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he kept putting Newt off.
    “You’ll get old quick if you keep sitting up all night,” he said. “Work to do tomorrow. You best go to bed.”
    The boy went at once, looking a little disappointed.
    “Night, son,” Augustus said, looking at Call when he said it. Call said nothing.
    “You should have let him sit,” Augustus said, a little later. “After all, the boy’s only chance for an education is listening to me talk.”
    Call let that one float off. Augustus had spent a year in a college, back in Virginia somewhere, and claimed to have learned his Greek letters, plus a certain amount of Latin. He never let anyone forget it.
    They could hear the piano from down at the Dry Bean. An old-timer named Lippy Jones did all the playing. He had the same problem Sam Houston had had, which was a hole in his belly that wouldn’t quite heal shut. Someone had shot Lippy with a big bore gun; instead of dying he ended up living with a leak. With a handicap like that, it was lucky he could play the piano.
    Augustus got up and stretched. He took his Colt and holster off the back of the chair. So far as he was concerned the night was young. He had to step over the shoat to get off the porch.
    “You oughtn’t to be so stubborn about that boy, Woodrow,” he said. “He’s spent about enough of his life shoveling horseshit.”
    “I’m a sight older than him and I still shovel my share of it,” Call said.
    “Well, that’s your choice,” Augustus said. “It’s my view that there are more fragrant ways to make a fortune. Card playing, for one. I believe I’ll straggle down to that gin palace and see if I can scare up a game.”
    Call was about finished with his smoke. “I don’t mind your card playin’, if that’s all it is,” he said.
    Augustus grinned. Call never changed. “What else would it be?” he asked.
    “You never used to gamble this regular,” Call said. “You better watch that girl.”
    “Watch her for what?”
    “To see she don’t get you to marry her,” Call said. “You’re just enough of an old fool to do it. I won’t have that girl around.”
    Augustus had a good laugh. Call was given to some funny notions, but that was one of the funniest, to think that a man of his years and experience would marry a whore.
    “See you for breakfast,” he said.
    Call sat on the steps a little while longer, listening to the blue pigs snore.

3
    LORENA HAD NEVER LIVED in a place where it was cool—it was her one aim. It seemed to her she had learned to sweat at the same time she had learned to breathe, and she was still doing both. Of all the places she had heard men talk about, San Francisco sounded the coolest and nicest, so it was San Francisco she set her sights on.
    Sometimes it seemed like slow going. She was nearly twenty-four and hadn’t got a mile past Lonesome Dove, which wasn’t fast progress considering that she had only been twelve when her parents got nervous about Yankees and left Mobile.
    That much slow progress would have discouraged most women, but Lorena didn’t allow her mind to dwell on it. She had her flat days, of course, but that was mostly because Lonesome Dove itself was so flat. She got tired of looking out the window all day and seeing nothing but brown land and gray chaparral. In the middle of the day the sun was so hot the land looked white. She could see the river from her window, and Mexico. Lippy told her she could make a fortune if she cared to establish herself in Mexico, but Lorena didn’t care to. From what she could see of the country it didn’t look any more interesting than Texas, and the men stunk just as bad as Texans, if not worse.
    Gus McCrae claimed to have been to San Francisco, and would talk to her for hours about how blue the water was in the bay, and how the ships came in from everywhere. In the end he overtalked it, like he did everything. Once or twice Lorena felt she had a clear picture of it, listening to Gus, but by the time he finally quit talking she