They rode up on a little knobby hill and stopped for a moment to watch the cattle. The late sun shone through the dust cloud, making the white dust rosy. The riders to each side of the herd were spread wide, giving the cattle lots of room. Most of them were horned stock, thin and light, their hides a mixture of colors. The riders at the rear were all but hidden in the rosy dust.

"Them boys on the drags won't even be able to get down from their horses unless we take a spade and spade 'em off a little," Augustus said.

"It won't hurt 'em," Call said. "They're young."

In the clear late afternoon light they could see all the way back to Lonesome Dove and the river and Mexico. Augustus regretted not tying a jug to his saddle-he would have liked to sit on the little hill and drink for an hour. Although Lonesome Dove had not been much of a town, he felt sure that a little whiskey would have made him feel sentimental about it.

Call merely sat on the hill, studying the cattle. It was clear to Augustus that he was not troubled in any way by leaving the border or the town.

"It's odd I partnered with a man like you, Call," Augustus said. "If we was to meet now instead of when we did, I doubt we'd have two words to say to one another."

"I wish it could happen, then, if it would hold you to two words," Call said. Though everything seemed peaceful, he had an odd, confused feeling at the thought of what they had undertaken. He had quickly convinced himself it was necessary, this drive. Fighting the Indians had been necessary, if Texas was to be settled. Protecting the borden was necessary, else the Mexicans would have taken south Texas back.

A cattle drive, for all its difficulty, wasn't so imperative. He didn't feel the old sense of adventure, though perhaps it would come once they got beyond the settled country.

Augustus, who could almost read his mind, almost read it as they were stopped on the little knob of a hill.

"I hope this is hard enough for you, Call," he said. "I hope it makes you happy. If it don't, I give up. Driving all these skinny cattle all that way is a funny way to maintain an interest in life, if you ask me."

"Well, I didn't," Call said.

"No, but then you seldom ask," Augustus said. "You should have died in the line of duty, Woodrow. You'd know how to do that fine. The problem is you don't know how to live."

"Whereas you do?" Call asked.

"Most certainly," Augustus said. "I've lived about a hundred to your one. I'll be a little riled if I end up being the one to die in the line of duty, because this ain't my duty and it ain't yours, either. This is just fortune hunting."

"Well, we wasn't finding one in Lonesome Dove," Call said. He saw Deets returning from the northwest, ready to lead them to the bed-ground. Call was glad to see him-he was tired of Gus and his talk. He spurred the mare on off the hill. It was only when he met Deets that he realized Augustus hadn't followed. He was still sitting on old Malaria, back on the little hill, watching the sunset and the cattle herd.

JULY JOHNSON HAD BEEN RAISED not to complain, so he didn't complain, but the truth of the matter was, it had been the hardest year of his life: a year in which so many things went wrong that it was hand to know which trouble to pay attention to at any given time.

His deputy, Roscoe Brown-forty-eight years of age to July's twentyfour-assured him cheerfully that the increase in trouble was something he had better get used to.

"Yep, now that you've turned twenty-four you can't expect no mercy," Roscoe said.

"I don't expect no mercy," July said. "I just wish things would go wrong one at a time. That way I believe I could handle it."

"Well, you shouldn't have got married then," Roscoe said.

It struck July as an odd comment. He and Roscoe were sitting in front of what passed for a jail in Fort Smith. It just had one cell, and the lock on that didn't work-when it was necessary to jail someone they had to wrap a chain around the bans.

"I don't see what that has to do with it," July said. "Anyway, how would you know? You ain't never been married."

"No, but I got eyes," Roscoe said. "I can see what goes on around me. You went and got married and the next thing you know you turned yellow. Makes me glad I stayed a bachelor. You're still yellow," he went on to point out.

"It ain't Elmira's fault I got jaundice," July said. "I caught it in Missouri at that dern trial."

It was true that he was still fairly yellow, and fairly weak, and Elmira was losing patience with both states.

"I wish you'd turn back white," she had said that morning, although he was noticeably less jaundiced than he had been two weeks before. Elmira was short, skinny, brunette, and had little patience. They had only been married four months, and one of the surprises, from July's point of view, was her impatience. She wanted the chores done immediately, whereas he had always proceeded at a methodical pace. The first time she bawled him out about his slowness was only two days after the wedding. Now it seemed she had lost whatever respect she had ever had for him. Once in a while it occurred to him that she had never had any anyway, but if that was so, why had she married him?

"Uh-oh, here comes Peach," Roscoe said. "Ben must have been a lunatic to marry that woman."

"According to you, all us Johnsons are lunatics," July said, a little irritated. It was not Roscoe's place to criticize his dead brother, though it was perfectly true that Peach was not his favorite sister-in-law. He had never known why Ben nicknamed her "Peach," for she was large and quarrelsome and did not resemble a peach in any way.

Peach was picking her way across the main street of Fort Smith, which was less of a quagmire than usual, since it had been dry lately. She was carrying a red rooster for some reason. She was the largest woman in town, nearly six feet tall, whereas Ben had been the runt of the Johnson family. Also, Peach talked a blue streak and Ben had seldom uttered three words a week, although he had been the mayor of the town. Now Peach still talked a blue streak and Ben was dead.

That fact, well known to everyone in Fort Smith for the last six weeks, was no doubt what Peach was coming to take up with him.

"Hello, July," Peach said. The rooster flapped a few times but she shook him and he quieted down.

July tipped his hat, as did Roscoe.

"Whene'd you find the rooster?" Roscoe asked.

"It's my rooster, but he won't stay home," Peach said. "I found him down by the store. The skunks will get him if he ain't careful."

"Well, if he ain't careful he deserves it," Roscoe said.

Peach had always found Roscoe an irritating fellow, not as respectful as he might be. He was little better than a criminal himself, in her view, and she was opposed to his being deputy sheriff, although it was true that there was not much to choose from in Fort Smith.

"When are you aiming to start after that murderer?" she asked July.

"Why, pretty soon," he said, although he felt tired at the thought of starting after anybody.

"Well, he'll get over in Mexico or somewhere if you sit around here much longer," Peach said.

"I expect to find him down around San Antonio," July said. "I believe he has friends there."

Roscoe had to snort at that remark. "That's right," he said. "Two of the most famous Texas Rangers that ever lived, that's his friends. July will be lucky not to get hung himself. If you ask me, Jake Spoon ain't worth it."

"It's nothing to do with what he's worth," Peach said. "Ben was the one who was worth it. He was my husband and July's brother and the mayor of this town. Who else do you think seen to it your salary got paid?"