More and more it seemed Deets was the one man in the outfit he could have a comfortable word with from time to time. But he couldn't, because there was the problem of July, who had given him a job and been good to him. His hopes, which had been soaring as he walked through the dark to the saloon, flopped down to boot level. He did not believe she had ever been happy.
But the men rode on, and Roscoe soon forgot about them and began to feel drowsy. Then she grew a little embarrassed. Augustus looked sober and reasonably serious. I just wish you'd say it once when you come.
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