"Think about it a minute," Augustus said. "Suppose it all worked the other way, and men were the whores. You just walk into a saloon and jingle your money and buy anyone you wanted. And he'd have to take his clothes off and do what you said do."

"I never seen one I wanted," Lorena said. "'Cept Jake, and that didn't last any time."

"I know it's hard to think about," Augustus said. "You been the one wanted all this time. Just suppose it was the opposite and you could buy what you wanted in the way of a man."

Lorena decided Gus was the craziest man she had ever known. He didn't look crazy, but his notions were wild.

"Suppose I was a whore," he said. "I've always figured I'd make a good one. If you win this hand I'll give you a free poke and all you'll have to figure out is how to enjoy it."

"I wouldn't enjoy it," Lorena said. She had never enjoyed it, and it would take more than Gus's talk to change her opinion.

"Did you never play games?" Augustus asked.

"I played spin the bottle," Lorena said, remembering that she had played it with her brother, who had been sickly and had stayed in Alabama with her grandmother.

"Well, it's a kind of game we're talking about," Augustus said. "Games are played for fun. You've thought about it as a business too long. If you win the card game you ought to pretend you're a fancy lady in San Francisco who don't have nothing to do but lay around on silk sheets and have a nigger bring you buttermilk once in a while. And what my job is is to make you feel good."

"I don't like buttermilk," Lorena said. To her surprise, Gus suddenly stroked her cheek. It took her aback and she put her head down on her knees. Gus put his hand under her wet hair and rubbed the back of her neck.

"Yes, that's your problem," he said. "You don't like buttermilk, or nothing else. You're like a starving person whose stomach is shrunk up from not having any food. You're shrunk up from not wanting nothing."

"I want to get to San Francisco," Lorena said. "It's cool, they say."

"You'd be better off if you could just enjoy a poke once in a while," Augustus said, taking one of her hands in his and smoothing her fingers. "Life in San Francisco is still just life. If you want one thing too much it's likely to be a disappointment. The healthy way is to learn to like the everyday things, like soft beds and buttermilk-and feisty gentlemen."

Lorena didn't answer. She shut her eyes and let Gus hold her hand. She was afraid he would try more, without paying her or even playing cards, but he didn't. It was a very still morning. Gus seemed content to hold her hand and sit quietly. She could hear the horses swishing their tails.

Then Gus let her hand go and stood up and took off his shirt and pants. Lorena wondered what made him behave so strangely-they were supposed to play cards first. Gus had on flannel underwear that had been pink once. It was so worn the color had almost faded to white. It was full of holes and his white chest hair stuck out of some of the holes. He also took off his boots and socks.

"You had your bath, but I ain't had one," he said, and went to the water hole and waded right in, underwear and all. The water was cold, but Gus went splashing off across the pool. He ducked his head under a few times and then swam back.

"Dern, that water was so cold it shriveled my pod," he said. He sat down on a big rock to let the heat dry him. Then, looking beyond her, he apparently saw something she couldn't see.

"Lorie, would you mind handing me my gun belt?" he asked.

"Why?" she asked.

"I see an Indian coming and I can't tell if he's friendly," Augustus said. "He's riding a pacing horse and that ain't a good sign."

His old pistol was so heavy she had to use both hands to pass the gun belt to him.

"Jake rides a pacing horse," she said.

"Yes, and he's a scamp," Augustus said.

Lorena looked west, but she could see no one. The rolling plain was empty.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"He'll be a while yet," Augustus said.

"How do you know he's an Indian, if he's that far?" she asked.

"Indians got their own way of riding, that's why," Augustus said. "This one might have killed a Mexican or at least stole one's horse."

"How do you know?" she asked.

"He's got silver on his saddle, like Mexicans go in for," Augustus said. "I seen the sun flashing on it."

Lorena looked again and saw a tiny speck. "I don't know how you can see that far, Gus," she said.

"Call don't neither," Augustus said. "Makes him mad. He's better trained than me but ain't got the eyesight."

Then he grinned at her, and put his hat on to shade his eyes. He was watching the west in a way that made her apprehensive.

"You want the rifle?" she asked.

"No, I've shot many a sassy bandit with this pistol," he said. "I'm glad to have my hat, though. It don't do to go into a scrape bareheaded."

The rider was close enough by then that she too could see the occasional flash of sun on the saddle. A few minutes later he node into camp. He was a big man, riding a bay stallion. Gus had been right: he was an Indian. He had long, tangled black hair and wore no hat-just a bandana tied around his head. His leather leggings were greasy and his boots old, though he wore a pair of silver spurs with big rowels. He had a large knife strapped to one leg and carried a rifle lightly across the pommel of his saddle.

He looked at them without expression-in fact, not so much at them as at their horses. Lorena wished Augustus would say something, but he sat quietly, watching the man from under the brim of his old hat. The man had a very large head, squarish and heavy.

"I'd like to water," he said, finally. His voice was as heavy as his head.

"It's free water," Augustus said. "I hope you like it cold. We ain't got time to warm it for you."

"I like it wet," the man said and trotted past them to the pool. He dismounted and squatted quickly, raising the water to his mouth in a cupped hand.

"Now that's a graceful skill," Augustus said. "Most men just drop on their bellies to drink out of a pond, or else dip water in their hats, which means the water tastes like hair."

The bay stallion waded a few steps into the pool and drank deeply.

The man waited until the horse had finished drinking, then came walking back, his spurs jingling lightly as he walked. Again he glanced at their horses, before looking at them.

"This is Miss Wood," Augustus said, "and I'm Captain McCrae. I hope you've had breakfast because we're low on grub."

The man looked at Augustus calmly and a little insolently, it seemed to Lorena.

"I'm Blue Duck," he said. "I've heard of you, McCrae. But I didn't know you was so old."

"Oh, I wasn't till lately," Augustus said. It seemed to Lorena that he too had a touch of insolence in his manner. Though Gus was sitting in his underwear, apparently relaxed, Lorena didn't think there was anything relaxed about the situation. The Indian called Blue Duck was frightening. Now that he stood close to them his head seemed bigger than ever, and his hands too. He held the rifle in the crook of his arm, handling it like a toy.

"Where's Call if you're McCrae?" Blue Duck asked.

"Captain Call went to town," Augustus said. "He's shopping for a cook.

"I was told I best kill both of you if I killed one," the Indian said. "It's my bad luck he's gone."

"Well, he'll be back," Augustus said, the insolence more pronounced in his voice. "You can sit over there in the shade and wait if you'd enjoy a chance at us both."

Blue Duck looked him in the eye for a moment, and with a light movement swung back on his horse.

"I can't wait all day just for the chance to shoot two worn-out old Rangers," he said. "There are plenty that need killing besides you two."