Augustus could just make out the snake, coiled in a corner, but decided not to shoot it on a quiet spring evening in Lonesome Dove, a shot could cause complications. When he opened the door he didn’t immediately see any centipedes but he did immediately hear the nervous buzz of a rattlesnake that was evidently smarter than the one the pigs were eating. The springhouse was a little lumpy adobe building, so cool on the inside that Augustus would have been tempted to live in it had it not been for its popularity with black widows, yellow jackets and centipedes. When he finally found a clearing, he wouldn’t leave it, and Pickles Gap came into being, mainly attracting travelers like its founder, which is to say people too weak-willed to be able to negotiate a few hundred miles of mesquite thicket without losing their nerve. It had only sprung up because a fool from north Georgia named Wesley Pickles had gotten himself and his family lost in the mesquites for about ten days. Pickles Gap was if anything a more worthless community than Lonesome Dove. Call, maintained that there was excellent shade as close as Pickles Gap, only twelve miles away, but Augustus wouldn’t allow it.
There was not even a respectable shade tree within twenty or thirty miles in fact, the actual location of the nearest decent shade was a matter of vigorous debate in the offices-if you wanted to call a roofless barn and a couple of patched-up corrals offices-of the Hat Creek Cattle Company, half of which Augustus owned. For most of the hours of the day-and most of the months of the year-the sun had the town trapped deep in dust, far out in the chaparral flats, a heaven for snakes and horned toads, roadrunners and stinging lizards, but a hell for pigs and Tennesseans. The sun was still high, sulled in the sky like a mule, but Augustus had a keen eye for sun, and to his eye the long light from the west had taken on an encouraging slant.Įvening took a long time getting to Lonesome Dove, but when it came it was a comfort. He stepped down into the dusty yard and walked around to the springhouse to get his jug. Pigs on the porch just made things hotter, and things were already hot enough. “Head on down to the creek if you want to eat that snake.” It was the porch he begrudged them, not the snake. “You pigs git,” Augustus said, kicking the shoat. The sow had it by the neck, and the shoat had the tail. They were having a fine tug-of-war with it, and its rattling days were over. It had probably just been crawling around looking for shade when it ran into the pigs.
WHENAUGUSTUS CAME OUT on the porch the blue pigs were eating a rat-tlesnake-not a very big one.
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