Just then she noticed July, who wished he had not bothered to come through the door. I'm usually sitting on the porch drinking whiskey at this hour. The wagon was rough, even when the going was good. He felt a longing to be back in Texas.
At night, in her cubbyhole, she would sometimes hear them relieving themselves over the side of the boat; they would stand just beyond the whiskey casks and pour their water into the Arkansas. The next morning Lorena still stood by the buggy. I guess they tracked us, Augustus said. He's getting tired of making this trip, the cook said.
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