He wanted to thank the Indians, but he didn't know their words. I wouldn't talk to you either, you goddamn old runt. That night Augustus stopped to rest his horse, making a cold camp on a little bluff and eating some jerky he had brought along. Didn't I stick that sign in the wagon, that one I made in Lonesome Dove that upset Deets so much at first? Augustus asked.
He himself had once been a man of firm opinion, but now it seemed to him that he knew almost nothing, whereas the words Clara flung at him were hard as rocks. The visits made him sad, for the Indians were not belligerent and it was apparent that Gus had merely struck the wrong bunch at the wrong time, in the wrong manner. Again he was wrong. About eighty miles, Call said.
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