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Gus was overtalkative, and always had been. Unless in violent combat, he was rarely silent for more than two minutes at a stretch, besides which, he felt free to criticize everything from the Captain’s way with tobacco to Call’s haircuts.
The very thought of them made him weary and sad.
“You don’t know how to do anything besides ride horses and shoot guns,” Call told him. “If you was to quit rangering you’d starve.”
“Well, there they go, Woodrow,” Gus said. “We’re captains now, I reckon.” “I reckon,” Call said.
The depth of her love for Woodrow Call gave him a power over her that was too great—and he didn’t even know he had it.
He was alone in Mexico, in the vicinity of a merciless enemy, and yet he found it possible to doubt that there was a happier man alive.
“I assure you there’ll be an improvement in the matter of salaries,” the Governor said. “I’ll raise you even if I have to pay you out of my own pocket until this crisis passes.” “Let it pass—there’ll just be another one right behind it,” Augustus said, irritably. “It’s just been one crisis after another, the whole time I’ve been rangering.”
He was annoyed with his mind—it would be a lot easier to do his task well if his mind would just behave and not keep making him scared.
“I suppose she’s just dying of living—that’s the one infection that strikes us all down, sooner or later.”
The simplest places, where there was only rock and sky, or water and rock, changed the least. When he felt disturbances in his life, as all men would, Famous Shoes tried to go back to one of the simple places, the places of rock and sky, to steady himself and grow calm again.
