"He ain't starved yet?"

"No; he can eat grass. I can't."

Either the liquor or Harkutt's practical unsentimental treatment of
the situation seemed to give him confidence. He met Harkutt's eye more
steadily as the latter went on. "You kin turn your hoss for the night
into my stock corral next to Rawlett's. It'll save you payin' for fodder
and stablin'."

The man took up the coin with a certain slow gravity which was almost
like dignity. "Thank you," he said, laying the paper on the counter.
"I'll leave that as security."

"Don't want it, 'Lige," said Harkutt, pushing it back.

"I'd rather leave it."

"But suppose you have a chance to sell it to somebody at Rawlett's?"
continued Harkutt, with a precaution that seemed ironical.

"I don't think there's much chance of that."

He remained quiet, looking at Harkutt with an odd expression as
he rubbed the edge of the coin that he held between his fingers
abstractedly on the counter. Something in his gaze--rather perhaps
the apparent absence of anything in it approximate to the present
occasion--was beginning to affect Harkutt with a vague uneasiness.
Providentially a resumed onslaught of wind and rain against the panes