“But somehow when he’s gone, you think a heap About his virtues--how he’s square and true; If more come stringin’ in they’d make it cheap-- This friendship thing--and spoil it all for you.” A thin wisp of smoke drifted up from the camp at the edge of the wash. It rose languidly, as though affected by the fact that the day was going to be a scorcher. Already, though the morning was young, a fiery sun beat down on the sand so that heat waves shimmered in the air. Occasionally a spark from the crackling cottonwood limbs was caught by a dust whirl and carried toward the field of ripe wheat bordering the creek.…
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