He saw that one of Gus's notes to the women was still on the bed. All his work, and it hadn't saved anyone, or slowed the moment of their going by a minute. Their mother, about whom they were full of gripes, was more interested in horses than in sewing. You ought to try dancing in whorehouses--you might pick up a favor or two that you otherwise couldn't afford.
Now that he was safe, he felt like laughing too. Suddenly Clara felt angry that the man had been fool enough to think he could break that mare, when both she and Cholo had warned him to leave her alone. Lying on the pallet and playing cards for buttons was fine, so long as it was just Gus who was there. By good luck he found a spring and spent the night by it, resting his horse for the final push.
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