“Well, sar! Look here! I open that bag. I count two hondre' thirteen dolla'--make it twelve for luck, an' call it you' divvee! You strike her first. What you say: we go snac'?” “I haven't got any use for that money. You needn't talk to me about it.” “Got no h'use!--are you a reech man? Got you' private car waitin' for you out in d' sagebrush? Sol' a mine lately?” “I don't know why it strikes you so funny. It's no concern of mine if a man puts his money in the ground and goes off and leaves it.” “Goes off and die! There was one man live here by himself--he die, they say, 'with his boots on.' He, I think, mus' be that man belong to this money. What an old stiff want with two hondre' thirteen dolla'? That money goin' into a live man's clothes.” Bonny slapped his chappereros, and the dust flew. “I've no objection to its going into _your_ clothes,” said the old man. “You thing I ain' particular, me? Well, eef the party underground was my frien', and I knew his fam'ly, and was sure the money was belong to him--I'd do differend--perhaps. Mais,--it is going--going--gone! You won' go snac'?” The old man smiled and looked steadily away. “Blas' me to h--l! but you aire the firs' man ever I strike that jib at the sight of col' coin. She don' frighten me!” Bonny always swore when he felt embarrassed. “Well, sar! Look here! You fin' you'self so blame indifferend--s'pose you _so_ indifferend not to say nothing 'bout this, when my swamper fellah git in. I don' wish to go snac' wis him. I don' feel oblige'. See?” “What you want to pester me about this money for!” The old man was weary. “I didn't come here, lookin' for money, and I don't expect to take none away with me. So I'll say good-night to ye.” “Hol' on, hol' on! Don' git mad. What time you goin' off in the morning?” “Before you do, I shouldn't wonder.” “But hol'! One fine idea--blazin' good idea--just hit me now in the head! Wan' to come on to Chicago wis me? I drop this fellah at Felton. He take the team back, and I get some one to help me on the treep. Why not you? Ever tek' care of stock?” “Some consid'able years ago I used to look after stock. Guess I'd know an ox from a heifer.” “Ever handle 'em on cattle-car?” “Never.” “Well, all there is, you feed 'em, and water 'em, and keep 'em on their feets. If one fall down, all the others they have too much play. They rock”--Bonny exhibited--“and fall over and pile up in heap. I like to do one turn for you. We goin' the same way--you bring me the good luck, like a bird in the han'. This is my clean-up, you understand. You bring me the beautiful luck. You turn me up right bower first slap. Now it's goin' be my deal. I like to do by you!” The packer turned over and looked up at the cool sky, pricked through with early stars. He was silent a long time. His pale old face was like a fine bit of carving in the dusk. “What you think?” asked Moppin, almost tenderly. “I thing you better come wis me. You too hold a man to go like so--alone.”