Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove

"Well, Newt didn't come, Deets," Augustus said. "He's with the boys."

Then it seemed to Deets that something was happening to Mr. Gus's head. It had grown larger. He couldn't see it all well. It was as if he were looking through water-as if he had come back to the old river and were lying on the bottom, looking at Mr. Gus through the shallow brown water. Mr. Gus's head had grown larger, was floating off. It was rising toward the sky like the moon. He could barely see it and then couldn't see it at all, but the waters parted for a moment and he saw a blade or two of grass, close to his eye; then to his relief the brown waters came back and covered him again, deep this time and warm.

"Can't you take that lance out?" Call asked. He didn't know what to do with the baby, and there Deets lay dying.

"I will in a minute, Call," Augustus said. "Just let him be dead for a minute."

"Is he dead already?" Call asked. Though he knew from long experience that such things happened quickly, he could not accept it in Deets's case. "I guess it went to the heart," he added pointlessly.

Augustus didn't answer. He was resting for a moment, wondering if he could get the lance out or if he should just break it off or what. If he pulled it out he might bring half of Deets out with it. Of course Deets was dead-in a way, it didn't matter. Yet it did-if there was one thing he didn't want to do, it was tear Deets up.

"Can't you give that squalling baby to the women?" he asked. "Just set it down over there and maybe they'll come and get it."

Call took a few steps toward the huddled Indians, holding out the baby. None of the Indians moved. He went a few more steps and set the baby on the ground. When he turned back he saw Augustus put a foot against Deets's side and try to remove the lance, which did not budge.

Augustus gave up and sat down beside the dead man. "I can't do this today, Deets," he said. "Somebody else will have to do it if it gets done."

Call also knelt down' by Deets's body. He could not get over his surprise. Though he had seen hundreds of surprising things in battle, this was the most shocking. An Indian boy who probably hadn't been fifteen years old had run up to Deets and killed him.

It must have shocked Augustus just as much, because he didn't have anything to say.

"I guess it's our fault," Call said. "We should have shot sooner."

"I don't want to start thinking about all the things we should have done for this man," Augustus said. "If you've got the strength to ride, let's get out of here."

They managed to break the lance off so it wouldn't wave in the air, and loaded Deets's body on his horse. While Augustus was tying the body securely, Call rounded up the horses. The Indians watched him silently. He changed his mind and cut off three of the horses that were of little account anyway. He rode over to the Indians.

"You better tie them three," he said. "Otherwise they'll follow us."

"I doubt they speak English, Woodrow," Augustus said. "I imagine they speak Ute. Anyway, we killed their best warrior; they're done for now unless they find some better country. Three horses won't last them through the winter."

He looked around at the parched country, the naked ridges where the earth had split from drought. The ridges were varicolored, smudged with red and salt-white splotches, as if the fluids of the earth had leaked out through the cracks.

"Montana better not be nothing like this," he said. "If it is, I'm going back and dig up that goddamn Jake Spoon and scatter his bones."

They rode all night, all the next day and into the following night. Augustus just rode, his mind mostly blank, but Call was sick with self-reproach. All his talk of being ready, all his preparation-and then he had just walked up to an Indian camp and let Josh Deets get killed. He had known better. They all knew better. He had known men killed by Indian boys no older than ten, and by old Indian women who looked as if they could barely walk. Any Indian might kill you: that was the first law of the Rangers. And yet they had just walked in, and now Josh Deets was gone. He had never called the man by his first name, but now he remembered Gus's foolish sign and how Deets had been troubled by it. Deets had finally concluded that his first name was Josh-that was the way he would think of him from then on, Call decided. He had been Josh Deets. It deepened his sense of reproach that, only a few days before, Josh Deets had been so thoughtful as to lead his horse through the sandstorm, recognizing that he himself was played out.

Then he had stood there with a rifle in his hands and let the man be killed. They had all concluded the Indians were too starved down to do anything. It was a mistake he would never forgive himself.

"I think he knowed it was coming," Augustus said, to Call's surprise, as they rode through the cracked valleys toward the Salt Creek.

"What do you mean, knowed it?" Call asked. "He didn't know it. It was just that one boy who showed any fight."

"I think he knowed it," Augustus said. "He just stood there waiting."

"He had that baby in his hands," Call reminded him.

"He could have dropped that baby," Augustus said.

They came back the second night to where the herd had been, only to find it gone. Josh Deets had begun to smell.

"We could bury him here," Augustus said.

Call looked around at the empty range.

"We ain't gonna find no churchyard, if that's what you're looking for," Augustus said.

"Let's take him on," Call said. "The men will want to pay their respects. I imagine we can catch them tonight."

They caught the herd not long before dawn. Dish Boggett was the night herder who saw them coming. He was very relieved, for with both of them gone, the herd had been his responsibility. Since he didn't know the country, it was a heavy responsibility, and he had been hoping the bosses would get back soon. When he saw them he felt a little proud of himself, for he had kept the cattle on grass and had moved them along nicely.

"Mornin', Captain," he said. Then he noticed that something was wrong. There were three horses, not counting the stolen ones, but only two riders. There was something on the third horse, but it wasn't a rider. It was only a body.

"Who's that, Gus?" he asked, startled.

"It's what's left of Deets," Augustus said. "I hope the cook's awake." After feeling nothing for two days, he had begun to feel hungry.

Newt had taken the middle watch and was sleeping soundly when dawn broke. He was using his saddle for a pillow and had covered himself with a saddle blanket as the nights had begun to be quite cool.

The sound of voices reached him. One belonged to the Captain, the other to Mr. Gus. Po Campo's voice could be heard, too, and Dish Boggett said something. Newt opened his eyes a moment and saw they were all kneeling by something on the ground. Maybe they had killed an antelope. He was very drowsy and wanted to go back to sleep. He closed his eyes again, then opened them. It wasn't an antelope. He sat up and saw that Po Campo was kneeling down, twisting on something. Someone had been hurt and Po was trying to pull a stob of some kind out of his body. He was straining hard, but the stob wouldn't come out. He stopped trying, and Dish, who had been holding the wounded man down, turned away suddenly, white and sick.

When Dish moved, Newt saw Deets. He was in the process of yawning when he saw him. Instead of springing up, he lay back down and pulled his blanket tighter. He opened his eyes and looked, and then shut them tightly. He felt angry at the men for having talked so loud that they had awakened him. He wished they would all die, if that was the best they could do. He wanted to go back to sleep. He wanted it to be one of those dreams that you wake up from just as the dream gets bad. He felt that was probably what it was. When he opened his eyes again he wouldn't see Deets's body lying on the wagon sheet a few yards away.