Larry McMurtry - Lonesome Dove

"I can talk," Lorena said.

"Well, you don't," Jake said. "I never seen a woman keep so quiet."

He spoke hotly-indeed, had been angry at her most of the trip. He was spoiling for a battle of some kind, but Lorena didn't want to battle. She had nothing against Jake, but she didn't feel she had to jump every time he whistled, which seemed to be what he expected. Jake was very fussy, complaining about the way she cooked the bacon or laid out the blankets. She ignored him. If he didn't like the way she did things, he was free to do them different-but he never did them different. He just fussed at her.

"We could be sleeping in a fine hotel tonight," he said. "San Antonio ain't but an hour's ride."

"Go sleep in one, if you want to," Lorena said. "I'll stay in camp."

"I guess you do wish I'd leave," Jake said. "Then you could whore with the first cowpoke that came along."

That was too silly to answer. She had not whored since the day she met him, unless you counted Gus. She sipped her coffee.

"That's your game, ain't it?" Jake said, his eyes hot.

"No," Lorena said.

"Well, you're a goddamn liar, then," Jake said. "Once a whore, always a whore. I won't stand for it. Next time I'll take a rope to you."

After he ate his bacon he saddled and rode off without another word-to go gamble, she supposed. Far from being scared, Lorena was relieved. Jake's angers were light compared to some she had known, but it was no pleasure having him around when he was so hot. Probably he thought to scare her, riding off so quick and leaving her in camp, but she felt no fear at all. The herd and all the boys were only a mile away. No one would be likely to bother her with the cow camp so close.

She sat on her blankets, enjoying the night. It was deep dusk, and birds-bullbats-were whooshing around-she could see them briefly as shadows against the darkening sky. She and Jake had camped in a little clearing. While she was sipping her coffee, a possum walked within ten feet of her, stopped a moment to look at her stupidly, and walked on. After a while she heard faraway singing-the Irishman was singing to the cattle herd. Deets had told them about the terrible death of his brother.

Before she could get to sleep a horse came racing toward the camp. It was only Jake, running in in the hope of scaring her. He raced right into camp, which was irritating because it raised dust that settled in the blankets. He had ridden into town and bought whiskey, and then had rushed back, thinking to catch her with Gus or one of the cowhands. He was jealous every hour of the day.

He yanked his saddle off the horse and passed her the whiskey bottle, which was already half empty.

"I don't want none," she said.

"I guess there's nothing I could ask that you'd do," Jake said. "I wish that dern Gus would show up. At least we could have a card game.

Lorena lay back on her blanket and didn't answer. Anything she said would only make him worse.

Watching her lie there, calm and silent, Jake felt hopeless and took another long drink from the whiskey bottle. He considered himself a smart man, and yet he had got himself in a position that would have embarrassed a fool. He had no business traveling north with a woman like Lorie, who had her own mind and wouldn't obey the simplest order unless it happened to suit her. The more he drank, the sorrier he felt for himself. He wished he had just told Lorie no, and left her to sweat it out in Lonesome Dove. Then at least he could be in camp with the men, where there were card games to be had, not to mention protection. Despite himself, he could not stop worrying about July Johnson.

Then he remembered Elmira, whom he had sported with a few times in Kansas. What a trick on July to have married a whore and not know it.

He offered Lorena the bottle again, but she just lay there.

"Why won't you drink?" Jake asked. "Are you too good to get drunk?"

"I don't want to," she said. "You'll be drunk enough for both of us."

"By God, I guess I'll find out if there's anything you'll still do," Jake said, yanking open his pants and rolling onto her.

Lorena let him, thinking it might put him in a better humor. She watched the stars. But when Jake finished and reached for his bottle again, he seemed no happier. She reached for the bottle and took one swallow-her throat was dry. Jake wasn't angry anymore, but he looked sad.

"Lie down and sleep," Lorena said. "You don't rest enough."

Jake was thinking that Austin was only two days away. Maybe he could take Lorena to Austin and sneak off and leave her. Once he rejoined the boys, there would be little she could do about it. After all, she would be safer there than she would be on the trail. Beautiful as she was, she would do well in Austin.

Yet she was uncommonly beautiful. It had always been his trouble-he liked the beauties. It gave her a power he didn't appreciate, otherwise he would never have been talked into a trip that was little more than absurd. He was slowed to the pace of Call's cow herd and tied to a woman who attracted every man she saw. Even then, he didn't know if he could leave her. For all her difficult ways, he wanted her and couldn't tolerate the thought of her taking up with Gus or any one else. He felt she would stick by him if things got bad. He didn't like being alone or having to take orders from Call.

"Have you ever been to a hanging?" he asked.

"No," Lorena said. The question surprised her.

Jake offered her the bottle and she took another swallow. "I expect they'll hang me someday," he said. "I was told by a fortune-teller that such would be my fate."

"Maybe the fortune-teller didn't know," Lorie said.

"I've seen many a hanging," Jake said. "We hung plenty of Mexicans when we were Rangers. Call never wasted no time when it came to hangings."

"He wouldn't, I guess," Lorena said.

Jake chuckled. "Did he ever come visit you all that time you were there?" he asked.

"No," Lorena said.

"Well, he had a whore once," Jake said. "He tried to sneak around, but me and Gus found out about it. We both used to spark her once in a while, so we both knew. I guess he thought he got away with it."

Lorena knew the type. Many men came to her hoping no one would know.

"Her name was Maggie," Jake said. "She was the one had little Newt. I was gone when she died. Gus said she wanted to marry Call and give up the life, but I don't know if it's true. Gus will say anything."

"So whose boy is he?" Lorena asked. She had seen the boy often, looking at her window. He was old enough to come to her, but he probably had no money, or else was just too shy.

"Newt? Why, who knows?" Jake said. "Maggie was a whore."

Then he sighed and lay down beside her, running his hand up and down her body. "Lorie, me and you was meant for feather beds," he said. "We wasn't meant for these dusty blankets. If we could find a nice hotel I'd show you some fun."

Lorena didn't answer. She would rather keep traveling. When Jake had his feel he went to sleep.

BEFORE THE HERD HAD PASSED San Antonio they nearly lost Lippy in a freak accident with the wagon. It was a hot day and the herd was moseying along at a slow rate. The mosquitoes were thinning a little, to everyone's satisfaction, and the cowboys were riding along half asleep in their saddles when the trouble started.

The herd had just crossed a little creek when Newt heard stock running and looked back to see the wagon racing for the creek like Comanches were after it. Bol was not on the seat, either-the mules ran unchecked. Lippy was on the seat, but he didn't have the reins and couldn't stop the team.

Jim Rainey was in the rear, and, thinking to be helpful, turned back to try and head the mules. In fact, the mules refused to be headed, and all Jim accomplished was to turn them out of the easy track where the herd had crossed, which caused them to strike the creek at a place where the bank dropped off about three feet. Newt saw there was going to be a terrible wreck, but short of shooting the mules, had no way to stop it. What he couldn't understand was why Lippy didn't jump. He sat on the seat, frozen and helpless, as the mules raced right off the cutbank.