When I told Gus I was marrying Bob, all those years ago, he looked relieved. You jaybirds look like you're scattered from here to Fort Worth. One whistling blow cut his ear. The second day he crossed a wagon track coming from the south.
It seemed to him he had never met such a curious woman. Losing Gus was all right--he seldom worked anyway. Age don't slow a man's whoring. Maybe I'll strike someone that's seen him.
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