The sun woke Willie Turner, shining under the brim of his hat and hitting him right in the eyes. It had been doing that a lot more lately, and he was a little worried about it. A man of his age ought not to be sleeping outside all night without even a blanket. Wasn't good for the bones. It took Willie a while to get accustomed to the light and to get his eyes open, but when he did he looked around him. He was behind Danton's saloon, sort of leaned up against the wall. There was a rain barrel propping him up on one side, and he could see the outhouse a few yards away, not far from the shacks where one or two of the saloon girls lived, the ones Danton didn't allow to have rooms upstairs. Willie closed his eyes again. The sun was giving him a terrible headache, on top of the one he already had. He felt like there was a bucking broncho inside his head, kicking him right behind the eyes, and he wondered just how much he'd had to drink the night before. It scared him a little that he couldn't remember.
