The sad eyes regarded him without interest, but Bard swung from his
horse and advanced with outstretched hand.

"I may be about here for a few days and we might as well get acquainted,
eh? I'll promise to lay off the questions."

"I'm Logan."

"Glad to know you, Mr. Logan."

"Same t'you. Don't happen to have no fine-cut about you?"

"No. Sorry."

"So'm I. Ran out an' now all I've got is plug. Kind of hard on the teeth
an' full of molasses."

"I've some pipe tobacco, though, which might do."

He produced a pouch which Logan opened, taking from it a generous pinch.

"Looks kind of like fine-cut--smells kind of like the real thing"--here
he removed the quid from his mouth and introduced the great pinch of
tobacco--"an' I'll be damned if it don't taste a pile the same!"

The misty eyes centred upon Bard and a light grew up in them.

"Maybe you'd put a price on this tobacco, stranger?"