Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove

It was very upsetting, for it seemed to him the day had started out with Peach and Charlie staring down at him. In his confusion it occurred to him that he might have dreamed the whole business about Elmira running off. Only there were Peach and Charlie again; the dream might be starting over. He wanted to wake up before it got to the part about the whiskey barge, but it turned out he was awake, after all.

"Is she still gone?" he asked, hoping by some miracle that Elmira had showed up while he was sleeping.

"Of course she's still gone," Peach said. "And you're drunk on the job. Get up from there and go get July."

"But July went to Texas," Roscoe said. "The only place I've ever been to is Little Rock, and it's in the other direction."

"Roscoe, if you can't find Texas you're a disgrace to your profession," Peach said.

Peach had a habit of misunderstanding people, even when the point was most obvious.

"I can find Texas," he said. "The point is, kin I find July?"

"He's riding with a boy, and he's going to San Antonio," Peach said. "I guess if you ask around, someone will have seen them."

"Yeah, but what if I miss 'em?" Roscoe asked.

"Then I guess you'll end up in California," she said.

Roscoe found that he had a headache, and listening to Peach made it worse.

"His wife's gone," Charlie Barnes said.

"Dern it, Charlie, shut up!" Peach said. "He knows that. "I don't think he's forgot that ."

Roscoe had not forgotten it. Overnight it had become the dominant fact of his life. Elmira was gone and he was expected to do something about it. Moreover, his choices were limited. Either he went upriver and tried to find Elmira or he had to go to Texas and look for July. He himself was far from sure that either action was wise.

Trying to recover his wits, with a headache and Peach and Charlie Barnes staring at him for the second time that day, was not easy. Mainly Roscoe felt aggrieved that July had put him in such a position. July had been doing well enough without a wife, it seemed to Roscoe; but if he had to marry, he could have been a little more careful and at least married someone who would have the courtesy to stay around Fort Smith-about the least that one ought to be able to ask of a wife. Instead, he had made the worst possible choice and left Roscoe to suffer the consequences.

"I ain't much of a traveler," Roscoe said, for actually his one trip, to Little Rock, had been one of the nightmares of his life, since he had ridden the whole way in a cold rain and had run a fever for a month as a result.

Nonetheless, the next morning he found himself saddling up the big white gelding he had ridden for the last ten years, a horse named Memphis, the town of his origin. Several of the townspeople were there at the jail, watching him pack his bedroll and tie on his rifle scabbard, and none of them seemed worried that he was about to ride off and leave them unprotected. Although Roscoe said little, he felt very pettish toward the citizens of Fort Smith, and toward Peach Johnson and Charlie Barnes in particular. If Peach had just minded her own business, nobody would even have discovered that Elmira was missing until July returned, and then July would have been able to take care of the problem, which rightly was his problem anyway.

"Well, I hope nobody don't rob the bank while I'm gone," he said to the little crowd watching him. He wanted to suggest worse possibilities, such as Indian raids, but, in fact, the Indians had not molested Fort Smith in years, though the main reason he rode white horses was that he had heard somewhere that Indians were afraid of them.

The remark about the bank being robbed was aimed at Charlie Barnes, who blinked a couple of times in response. It had never been robbed, but if it had been, Charlie might have died on the spot, not out of fright but because he hated to lose a nickel.

The little jail, which had been more or less Roscoe's home for the last few years, had never seemed more appealing to him. Indeed, he felt like crying every time he looked at it, but of course it would not do to cry in front of half the town. It was another beautiful morning, with the hint of summer-Roscoe had always loved the summer and hated the cold, and he wondered if he would get back in time to enjoy the sultry days of July and August, when it was so hot even the river hardly seemed to move. He was much given to premonitions-had had them all his life-and he had a premonition now. It seemed to him that he wouldn't get back. It seemed to him he might be looking his last on Fort Smith, but the townspeople gave him no chance to linger or be sorry.

"Elmira'll be to Canada before you get started," Peach pointed out.

Reluctantly, Roscoe climbed up on Memphis, a horse so tall it was only necessary to be on him to have a view. "Well, I hate to go off and leave you without no deputy," he said. "I doubt if July will like it. He put me in charge of this place."

Nobody said a word to that.

"If July gets back and I ain't with him, you tell him I went looking," Roscoe said. "We may just circle around for a while, me and July. First I'll look for him, then he can look for me. And if the town goes to hell in the meantime, don't blame it on Roscoe Brown."

"Roscoe, we got the fort over there half a mile away," Peach said. "I guess the soldiers can look after us as good as you can."

That was true, of course. There wouldn't even be a Fort Smith if there hadn't been a fort first. Still, the soldiers didn't concern themselves much with the town.

"What if Elmira comes back?" Roscoe asked. No one had raised that possibility. "Then I'd be gone and won't know it."

"Why would she come back?" Peach asked. "She just left."

Roscoe found it hard even to remember Elmira, though he had done practically nothing but think about her for the last twenty-four hours. All he really knew was that he hated to ride out of the one town he felt at home in. That everyone was eager for him to go made him feel distinctly bitter.

"Well, the soldiers ain't gonna help you if old man Darton goes on a tear," he said. "July told me to be sure and watch him."

But the little group of citizens seemed not to be worried by the thought of what old man Darton might do. They watched him silently.

Unable to think of any other warnings, or any reason for his staying that might convince anyone, Roscoe gave Memphis a good kick-he was a steady horse once he hit his stride, but he did start slow-and the big-footed gelding kicked a little dust on Charlie Barnes's shiny shoes, getting underway. Roscoe took one last look at the river and headed for Texas.

THE FIRST GOOD WASH Lorena got was in the Nueces River. They had had a bad day trying to fight their way through mesquite thickets, and when they came to the river she just decided to stop, particularly since she found a shady spot where there wasn't any mesquite or prickly pear.

Jake had no part in the decision because Jake was drunk. He had been steadily drinking whiskey all day as they rode, and was so unsteady in his seat that Lorena wasn't even sure they were still going in the right direction. But they were ahead of the cattle-from every clearing she could look back and see the dust the herd raised. It was a fair way back, but directly behind them, which made her feel reassured. It would not be pleasant to be lost, with Jake so drunk.

Of course, he only drank because his hand was paining him. Probably he hadn't gotten all the thorn out-his thumb had turned from white to purple. She was hoping they would strike a town that had a doctor, but there seemed to be nothing in that part of the country but prickly pear and mesquite.

It was bad luck, Jake having an accident so soon after they started, but it was just a thorn. Lorena supposed the worst it could do was fester. But when he got off his horse, his legs were so unsteady he could barely wobble over to the shade. She was left to tie the horses and make the camp, while Jake lay propped up against the tree and continued to pull on his bottle.