Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove

He never remembered getting out of the water, but somehow he did, for when he next took note of things he was laying in the mud, his feet still in the water. He was stark naked and the mud was cold, so he pulled himself up and laboriously climbed the bank. It was only eight or ten feet high, but it was slippery.

When he got up, he wanted to lay in the grass and go to sleep, but he was awake enough to think about his situation, and thinking soon made him wakeful. He hadn't drownded, but he was naked, unarmed, without food, and something like a hundred miles from the Hat Creek wagon. He didn't know the country and was up against some tough Indians who did. Gus was sick and maybe dying somewhere upriver. It would be daylight in a few hours and the danger from Indians would increase.

Pea Eye at once started walking as fast as he could. Though it had stopped raining, it was still cloudy, and he could not see one star or the moon or, for that matter, anything either on heaven or earth. The awful thought struck him that, rolling around and around in the water, he might even have confused north and south and crawled up the wrong bank. He might be walking north, in which case he was as good as dead, but he couldn't stop to worry about it. He had to move. He had lost his pack and his gun in the river, and as soon as the river sank to being a normal stream again, they would all be lying in the creek bed, in plain sight. If the Indians found them they would know he was gone, and that Gus was alone, which would make things hot for Gus. If they were in a tracking mood it would also make things hot for him. They had horses and could run him down in a matter of hours. The faster he traveled, the better chance he had.

After he had thought about it for a while, Pea was profoundly glad the night was so dark. He wished it could stay dark forever, or at least until he pulled in sight of the herd. When he thought of all the perils he was exposed to, it was all he could do to keep from running. He remembered vividly all the things Indians did to white men. In his rangering days he had helped bury several men who had had such things done to them, and memories of those charred and gouged corpses was with him in the darkness. With him too, and just as terrifying, was the memory of the great orange bear who had nearly ripped the Texas bull wide open. He remembered how fast the bear had gone when they tried to chase it on horseback. If such a bear spotted him he felt he would probably just lie down and give up.

The darkness didn't last. The only blessing the light brought was that Pea Eye caught a glimpse of the north star as the clouds were breaking. He knew, at least, that he was going in the right direction. The sun soon came up, and he remembered Gus's warning not to travel in the daytime. Pea Eye decided to ignore it. For one thing, he was on an absolutely open plain, where there was no good place to hide. He might as well be moving as sitting.

When he looked ahead he felt very discouraged, for the country seemed endless. It seemed to him he could see almost a hundred miles-just empty country, and he had to walk it. He had never been an advocate of walking, and coming up the trail horseback had given him even less affection for it. He had never bargained for doing so much walking, especially barefoot. Before he had gone more than a few miles his feet were cut and sore. The plains looked grassy and smooth, but there were rocks scattered here and there, and he stepped on a goodly number of them.

Also, it embarrassed him that he was naked. Of course, there was no one around to see him, but he could see himself, and it was disconcerting. The Captain would be mighty surprised to see him come tramping up naked; the boys would undoubtedly think it hilarious and would kid him about it for weeks.

At first the nakedness worried him almost as much as his sore feet, but before he had walked half a day his feet hurt so much that he had stopped caring whether he was naked, or even alive. He had to wade two little creeks, and he got into some thorny underbrush in one of them. Soon every step was painful, but he knew he had to keep walking or he would never find the boys. Every time he looked back, he expected to see either Indians or a bear. By evening he was just stumbling along. He found a good patch of high grass and weeds and lay down to sleep for a while.

He woke up bitterly cold to find it was snowing. A squall had blown in. Pea Eye heard a strange sound and took a minute to realize it was his own chattering teeth. His feet were so sore he could scarcely walk on them, and the snow didn't help. It was a wet snow, melting almost as it fell, but that didn't make it much more comfortable.

Somehow he hobbled south all night. The snow soon stopped, but his feet were very cold and every time he stepped on a rock in the dark they hurt so he could hardly keep from crying out. He felt very weak and empty and knew he wasn't making very good time. He bitterly regretted not having hung onto some of the jerky, or his rifle, or something. Gus would think him a fine fool if he found out he had lost everything before he even got clear of the creek.

In his weariness, he even forgot for a time that Gus had been left in the little cave. Several times he spoke to Gus as he stumbled along-mainly asking directions. For a time he felt Gus was just ahead, leading the way. Or was it Deets? Pea Eye felt confused. Whoever it was wouldn't speak to him, and yet he continued to ask questions. He took comfort in thinking Gus or Deets was there. They were the best scouts. They would lead him in.

When the second day dawned, Pea Eye stopped to rest. He realized no one was with him, unless it was ghosts. But then, it might be ghosts. Gus might be dead by then, and Deets was, for sure. Maybe one of them, having nothing to do, had decided to float along ahead of him, guiding him to the Yellowstone.

When he looked at his feet, it seemed to him that he might make almost as good time crawling or walking on his hands. His feet were swollen to twice their size, besides being cut here and there. Yet they were the only feet he had, and after dozing for an hour in the sun, he got up and hobbled on. He was very hungry and wished he had paid more attention to Po Campo, who could find things to eat just by walking along looking. Pea tried to look, but he saw nothing but grass and weeds. Fortunately he struck several small creeks and had plenty of water. Once he even managed to sluice some minnows up on dry land. They wiggled and flopped and were hard to catch, and of course they only made a few bites, but they were better than nothing.

His biggest piece of luck came late that day when he was able to knock over a big prairie chicken with a rock. He only broke the bird's wing and had to chase it through the grass a long way, but the bird tired before he did, and he finally caught it, skinned it and ate it raw. He rested three hours and then hobbled on through another night.

The third morning he could barely make himself move. His feet were worse than ever, the plains ahead still endless and empty. His eyes ached from looking so hard for the line of the Yellowstone, but he still couldn't see it.

It was the emptiness that discouraged him most. He had almost stopped worrying about Indians and bears. What he worried about was being lost. He knew by the stars he was still going south, but south where? Maybe he had veered east of the herd, or west of it, so that no one would spot him. Maybe he had already passed them, in which case there was little hope. The snows would just come and freeze him, or else he would starve.

He lay until midmorning, unable to decide what to do. For a time he thought the best plan might be just to sit. There were supposed to be soldiers in Montana, somewhere. If he sat long enough, maybe some would find him.