'Well, I swear,' Call said.
'The pi-aner burnt up with him,' Dillard said. 'Made the church folks mad. They thought if he was gonna roast himself he ought to have at least rolled the pi-aner out the door. They've had to sing hymns to a fiddle ever since.'
Call walked over and stood where the saloon had been. There was nothing left but pale ashes and a few charred boards.
'When she left, Wanz couldn't stand it,' Dillard said. 'He sat in her room a month and then he burnt it.'
'Who?' Call asked, looking at the ashes.
'The woman,' Dillard whispered. 'The woman. They say he missed that whore.'
Вы читаете Lonesome Dove
