He glanced at the sun, which was dropping. After pitching his last load up on the pyramid, he wheeled the barrow to his camp, turned it over and sat on it. Po Campo doled it out with severity, careful to see that no one got more than his share. He had two crutches, and once he got his rhythm he could skip along.
Call could hardly credit the information. He was brave but lazy, a fine cardplayer, and by all odds the best horseman any of them had ever known. He liked standing in the warm sun, watching her. Clara poked the fire a time or two more, trying to adjust to the surprise.
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