"Sit with her—just sit with her," Gus said. "She likes your company. I don't know why."
Instead, Call sat by the river, night after night. There was a period when he wanted to go back, when it would have been nice to sit with Maggie a few minutes and watch her fiddle with her hair. But he chose the river, and his solitude, thinking that in time the feeling would pass, and best so: he would stop thinking about Maggie, she would stop thinking about him. After all, there were more talkative men than him—Gus and Jake, for two.
But it didn't pass—all that passed were years. Every time he heard of her being drunk, or having some trouble, he would feel uneasy and guilty, as if he were to blame. It didn't help that Gus piled on the criticism, so much so that twice Call was on the point of fighting him. "You like to have everyone needing you, but you're right picky as to who you satisfy," Gus had said in the bitterest of fights.
"I don't much want nobody needing me," Call said.
"Then why do you keep running around with this bunch of half-outlaws you call Texas Rangers There's men in this troop who won't piss unless you point to a spot. But when a little thing like Maggie, who ain't the strongest person in the world, gets a need for you, you head for hte river and clean your gun."
"Well, I might need my gun," Call said. But he was aware that Gus always got the better of their arguments.
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