My wife was good at it too, Po Campo remarked. The whiskey ran out of the corners of his mouth and into his dirty beard. Still, every evening, he took the broken crowbar and beat the bell--the sound rang through the town and across the Rio Grande. For all their effort, they had covered only some thirty-five or forty miles.
She was not friendly, but because of her, men came and stayed to drink away the night. He longed to stretch his legs, and then made the foolish mistake of saying so to Gus. In the short lulls in the wind he could hear the clicking of long horns, as the cattle bumped into one another in the dankness. Now, in the saloon, he remembered Peach's hints.
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