and stayed fresh. They had branded over four hundred cattle since sunup, enough to make Jake wish he had never brought up the notion of taking cattle to Montana.

'Hello, girls,' Augustus said. 'You look like you've done a heavy laundry. Wait till I finish my beef and I'll help you off your horses.'

'I don't want off mine,' Jake said. 'Hand me a plate and I'll eat on the way to town.'

Call felt irritated. It was the first full day Jake had put in since the work started, and mostly he had lazed through it.

'Why? Must you go?' he asked, trying to keep it mild. 'We're going to make our last drag tonight. We have to get started, you know.'

Jake dismounted and walked over to the grub, pretending he hadn't heard. He didn't want an argument with Call if he could avoid one. In truth, he had not been thinking very far ahead since drifting back to Lonesome Dove. He had often thought of the fortune that could be made in cattle in Montana, but then a man could think of a fortune without actually having to go and make one. The only good thing to be said for trailing cattle that far north was that it beat hanging in Arkansas, or rotting in some jail.

Then there was Lorie. So far she hadn't had a single fit, but that didn't mean she wouldn't if she found out he was leaving. On the other hand, he couldn't very well take her-no one in his memory had ever tried to bring a woman into one of Call's camps.

It was all vexing, having decisions to make, and yet having no time to think them through. He got himself a hunk of beef and some of the old Mexican's peppery stew and went back to where Call and Gus were sitting. He felt distinctly irritated with Call-the man never seemed to need any of the things other humans needed, like sleep or women. Life for Call was work, and he seemed to think everyone else ought to see it the same way.

'Why, Jake, you look plumb grumpy,' Augustus said, when Jake sat down and began to eat. 'Honest work don't agree with you, I guess.'

'No, I'm about as cooked as this beef,' Jake said.

Newt and the two Irishmen were holding the herd. The Irishmen were particularly good night herders because they could sing; their melodies seemed to soothe the cattle. In fact, the whole camp enjoyed the Irish singing. Newt couldn't sing a lick, but he had rapidly developed into such a skilled cowhand that Call felt a little guilty for having held him back so long.

'I'm sure partial to the evening,' Augustus said. 'The evening and the morning. If we just didn't have to have the rest of the dern day I'd be a lot happier.'

'If we have a good drag tonight we can start north on Monday,' Call said. 'How does that suit you, Jake?'

'Oh, fine,' Jake said. 'But you boys don't have to try and suit me with your drive. I've been thinking of spending some time in San Antonio.'

'That's a big disappointment,' Augustus said. 'It's a long way to Montany. I was counting on you to keep up the conversation.'

'Well, count agin,' Jake said, deciding on the spot that he wouldn't go.

Call knew there was no point in reminding Jake that the whole drive had been his idea. The man was willful as a child in some respects. Show him what he ought to do and he would dig in his heels and refuse. It was particularly irritating in this instance, because nobody in the outfit had even been farther north than Kansas. Jake knew the country and could be a big help.

'Jake, we wish you'd come,' he said. 'We were relying on you to help us choose the route.'

'No, Jake don't like to help his companeros,' Augustus said. 'He's got his own fancies to cultivate. The fact that he caused all this don't mean a thing to him.'

'Did I cause it?' Jake asked, trying to keep the talk light.

'Of course you caused it,' Augustus said. 'Who was it said Montana is a cowman's paradise?'

'Well, it is,' Jake said.