“Zwei Tröpfeln Wermut, nicht mehr, nicht weniger, und eine Olive.” Oppy added enough vermouth to cause an oily swirl in the gin, then handed his concoction to a woman who would have been noticeable simply because she wore black coveralls that suggested she was a member of an army of Amazons, or labored in a factory of mourners, or had been dipped in ink. But it was the sheer intellectual cast of her face that really set her off. Blacker than black hair cut in severe bangs around eyes that were blue-gray with dark edges that dilated with dislike, like a cat’s. Strong nose, full mouth and the sort of fair complexion that scorned the sun.

“A double,” Joe told Foote.

Oppy said, “Joe, this is Dr. Anna Weiss. Joe is my oldest friend here, Anna.”

Drinks in hand, Anna Weiss and Joe dismissed each other with a nod.

“I missed my first year at Harvard,” Oppy persisted. “My family sent me to New Mexico for my health. They contracted with Joe’s father, a renowned bootlegger.”

“So?” She had a low voice, a German accent and no interest.

“Tell her, Joe,” Oppy said.

“My dad also rented packhorses and experienced guides for dude parties,” Joe said. “I was the experienced guide. I was twelve. One of the first times I went out, I had a kid from New York. Sixteen and so tall and skinny that the first time I saw him in swimming trunks I thought he was going to die on the trail.”

“I couldn’t ride,” Oppy said.

“He couldn’t ride to save his life,” Joe said, “but he liked to go out at night to see stars, and he was so damned night-blind I had to hold back every branch on the way. One night we got caught in a rainstorm and I got under my horse to stay dry. I heard this guy yelling in the rain.”

“I thought he’d left me,” Oppy said.

“I told him to come down under the horse with me. He came down, soaked, and said, ‘Gee!’ He’d never thought of the possibility of getting under a horse in the rain. It loomed like a brilliant idea to him.”

“It struck me as an offer of eternal friendship,” Oppy said. “At the end of the rain, he led me up to the Ranch School here, to this very place, for some coffee and dry clothes. That was twenty years ago.”

Her eyes moved from man to man as if they were describing a previous life as idiots.

“Better switch back to German,” Joe told Oppy and took his drink out to the patio. There was a low moon over the mountains and a liquid coolness to the air. By the flagstones was a garden shadowed by poplars. Los Alamos means “the poplars.”