Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove

"I wish the Captain would fill the wagon with it," Ben Rainey said. The opportunity existed, for Augustus was just driving up to the drygoods store in the wagon, and the Captain rode beside him on the Hell Bitch.

"Why, he won't let us fill it with candy," Jimmy Rainey said. Nonetheless, feeling bolder and more experienced, they went back in the store and bought two more sacks.

"Let's save one for Montana," Newt said. "There might not be no more towns." But his cautions fell on deaf ears. Pete Spettle and the others consumed their share of the candy with dispatch.

While they were finishing it they saw Dish Boggett come walking around the side of a saloon across the street.

"Let's ask him where the whores are," Ben suggested. "I doubt we can find any by ourselves."

They caught up with Dish by the livery stable. He didn't look to be in high spirits, but at least he was walking straight, which was more than could be said for the men who had returned to camp.

"What are you sprouts doing in town?" he asked.

"We want a whore," Ben said.

"Go around to the back of that saloon, then," Dish said. "You'll find plenty."

Dish now rode a fine little mare he called Sugar. In disposition, she was the opposite of the Hell Bitch. She was almost like a pet. Dish would take tidbits from his plate and feed them to her by hand. He claimed she had the best night vision of any horse he had ever seen-in all their stampedes she had never stepped in a hole.

He delighted in her so much that he always gave her a brushing before he saddled her, keeping a little horse brush in his saddlebag just for that purpose.

"How much do they cost?" Jimmy Rainey asked, referring to the whores. The thought that some were only a few steps away made them all a little nervous.

"It depends on how long you intend to stay upstairs," Dish said. "I met a nice one named Mary, but they ain't all like her. There's one they call the Buffalo Heifer-somebody would have to offer me a month's wages before I'd get near her, but I expect she'd do for you sprouts. You can't expect top quality your first time off."

As they were talking, a party of some half-dozen soldiers came riding up the street, led by the big scout, Dixon.

"There come them soldiers agin," Newt said.

Dish hardly glanced at the soldiers. "I guess the rest of them got lost." He had brushed Sugar and was just preparing to saddle her when the scout and the soldiers suddenly trotted over their way.

Newt felt nervous-he knew there had almost been serious trouble with the soldiers. He glanced at the Captain and Mr. Gus, who were loading a water barrel into the wagon. Evidently they had decided to take Po Campo's advice.

Dixon, who looked ungodly big to Newt, rode his black gelding practically on top of Dish Boggett before he stopped. Dish, cool as ice, put the saddle blanket on the mare and paid him no mind.

"How much for the filly?" Dixon asked. "She's got a stylish look."

"Not for sale," Dish said, reaching down for his saddle.

As he stooped, Dixon leaned over him and spat a stream of tobacco juice on the back of Dish's neck. The brown juice hit Dish at the hairline and dripped down under the collar of his loose shirt.

Dish straightened up and put his hand to his neck. When he saw the tobacco juice his face flushed.

"You dern cowboys are too fond of your horses," Dixon said. "I'm fair tired of being told your ponies ain't for sale."

"This one ain't, for damn sure, and anyway you won't be in no shape to ride when I get through with you," Dish said, barely controlling his voice. "I'd hate to think I'd let a man spit on me and then ride off."

Dixon spat again. This time, since Dish was facing him, the juice hit him square in the breast. Dixon and the soldiers all laughed.

"Are you going to dismount or will you require me to come and drag you off that pile of soap bones you're riding?" Dish asked, meeting the big man's eye.

"Well, ain't you a tomcat," Dixon said, grinning. He spat at Dish again, but Dish ducked the stream of tobacco juice and leaped for the man. He meant to knock the scout off the other side of the horse, but Dixon was too strong and too quick. Though no one had seen it, he held a long-barreled pistol in his off hand, and when Dish grappled with him he used it like a club, hitting Dish twice in the head with the butt.

To Newt's horror, Dish crumpled without a sound-he slid down the side of Dixon's horse and flopped on his back on the ground. Blood poured from a gash over his ear, staining his dark hair. His hat fell off and Newt picked it up, not knowing what else to do.

Dixon stuffed his pistol back in its holster. He spat once more at Dish and reached to take the filly's reins. He reached down, undid the girth, and dumped Dish's saddle on the ground.

"That'll teach you to sass me, cowboy," he said. Then he glanced at the boys. "He can send the bill for this mare to the U.S. Army," Dixon said. "That is if he ever remembers there was a mare, when he wakes up."

Newt was all but paralyzed with worry. He had seen the pistol butt strike Dish twice, and for all he knew Dish was dead. It had happened so quickly that Ben Rainey still had his hands in the sack of candy.

All Newt knew was that the man mustn't be allowed to take Dish's horse. When Dixon turned to trot away, he grabbed the bridle bit and hung on. Sugar, pulled two different ways, tried to rear, almost lifting Newt off the ground. But he hung on.

Dixon tried to jerk the horse loose, but Newt had both hands on the bit now and wouldn't let go.

"Damn, these cowboys are pests," Dixon said. "Even the pups."

The soldier next to him had a rawhide quirt hanging from his saddle horn. Dixon reached over and got it, and without another word rode close to the mare and began to lash Newt with it.

Pete Spettle, anger in his face, leaped in and tried to get the quirt, but Dixon backhanded him and Pete went down-it turned out his nose was broken.

Newt tried to hunker close to the mare. At first Dixon was mainly quirting his hands, to make him turn loose, but when that was unsuccessful he began to hit Newt wherever he could catch him. One whistling blow cut his ear. He tried to duck his head, but Sugar was scared and kept turning, exposing him to the quirt. Dixon began to whip him on the neck and shoulders. Newt shut his eyes and clung to the bit. Once he glanced at Dixon and saw the man smiling-he had cruel eyes, like a boar pig's. Then he ducked, for Dixon attempted to cut him across the face. The blow hit Sugar instead, causing the horse to rear and squeal.

It was the squeal that caught Call's attention. After loading the heavy oak water barrel, he and Augustus had stepped back into the store a minute. Augustus was contemplating buying a lighter pistol to replace the big Colt he carried, but he decided against it. He carried out some of the things he had bought for Lorena, and Call took a sack of flour. They heard the horse squeal while they were still in the store, and came out to see Dixon quirting Newt, as Dish Boggett's mare turned round and round. Two cowboys lay on the ground, one of them Dish.

"I thought that son of a bitch was a bad one," Augustus said. He pitched the goods in the wagon and drew his pistol.

Call dropped the sack of flour onto the tailgate and quickly swung onto the Hell Bitch.

"Don't shoot him," he said. "Just watch the soldiers."

He saw Dixon again savagely quirt the boy across the back of the neck, and anger flooded him, of a kind he had not felt in many years. He put spurs to the Hell Bitch and she raced down the street and burst through the surprised soldiers. Dixon, intent on his quirting, was the last to see Call, who made no attempt to check the Hell Bitch. Dixon tried to jerk his mount out of the way at the last minute, but his nervous mount merely turned into the charge and the two horses collided. Call kept his seat and the Hell Bitch kept her feet, but Dixon's horse went down, throwing him hard in the process. Sugar nearly trampled Newt, trying to get out of the melee. Dixon's horse struggled to its feet practically underneath Sugar. There was dust everywhere.