Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove

Augustus, setting up his tent, stopped a moment to watch them run. The cowboys whooped and waved their hats as they raced.

"Look at 'em go, Lorie," Augustus said. "Can't wait to get to town."

Lorena was uninterested. She had only one thing on her mind.

"When are you going to see her?" she asked.

"Oh, tomorrow will do," Augustus said. "We'll both go."

"I'll stay here," Lorena said. "I'd be too scared of what you'd say."

Her hands were shaking at the thought of the woman, but she helped Gus peg the tent.

"I've a mind to go to Ogallala myself," Augustus said. "Would you like to come?"

"Why do you want to?" she asked.

"Well, it's a town, of sorts," he said. I've a mind to do something civilized, like eat dinner in a restaurant. If that's asking too much, I could at least go in a barroom and drink a glass of whiskey.

"Come with me," he added. "They've probably got a store or two. We could buy you some clothes."

Lorena considered it. She had been wearing men's clothes since Gus rescued her. There hadn't been any place to buy any others. She would need a dress if she went with Gus to see the woman. But she didn't know if she really wanted to go see her-although she had built up a good deal of curiosity about her. Lots of curiosity, but more fear. It was a strange life, just staying in the tent and talking to no one but Gus, but she was used to it. The thought of town frightened her almost as much as the thought of the woman.

"Do you want a whore or what?" she asked, when she saw him getting ready to go to town.

"Why would I want a whore, when I've got you?" he asked. "You womenfolk have got strange minds. What I'd mainly like to do is sit in a chair and drink whiskey. I wouldn't mind a hand or two of cards either."

"You want that other woman, and you've got me," Lorena said. "You could want us both and a whore too, I guess. Go get one if you want-I don't care."

She almost hoped he would. It would strengthen her case against the other woman.

"Come with me," Augustus said. "I'll buy you some new dresses."

"Just buy me one yourself," Lorena said. "Buy one you like."

"But I don't know your size," he said. "Why are you so shy of towns? There ain't a soul in that town who's ever met you."

She wouldn't go, so he gave up asking her and went himself, stopping at the wagon a minute to make sure Po Campo would take her her food. Call was there, looking restless. Since most of the experienced hands were gone, he had decided to stay with the herd and buy supplies tomorrow once some of them got back.

The herd was grazing peacefully on the rolling slopes. The hands who were left, boys mostly, looked melancholy at the thought of the opportunities they were missing.

"Come ride to town with me," Augustus said to Call. "This place is quiet as a church on Monday. I'll buy you a meal and we can sit and talk philosophy."

"No, I'll stay," Call said. "I don't know a philosophy."

"Your philosophy is to worry too much," Augustus said. "Jake would have gone with me quick enough if we hadn't hung him."

"Damn it, he brought it on himself," Call said.

"I know that, but when I spot a town I remember what a fine companion he was around supper time," Augustus said.

He loped the five or six miles to Ogallala, feeling rather strange, for it had just hit him how much he did miss Jake Spoon. Many a time, returning from a scout on the Brazos, they had raced into Austin together and divided the night between whiskey, cards and women. Clara and Call would both be stiff with them for a week after such a carouse; Clara, if anything, softened slower than Call.

Now Jake was gone and Clara near. It seemed to him he might be wise not to go see her-just trail on into Montana and let the past be past. No woman had affected his heart in the way she had. The memory was so sweet he was almost afraid to threaten it by seeing what Clara had become. She might have become a tyrant-she had that potential, even as a girl. Or she might have become merely a worked-out, worn-down pioneer woman, her beauty gone and her spirit tamed. He might look at her and not feel a thing-in which case he would lose something he treasured. On the other hand, he might look at her and feel all that he had felt in their younger days-in which case riding off and leaving her wouldn't be very easy.

Then there was Lorena. In the last weeks she had proved sweeter than any woman he had known-more responsive than his wives, kinder than Clara. Her beauty had flowered again-the cowboys were always thinking of excuses to ride within twenty or thirty yards of them, so they could get a glimpse of it. He ought to consider himself lucky, he knew-everyone in the outfit, with the possible exception of Call, considered him lucky. He ought to let the past keep its glow and not try to mix it with what he had in the present.

But then he knew he could not simply ride by Clara, whatever the threat of turmoil or disappointment. Of all the women he knew, she had meant the most; and was the one person in his life he felt he had missed, in some ways.

He remembered what she had said when she told him she was going to marry Bob-that she would want his friendship for her daughters. He would at least go and offer it; besides, it would be interesting to see if the girls were like their mother.

To his surprise, he didn't enjoy the visit to Ogallala very much. He hit the dry-goods store just as the owner was closing and persuaded him to reopen long enough for him to buy Lorie a mass of clothes. He bought everything from petticoats to dresses, a hat, and also a warm coat, for they were sure to strike cool weather in Montana. He even bought himself a black frock coat worthy of a preacher, and a silk string tie. The merchant soon was in no mood to close; he offered Augustus muffs and gloves and felt-lined boots and other oddities. In the end he had such a purchase that he couldn't even consider carrying it-they would have to come in tomorrow and pick it up in the wagon, though he did wrap up a few things in case Lorie wanted to wear them to Clara's. He bought her combs and brushes and a mirror-women liked to see themselves, he knew, and Lorena hadn't had the opportunity since Fort Worth.

The one hotel was easy to find, but the restaurant in it was a smoky little room with no charm and only one diner, a somber man with mutton-chop whiskers. Augustus decided he would prefer a cheerful bar, but that proved not easy to find.

He went into one that had a huge rack of elk horns over the door and a clientele consisting mostly of mule skinners who hauled freight for the Army. None of the Hat Creek outfit was there, though he had seen a couple of their horses tied outside. They had probably gone straight to the whorehouse next door, he concluded. He ordered a bottle and a glass, but the boisterous mule skinners made so much racket he couldn't enjoy his drinking. A middle-aged gambler with a thin mustache and a greasy cravat soon spotted him and came over.

"You look like a man who could tolerate a game of cards," the gambler said. "My name is Shaw."

"Two-handed gambling don't interest me," Augustus said. "Any way, it's too rackety in here. It's hard work just getting drunk when things are this loud."

"This ain't the only whiskey joint in town," Mr. Shaw said. "Maybe we could find one that's quiet enough for you."

Just then a girl walked in, painted and powdered. Several of the mule skinners whooped at her, but she came over to where Augustus sat. She was skinny and could hardly have been more than seventeen.

"Now, Nellie, leave us be," the gambler said. "We were about to go have a game."

Before the girl could answer, one of the mule skinners at the next table toppled backwards in his chair. He had gone to sleep with the chair tilted back, and he fell to the floor, to the amusement of his peers. The fall did not wake him-he sprawled on the saloon floor, dead drunk.