I thought you might be a man with some gumption, he said. The only hand they had was an old Mexican cowboy named Cholo. He hoped he had not more than thirty or forty miles to go before he struck the town. July was sitting in the dark, buttermilk on his lip, looking at her as patiently as if he were a calf.
July quickly climbed into the lots and helped the old man anchor the hind legs of a quivering young bay. Already he felt a yearning for woman's talk, and he had only been gone from Dallas a little more than a day. I imagine we'd have quarreled if he'd lived. It seemed as if the world was deserted except for them and the horses, and then to his surprise he saw a tent.
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