It would not be the first time that he’s had a carnal dream about Woodrow Call. When a body’s been on the trail so long, away from civilisation and women, most anything starts to look good. And Woodrow is a reasonably fine cut of a man at any time, so wonder really that his mind turns in that direction. He’s satisfied so long as it doesn’t spill over into the everyday. The man’s his best friend. He doesn’t want or need to think about him like that. It’s distracting.
Gus rolls over in his blankets and closes his eyes. Morning won’t be long in coming, and Woodrow will be rattling him out for another day. It isn’t all that long either since he’s gotten to bed, having taken the early watch before Pea Eye relieved him. He’d better savour what sleep he can get while he can still get it, and that doesn’t mean having carnal thoughts about Woodrow. Though really, when his stubble is at where it’s at, he has to wonder, just a little.
Clara’s words come back to him as he closes his eyes. You could have had me, but you chose him! Woodrow. Always Woodrow. Always the same old argument, round and round in circles. And that, really, is why he could never marry her, much and all as he wanted to and wants to still. He could never stay at home with her and watch Woodrow ride off on adventures and she could never watch him ride off with Woodrow on adventures. So perhaps it was right but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish for it to have been any other way.
She probably considers him married to Woodrow, never minding the fact that Woodrow is married to his work and wouldn’t even marry Maggie. It’s an entertaining thought.
“Stop laughing, Gus,” he hears Woodrow mumble sleepily from his own bed roll. “You’ll bring the Comanche down on us.”
Gus doesn’t stop chuckling. A good fight for his life would be wonderful now, would ease some of the tension that seems to have been hanging over them the last few days, culminating in that unfortunate dream. Woodrow grumbles something unintelligible and starts snoring again. Never mind Gus’ laughing, but that snoring would bring the Comanche down on them, if it didn’t frighten old Buffalo Hump out of his wits.
Buffalo Hump probably has whores aplenty to himself. And, Lord, how he could use a whore or two now.