Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove

"That was the Musseishell River, where you holed up," he said. "I met that old trapper and he told me. We may take him with us to scout, since he knows the country."

"I wish I had some better whiskey," Augustus said. "This is a cheap product."

"Well, the saloon's closed, probably," Call said.

"I doubt they got better, open or closed," Augustus said. "I have a few more instructions, if you're ready to hear them."

"Why, fine," Call said. "I suppose now you've decided you'd rather be buried at the South Pole."

"No, but do stop in Nebraska a night and let the women know," Augustus said. "I'm leaving my half of the herd to Lorie, and don't you dispute with me about it. Just see she gets what money's coming to her. I'll leave you a note to hand her, and one for Clara."

"I'll pass them on," Call said.

"I told Newt you was his pa," Augustus said.

"Well, you oughtn't to," Call said.

"I oughtn't to have had to, but you never got around to it, so I did," Augustus said. "All you can do about it now is shoot me, which would be a blessing. I feel mighty poorly, and embarrassed to boot."

"Why embarrassed?" Call asked.

"Imagine getting killed by an arrow in this day and age," Augustus said. "It's ridiculous, especially since they shot at us fifty times with modern weapons and did no harm."

"You always was careless," Call said. "Pea said you rode over a hill and right into them. I've warned you about that very thing a thousand times. There's better ways to approach a hill."

"Yes, but I like being free on the earth," Augustus said. "I'll cross the hills where I please."

He paused a minute. "I hope you won't mistreat Newt," he said.

"Have I ever mistreated him?" Call asked.

"Yes, always," Augustus said. "I admit it's practically your only sin, but it's a big one. You ought to do better by that boy. He's the only son you'll ever have-I'd bet my wad on that-though I guess it's possible you'll take to women in your old age."

"No, I won't," Call said. "They don't like me. I never recall mistreating that boy."

"Not naming him is mistreatment," Augustus said. "Give him your name, and you'll have a son you can be proud of. And Newt will know you're his pa."

"I don't know that myself," Call said.

"I know it and you know it," Augustus said. "You're worse than me. I'm stubborn about legs, but what about you? Women are goddamn right not to like you. You don't want to admit you ever needed one of them, even for a moment's pleasure. Though you're human, and you did need one once-but you don't want to need nothing you can't get for yourself."

Call didn't answer. It seemed wrong to quarrel while Gus was dying. Always over the same thing too. That one thing, after all they had done together.

Gus slept through the morning, fitful and feverish. Call didn't expect him to wake. He didn't leave the room. He was finally eating the plate of cold venison when Gus came to his senses briefly.

"Do you want me to do anything about them Indians?" Call asked.

"Which Indians?" Augustus asked, wondering what his friend could be talking about. Call's cheeks looked drawn, as though he hadn't eaten for days, though he was eating even as he asked the question.

"Those that shot the arrows into you," Call said.

"Oh, no, Woodrow," Augustus said. "We won more than our share with the natives. They didn't invite us here, you know. We got no call to be vengeful. You start that and I'll spoil your appetite."

"I don't have much, anyway," Call said.

"Didn't I stick that sign in the wagon, that one I made in Lonesome Dove that upset Deets so much at first?" Augustus asked.

"Upset me too," Call said. "It was a peculiar sign. It's on the wagon."

"I consider it my masterpiece, that and the fact that I've kept you from not getting no worse for so long," Augustus said. "Take the sign back and stick it over my grave."

"Have you wrote them notes for the women yet?" Call asked. "I won't know what to say to them, you see."

"Dern, I forgot, and my two favorite women, too," Augustus said. "Get me some paper."

The doctor had brought in a tablet for Augustus to write his will on. Augustus drew himself up and slowly wrote two notes.

"Dangerous to write to two women at the same time," he said. "Especially when I'm this lightheaded. I might not be as particular in my sentiments as women expect a fellow to be."

But he wrote on. Then Call saw his hand drop and thought he was dead. He wasn't, but he was too weak to fold the second note. Call folded it for him.

"Woodrow, quite a party," Augustus said.

"What?" Call asked.

Augustus was looking out the window. "Look there at Montana," he said. "It's fine and fresh, and now we've come and it'll soon be ruint, like my legs."

Then he turned his head back to Call. "I near forgot," he said. "Give my saddle to Pea Eye. I cut his up to brace my crutch, and I wouldn't want him to think ill of me."

"Well, he don't, Gus," Call said.

But Augustus had closed his eyes. He saw a mist, red at first but then as silvery as the morning mists in the valleys of Tennessee.

Call sat by the bed, hoping he would open his eyes again. He could hear Gus breathing. The sun set, and Call moved back to the chair, listening to his friend's ragged breath. He tried to remain alert, but he was tired. Some time later the doctor came in with a lamp. Call noticed blood dripping off the sheet onto the floor.

"That bed's full of blood and your friend's dead," the doctor said.

Call felt bad for having dozed. He saw that one of Gus's notes to the women was still on the bed. There was blood on it, but not much. Call wiped the note carefully on his pants leg before going downstairs.

WHEN CALL TOLD Dr. Mobley that Gus wanted to be transported to Texas to be buried, the little doctor merely smiled.

"People have their whimsies," he said. "Your friend was a crazy patient. I imagine we'd have quarreled if he'd lived."

"I imagine," Call said. "But I intend to honor the wish."

"We'll pack him in charcoal and salt," the doctor said. "It'll take a barrel or two. Luckily there's a good salt lick not far from here."

"I may need to leave him all winter," Call said. "Is there a place I could store him?"

"My harness shed would do fine," the doctor said. "It's well ventilated, and he'll keep better in the cool. Do you want his other leg?"

"Well, where is it?" Call asked, startled.

"Oh, I've got it," the doctor said. "Contrary as he was, he might have asked me to sew it back on. It's a rotten old thing."

Call went outside and walked down the empty street to the livery stable. The doctor had told him to rest and had offered to locate the undertaker himself.

The Hell Bitch looked up when he came into the livery stable, where he had put her. He felt an impulse to saddle her and ride out into the country, but weariness overcame him and he threw his bedroll on some straw and lay down. He couldn't sleep, though. He regretted not trying harder to save Gus. He should have disarmed him at once and seen that the other leg was amputated. Of course, Gus might have shot him, but he felt he should have taken the risk.

It seemed he only dozed a minute when the sun streamed into the livery stable. Call didn't welcome the day. All he had to think about were mistakes, it seemed-mistakes and death. His old rangering gang was gone, only Pea Eye left, of all of them. Jake was dead in Kansas, Deets in Wyoming, and now Gus in Montana.

An old man named Gill owned the livery stable. He had rheumatism and walked slowly and with a limp. But he was a kindly old man, with a rusty beard and one milky eye. He came limping in not long after Call woke up.

"I guess you need a coffin," the old man said. "Get Joe Veitenheimer, he'll make you a good one."