"No," he said, "this here's sand."
"But ain't yore throat dusty?"
Two-Spot put the box down. "Seems like it allus is. If these boxes get dusty, I'll know how it come about, me bendin' over 'em like I do, an' breathin' on 'em."
Johnny laughed. "I take it we're all dusty." He turned to Dave. "Got three left?"
Two-Spot walked up to the bar. Usually he sidled. He picked up his glass and held it up to the light, and drank it in three swallows. Usually it was one gulp. Wiping his lips on a sleeve, he pushed back the glass, dug down into a pocket and brought up a silver dollar, which he tossed onto the bar. "Fill 'em again, Dave," he said, quietly.
At this Dave's slowly accumulating wonder leaped. He looked at the coin and from it to Two-Spot. Sensing the situation, Johnny pushed it farther along towards the proprietor. "Our friend is right, Dave," he said, "two is company. Make mine th' same."
Two-Spot put down his empty glass and grinned. "I'll now go on from where I was interrupted, Gents," and, picking up the box, went towards the door. As he was about to pass through he saw Pepper, and he stopped. "Good, Lord!" he muttered. "What a hoss! I've seen passels of hosses, but never one like that. Midnight her name oughter be, or Thunderbolt." He turned. "Stranger, what name do you call that hoss?"
Johnny looked around. "That's Pepper."
Two-Spot grinned. "Did you see that?" he demanded, tilting the box until the sand ran out. "Did you see it? She knows her name like a child. Well, it's a good name—a fair name," he hedged. "But, shucks! There ain't no name fit for that hoss! How fur has she come today?"