Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove

The cattle were still running. He could feel the earth shake and hear the drumming of their hooves, though they weren't close. Probably the boys had managed to get them circling.

Newt finally got his breath back and stopped crying, but he didn't get up because there was no reason to. He felt a terrible anger at Mouse for having run off and put him in such a position. If Mouse had suddenly walked up, Newt felt he would cheerfully have shot him.

But Mouse didn't walk up. Newt heard a few shots, quite a ways to the north-just the boys, fining to turn the herd. Then the drumming got fainter and finally stopped. Newt knew the run was over. He sat where he was, wondering why, of all people, he had to be so unlucky. Then he noticed that it was beginning to get light. He must have slept most of the night over by Lorena's camp.

He got up and trudged through the faint light back toward the wagon, and had not walked a quarter of a mile before he heard a loping horse and turned to see Pea clipping along a ridge, right toward him. Though caught afoot, Newt still felt a certain relief. Pea was his friend, and wouldn't judge him as harshly as the others would.

Even in the cool morning Pea's horse was white with sweat, so it had been a hard run.

"Dern, you're alive after all," Pea said. "I figured you was. The Captain's about to have a fit. He decided you got trampled, and he and Gus are having at it because Gus was the one sent you off."

"Why did he think I got trampled?" Newt asked.

"Because your horse was mixed in with the cattle when we finally got 'em turned," Pea said. "They all think you're a dead hero. Maybe I'll get to be a hero when I tell 'em I found you."

Newt climbed upon Pea's weary horse, almost too tired to cane that his reputation had been saved.

"What'd he do, jump over a bush and throw you?" Pea asked. "I was always skittish about them small horses-they can get out from under you too quick."

"He'll play hell doing it again," Newt said, feeling very angry at Mouse. He ordinarily wouldn't have spoken so strongly in the presence of Pea, on any adult, but his feelings were ragged. Somehow Pea's explanation of what had happened made more sense than the truth-so much so that Newt began to half believe it himself. Being thrown was not particularly admirable, but it happened to all cowboys sooner or later, and it was a lot easier to admit to than what had actually occurred.

As they trotted over a ridge, Newt could see the herd about a mile away. It seemed curious that the Captain would get upset at the thought that he had been trampled-if he had let himself get thrown he deserved to be trampled-but he was too sleepy to cane what anybody thought.

"Looky there," Pea said. "I reckon that's the new cook."

Newt had let his eyelids fall. It was not easy to get them up again, even to see the new cook. He was so sleepy things looked blurred when he did open his eyes. Then he saw a donkey with a pack on its back, walking slowly along.

"I didn't know a donkey could cook," he said irritably, annoyed that Pea would josh him when he was so tired.

"No, the cook's over there," Pea said. "He's got a fain lead on the donkey."

Sure enough, a short man was walking through the grass some fifty yards ahead of the donkey. He was traveling slow: it was just that his donkey was traveling slower. The man wore a sombrero with a hole in the top.

"I guess the Captain found us another old bandit," Pea said. "He ain't much taller than a rock."

It was true that the new cook was very short. He was also very stout-looking. He carried a rifle casually over one shoulder, holding it by the barrel. When he heard them riding up he stopped and whistled at the donkey, but the donkey paid no attention.

Newt saw that the new cook was old. His brown face was nothing but wrinkles. When they rode up he stopped and courteously took off his sombrero, and his short hair was white. But his eyes were friendly.

"Howdy," Pea said. "We're with the Hat Creek outfit. Are you the new cook?"

"I am Po Campo," the man said.

"If you was to spur up that donkey you'd get there a lot quicker," Pea said. "We're all practically starved."

Po Campo smiled at Newt.

"If I tried to ride that donkey it would stop and I'd never get there at all," Po said. "Besides, I don't ride animals."

"Why not?" Pea asked, amazed.

"It's not civilized," the old man said. "We're animals too. How would you like it if somebody rode you?"

Such a question was too much for Pea. He didn't consider himself an animal, and in his whole life had never given one minute's thought to the possibility of being ridden.

"You mean you just walk everywhere?" Newt asked. The notion of a man who didn't ride horses was almost too strange to be believed. It was particularly strange that such a man was coming to cook for a crew of cowboys, some of whom hated to dismount even to eat.

Po Campo smiled. "It's a good country to walk in," he said.

"We got to hurry," Pea said, a little alarmed to be having such a conversation.

"Get down and walk with me, young man," Po Campo said. "We might see some interesting things if we keep our eyes open. You can help me gather breakfast."

"You'll likely see the Captain, if you don't speed along a little faster," Pea said. "The Captain don't like to wait on breakfast."

Newt slid off the horse. It was a surprise to Pea and even a little bit of a surprise to himself, but he did it anyway. The wagon was only two or three hundred yards away. It wouldn't take long to walk it, but it would postpone for a few minutes having to explain why he had lost his horse.

"I'll just walk on in with him," he said to Pea.

"By God, if this keeps up I guess we'll all be afoot before long," Pea said. "I'll just lope on over and tell the Captain neither one of you is dead."

He started to leave and then looked down at Po Campo.

"Do you use a lot of pepper in your cooking?" he asked.

"As much as I can find," Po Campo said.

"Well, that's all night, we're used to it," Pea said.

To Newt's surprise, Po Campo put a friendly hand on his shoulder. He almost flinched, for it was rare for anyone to touch him in friendship. If he got touched it was usually in a wrestling match with one of the Raineys.

"I like to walk slow," Po Campo said. "If I walk too fast I might miss something."

"There ain't much to miss around here," Newt said. "Just grass."

"But grass is interesting," the old man said. "It's like my serape, only it's the earth it covers. It covers everything and one day it will cover me."

Though the old man spoke cheerfully, the words made Newt sad. He remembered Sean O'Brien. He wondered if the grass had covered Sean yet. He hoped it had-he had not been able to rid himself of the memory of the muddy grave they had put Sean in, back by the Nueces.

"How many men in this outfit?" Po Campo asked.

Newt tried to count in his head, but his brain was tired and he knew he was missing a few hands.

"There's a bunch of us," he said. "More than ten."

"Have you got molasses?" Po Campo asked.

"There's a barrel in the wagon but we ain't used it yet," Newt said. "Might be saving it for Christmas."

"Maybe I'll fry up some grasshoppers tonight," Po Campo said. "Grasshoppers make good eating if you fry them crisp and dip them in a little molasses."

Newt burst out laughing at the thought of anyone eating a grasshopper. Po Campo was evidently a joker.

"What's your donkey's name?" he asked, feeling a little fresher for having had his laugh.

"I call her Mania after my sister," Po Campo said. "My sister was slow too."

"Do you really cook grasshoppers?" Newt asked.

"When I can get them," Po Campo said. "The old ones taste better than the young ones. It isn't that way with animals, but it is with grasshoppers. The old ones are brittle, like old men. They are easy to get crisp."